He slid his hands over her breasts again, filling his palms with their dense weight. Kneading. Slippery with raw egg. “Don’t put words in my mout...,” she said, leaning forward to rub her yolk wet mounds against his body. “Even if they’re true?” He pulled his hands away to feel the full press of her breasts against his body. She was there. Right there. Where he never imagined her being again. He wanted to throw his arms around her and weep into her hair, but her hands were fumbling at the top. I couldn't do it without brushing her, and moving up against her. I could not believe this was happening. She'd literally just walked into my living room at the end of me watching porn and jerking off into a paper towel. She was so chill, mellow, and not the least bit embarrassed. I on the other hand felt like a total fucking tool.After a conversation that lasted a couple of minutes, I got up and moved out of the chair. She stood there in front of me, and after pulling her bikini top and bottom. More

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