When Aunty Is Gone II

HIS thumb brushed against her clitoris, a feather-light touch that made her whole body clench. She gasped, her hips instinctively arching into his hand.

“There it is,” he murmured, his thumb circling, pressing, teasing. “Your little button. So sensitive.” He watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered shut, the soft flush spreading across her cheeks. “You’re such a good girl. So eager.”

He moved her, gently but firmly, lifting her onto the kitchen ...