I slid out of bed and stepped behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and nuzzling into her neck. She smelled like warm vanilla clinging to her skin. "You look gorgeous," I murmured, my voice thick with desire. She giggled, the sound light and airy, as she leaned back into my embrace.
Her hand came up to cover mine, the warmth of her touch sending a bolt of electricity down my arm. "Thanks, babe," she said, her voice a low purr. "But we can't get sidetracked. It's already 7:30, and we don't want to keep the birthday boy waiting."
I nodded, reluctantly pulling away from her embrace. We had to get ready, and time was ticking. I threw on some jeans and a button-down shirt.
As we arrived at Lisa's, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. What would the night bring? Would Rachel's mind be with us, watching our every move? Or would she remain a silent observer?.
I rang the doorbell.
Thomas, Lisa's husband, answered the door, his smile genuine and welcoming. He was a tall, burly man with a thick beard and a gentle demeanor. His eyes flicked over me, a knowing glint in them.
"Hey, guys," he said, stepping aside to let us in. "Glad you could make it."
The house was already bustling with activity. The smell of grilled meat wafted from the backyard, and the sound of laughter and chatter filled the air. The living room was decorated with streamers and balloons, the walls a riot of color that seemed to pulse in time with the music.
Thomas greeted us warmly, his handshake firm and friendly. "Good to see you, man," he said, clapping me on the back.
Thomas led me over to the makeshift bar set up in the corner of the room, where a few of the men were already deep in conversation. I recognized a few of them from the neighborhood watch meetings and awkward small talk exchanges over the fence. They greeted me with nods and handshakes, their eyes sliding over to Sophie as she joined the group of women. I couldn't blame them; she was a sight to behold in that dress.
For the next half hour, we sipped drinks and made small talk, the mood light and relaxed. The alcohol helped ease my nerves, and before long, I found myself laughing at a dad joke one of the guys had told. The conversation was mostly about work, the weather, and the latest neighborhood drama.
As the clock ticked closer to 8:30, Thomas clapped his hands for attention. "Alright, everyone, let's head outside for the cake cutting," he announced, his voice carrying over the music. The partygoers began to drift towards the backyard, the anticipation palpable.
Sophie and I followed the crowd, her hand in mine as we stepped out into the cool evening air. The scent of grilled steak and sizzling hot dogs mingled with the sweetness of the birthday cake. Strings of lights had been strung up, casting a soft glow over the gathering. The men had loosened their ties and rolled up their sleeves, the women had kicked off their shoes and were chatting animatedly.
We found a spot at the edge of the group, close enough to see the festivities but far enough to keep our conversation private. Lisa looked stunning in a red dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her son, Alex, looked like a miniature version of Thomas, with the same twinkle in his eyes.
The cake was a monstrosity of chocolate and frosting, topped with a tiny plastic figure that looked like Alex in a superhero pose. The candles flickered in the gentle breeze, casting shadows across the faces of the partygoers.
Everything was as normal it can be , Sophie atleast till now haven't assimilated anyone new , we did dinner and went back home , tired fall on bed and fall sleep.
I groaned awake to the sound of zippers and soft humming. Blinking against the morning light bleeding through the blinds, I propped myself up on my elbows—and froze.
Sophie stood at the foot of our bed, backlit by sunlight like some kind of desert mirage. Her cheetah-print bikini clung to every curve like it was painted on, the wild pattern twisting around her hips and thighs like it wanted to devour her. My throat went dry as I stared—the triangles of fabric barely containing her chest, her ass looking like it had been sculpted just to ruin me.
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