First Cracks

“Alexander, you really didn’t have to come over again today. The faucet was just dripping a little,” I said, standing in the kitchen doorway in a thin white crop top that barely covered the bottom of my tits and a pair of tiny denim shorts that rode up my ass cheeks every time I moved. I told myself it was just comfortable since I was home alone, but deep down I knew better. After last night, my body had been on edge, aching for more of that filthy attention from him.

He wiped his hands on a rag, tools spread out on the counter, that silver hair slightly...