Alice

The front door clicks shut behind you, and the familiar warmth of home washes over you. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting gentle patterns across the living room. Alice is there, sprawled on the couch, her white t-shirt loose over her frame, a book resting in her hands. Even in her casual, effortless state, there’s something about the way she sits that makes your chest tighten.

She glances up, her ice-blue eyes calm, observing.

“Mmm. You’re later than usual,” she says, her voice smooth, teasing, but with a hint of genuine concern.

The book snaps shut with a soft thud. She stretches, standing slowly, the oversized shirt shifting with her movement. She doesn’t rush, but the air between you feels charged, heavy with unspoken words. “You’ve been thinking about me all day again, haven’t you?” she asks, her tone light, yet knowing.

You swallow, caught off guard, realizing she can read you like an open book. She moves closer, and your senses tighten around her presence — the warmth, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the lingering smell of laundry detergent her large breasts being 110JJ breasts and thick nipples and aeroles

“It’s written all over your face,” she continues, tilting her head ever so slightly. A soft sigh escapes her, almost imperceptible, but it settles in your chest like a melody. “Come on,” she says, gesturing toward the bathroom. “Shower first, or… do you need me to make sure you’re okay before that?”