Chapter 10: Domestic Bliss
The dog was scratching at the back door again. Kyle ignored it, his focus entirely on the hands slowly working up the tight calves before him. Chad’s laugh, higher and softer than it used to be, chimed through the stale air of the living room.
“And then my dad just sort of… squeaked,” Chad said, tipping his head back against the couch cushion. “Like a stepped-on toy. He stared at my tits for a full minute before Mom elbowed him.”
She lounged across the worn sofa, a vision of surreal contradiction. A black lace crop top strained over the dramatic swell of her stomach and the heavy, round breasts that had once been pectoral muscles. Tiny panties, sheer and also black, were the only other clothing. Her blonde hair, voluminous and almost glowing, was tangled from his fingers earlier. One hand rested on the taut curve of her belly, the nails painted a chipped white.
Kyle knelt on the floor between her spread thighs, his massive shoulders and back flexing as he massaged her ankles, then her shins. His thumbs dug into the muscle with practiced precision. He wasn’t listening to the words, not really. He was watching. Watching the way her stomach moved when she laughed. Watching the way the thin lace of her panties darkened, a damp patch blooming in the center as he touched her.
“They’re trying,” Chad continued, her voice taking on a strange, wistful tone. “They talked about baby showers. Mom offered her old bassinet.” She snorted. “It probably has lead paint or some shit.”
“We’ll get our own,” Kyle said, his voice a low rumble. His hands moved higher, kneading her inner thighs. Her breath hitched. He didn’t look up at her face; his gaze was fixed on that darkening patch of lace. “A house.🏡
“A house.” His thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of her inner thighs, a slow, deliberate pressure. “With a yard for that damn dog.” He finally glanced up, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, yeah. I mean, you left town a ripped bodybuilder and returned looking like Sydney Sweeney. Your dad’s gonna need a minute.”
Chad barked a laugh, sharp and genuine, then winced as a kick fluttered beneath her hand. “Fuck, don’t make me laugh. This kid’s a goddamn soccer player.” She looked down at herself, at the landscape of her new body, and her smile faded into something more contemplative. “Sydney Sweeney with a fucking built-in soccer ball.”
Kyle’s hands ceased their massage. He simply stared at the damp lace, his breathing shallow. The room smelled of them—sweat, her vanilla-scented lotion, the underlying musk of sex from earlier. “I don’t see Sydney Sweeney,” he said, his voice gravel.
“What do you see?” Her question was quiet, barely a whisper over the hum of the fridge.
He answered by leaning forward, his face inches from her groin. He didn’t use his hands. He just pressed his mouth against the soaked lace, his breath hot through the fabric. Chad gasped, her fingers threading into his hair. He nuzzled her, inhaling deeply, his nose brushing her clit through the wet barrier.
“I see mine,” he growled into her, the vibration making her hips twitch. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and pulled them down in one rough motion.