Angela's eyes lit up like Christmas. She leaned back against the cool wall, one hand absently pressing low on her abdomen—right over where my cum was still slowly leaking out of her.
"I want a thick, juicy ribeye steak—medium rare, edges charred just right, drowning in garlic herb butter. And a big glass of red wine—something bold, velvety, the kind that stains your lips. Make it fancy, husband. Spoil me."
Lisa clapped her hands together. "Hamburger! Double cheese, extra crispy bacon, pickles, onions, the works. Golden fries—salty and hot. And a chocolate milkshake so thick I need a spoon. Extra whipped cream on top."
Mira stayed quiet for a long beat, eyes flicking between Angela and me. The hunger in her gaze wasn't just for food. It was the same wide-eyed craving she'd had last night when the pants appeared—raw curiosity mixed with something hotter, deeper. She wanted to see it again. Wanted proof. Wanted to watch the impossible happen right in front of her.
