I cook with their c*m running out of me.
Grant’s shirt hits mid-thigh and sticks to my ass every time another slow trickle slides down. Jace’s load is still warm inside my ass; Grant’s is leaking from my p***y in thick white streaks that reach my knee by the time the bacon starts to pop. I don’t wipe any of it. I can feel both of them watching from the table like I’m the meal.
“Spread your legs when you stand at the stove,” Grant says.
I do.
Cole gets up first. He comes up behind me, lifts the shirt, and pushes two fingers straight into my cunt without warning. The sound is wet and filthy over the hiss of the pan.
“Still full,” he mutters. “Dad’s leaking down to her calf.”
He doesn’t take his fingers out. He just stands there fingering me while I try to flip eggs, his hard c**k press
