Making Her Best friend's Mother Submissive I

ELAINE leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching Willow. Her best friend’s mother, Willow, moved with an unconscious grace, gathering the last of the vegetables for the Thanksgiving feast. Her hair, a rich auburn, caught the dim kitchen light, a few strands escaping the loose bun at her nape. The fabric of her apron stretched taut across her hips when she bent to retrieve a forgotten potato from the bottom shelf. Elaine’s throat ...