Different Sceenery!

The day dragged on at work, my mind replaying that morning's charged moment in the kitchen—Georgia's soft laugh, the way her eyes had lingered on me like she was daring me to cross the line.

By the time I pulled into the driveway at seven, the sun dipping low, exhaustion mixed with anticipation in my gut. Steve's sister or not, the forbidden pull was getting harder to ignore, her futanari secret a constant throb in my thoughts.

I shook it off, grabbing my keys, and headed inside, the smell of sizzling food hitting me as I opened the door.

Georgia was at the stove, humming softly, her blonde hair tied back in a messy ponytail that exposed the curve of her neck. She wore a simple apron over a fitted t-shirt and those same shorts from morning, the fabric hugging her toned legs and the subtle outline of her body.

Eggs? For dinner? I raised an eyebrow, but the domestic sight of her cooking for us both stirred something warm and dangerous in my chest—intimacy creeping in where tension had ruled.