Reagan Foxx is in her living room when the doorbell rings. She smiles to herself like she’s been waiting for this all day. When she opens the door, there’s Gia Paige—step-daughter’s girlfriend—standing on the threshold, shifting on her feet. Gia forces a little “Hi.” Reagan answers with a velvet “Hi there,” tilting the word like a hook. Sorry, Whitney’s out, Reagan says, but she’ll be back soon; Gia might as well come in and wait. Gia hesitates, then steps inside. They settle on the couch. Small talk. You two have been together—what, a year now? Reagan asks. Almost, Gia says, eyes bright. She feels lucky. Lucky? Reagan leans in. From where I’m sitting, she looks like the lucky one—you’re stunning. Gia laughs it off, then tries to return the compliment, tripping over the fact that Reagan isn’t even Whitney’s real mom. The slip makes her cheeks burn. Reagan doesn’t miss it. She presses closer, voice low: You nervous, sweetheart? Gia stammers—nothing, stupid, forget it. Reagan lets the quiet stretch until it snaps. I can see right through you. You’ve got a little crush, don’t you? Gia backpedals fast—no way, can’t happen, wrong. Wrong makes it hotter; they both feel it. Reagan drops her own secret like a lit match: I have a crush on you too. Gia’s protest dies as Reagan’s mouth takes hers. The kiss burns hot, then Gia jerks away, gasping. We can’t—this can’t. Reagan cups her face. Whitney won’t mind—trust me. Reason slides off Gia’s skin as they strip. Reagan drops to her knees, tongue buried in Gia’s cunt. That’s when Whitney storms in, eyes blazing. For a second Gia’s heart stops—until Whitney’s scowl twists into a grin. “You started without me?” Clothes hit the floor. Whitney’s ready to join, making up for every minute she wasn’t there. Better late than never.
Reagan Foxx is in her living room when the doorbell rings. She smiles to herself like she’s been waiting for this all day. When she opens the door, there’s Gia Paige—step-daughter’s girlfriend—standing on the threshold, shifting on her feet. Gia forces a little “Hi.” Reagan answers with a velvet “Hi there,” tilting the word like a hook. Sorry, Whitney’s out, Reagan says, but she’ll be back soon; Gia might as well come in and wait. Gia hesitates, then steps inside. They settle on the couch. Small talk. You two have been together—what, a year now? Reagan asks. Almost, Gia says, eyes bright. She feels lucky. Lucky? Reagan leans in. From where I’m sitting, she looks like the lucky one—you’re stunning. Gia laughs it off, then tries to return the compliment, tripping over the fact that Reagan isn’t even Whitney’s real mom. The slip makes her cheeks burn. Reagan doesn’t miss it. She presses closer, voice low: You nervous, sweetheart? Gia stammers—nothing, stupid, forget it. Reagan lets the quiet stretch until it snaps. I can see right through you. You’ve got a little crush, don’t you? Gia backpedals fast—no way, can’t happen, wrong. Wrong makes it hotter; they both feel it. Reagan drops her own secret like a lit match: I have a crush on you too. Gia’s protest dies as Reagan’s mouth takes hers. The kiss burns hot, then Gia jerks away, gasping. We can’t—this can’t. Reagan cups her face. Whitney won’t mind—trust me. Reason slides off Gia’s skin as they strip. Reagan drops to her knees, tongue buried in Gia’s cunt. That’s when Whitney storms in, eyes blazing. For a second Gia’s heart stops—until Whitney’s scowl twists into a grin. “You started without me?” Clothes hit the floor. Whitney’s ready to join, making up for every minute she wasn’t there. Better late than never.
