MorganAfter my overly long and definitely colder than usual shower, I’m only slightly more clearheaded. I’m not proud to admit that I also rubbed one out in the shower, but it is what it is. And I’m trying desperately not to feel weird about that, or that Isla crossed my mind more times than she should have.
But come on. Technically, Isla’s not family. She’s just a hot as f**k nineteen-year-old with great t**s who wants to drink my beer, prance around in a bikini and talk to me about s*x. And as I said, I’m not a saint. I’m far f*****g from it.
After dressing in black athletic shorts and a white T-shirt, I make my rounds through the house, locking doors and turning off the lights. It’s not even ten yet, but I’m guessing both Isla and I are ready to turn in for the night, considering she
