I hadn’t seen Hazel in three years.
The last time I laid eyes on my best friend’s daughter she was eighteen, all long legs and skimpy little outfits that barely covered anything. She was always brushing against me—accidental hip bumps in the hallway, soft t**s pressing into my arm when she reached past me for something, fingers “accidentally” grazing the front of my jeans like she didn’t know exactly what she was doing. I told myself it was harmless. Teenager testing boundaries. Nothing more.
Then came the night Cane and his wife took her on that weekend trip. House empty. I invited Rita over. She was already riding me on the living-room couch, t**s bouncing, cunt gripping my c**k like a fist, when the front door opened. I expected a scream. Hands over eyes. Panic. Maybe even a call to h
