In the kitchen, she was making me breakfast, already dressed in her silk blouse and linen skirt, and high heels that made her calves look amazing. She wore pearls around her neck and that damn perfume that made me hard as a f*****g rock.
She was busy making me bacon and eggs with toast and potatoes, and all I could do was shake my head. She couldn't be real, the whole f*****g package, and she'd just dropped right into my f*****g lap.
"Hey honey, I'm making you breakfast, a nice southern spread. You didn't have any grits in the cupboard, so I'll pick some up later." She turned to me over her shoulder with that smile of hers.
"Not sure about the grits, sweetheart."
"You'll love my cheesy grits, honey, I promise." That sugar-sweet voice of hers. I was looking forward to listening to that
