Evan stepped out of the kitchen carrying three steaming plates, the rich scent of porridge and crisped potatoes trailing him like smoke. He expected quiet, maybe a sleepy Maya waiting at the table.
Instead he stopped dead.
Maya lounged there like she owned the room—and the air itself. A thin strip of cloth was knotted low around her hips, barely qualifying as a skirt. Above that? Nothing but a damp towel slung carelessly over her shoulders. It hung loose, failing spectacularly to cover anything important. Her breasts—full, round, glistening from her bath—swayed heavily with every lazy breath. Dark nipples stood proud in the morning air, long and stiff, catching droplets that rolled slowly down the inner curves before disappearing into the deep valley between them.
Evan's cock surged instantly, thickening against his trousers so fast it hurt.
Holy shit. Both sisters were lethal in their own way. Elara's compact, restrained power hidden under layers of modesty; Maya's raw, shameless confidence on full display. I must've been a saint in my last life. Reincarnated straight into pussy paradise.
He forced his face into neutral lines and stepped forward. "Hello, Maya. Looks like you're starving."
Maya's eyes flicked up, amused. "Brother-in-law? Why are you serving? Where's my sister?"
Before he could answer, Elara limped in, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron. "Your brother-in-law isn't just serving, Maya. He cooked it all himself."
Maya's spoon clattered. "You're joking. Sister—are you still being lazy? You swore yesterday you'd take proper care of him, and now the prettiest boy in town is slaving in our kitchen?"
Elara flushed. "It was his idea. He insisted. I tried to stop him—he wouldn't let me." She shot her sister a pointed look. "And for the last time—why are you still topless? We have a man living here now. Cover up."
Maya shrugged. The motion sent her breasts bouncing in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. "It's hot, Sis. Just bathed. Brother-in-law, you mind me like this?"
Evan met her gaze, voice calm even as his cock throbbed painfully. "Not at all, Maya. As long as you're comfortable in your own home."
Stay like that forever and I'll die a happy man, he thought.
Maya grinned wide. "See? He's perfect." She turned back to Elara. "I was worried you'd get bullied—gentle little thing like you married to a beauty like him. But you landed a saint."
She scooped up a huge bite of potatoes, then another, then forgot all manners—hunching over the plate, devouring it with feral moans, breasts swaying wildly with each enthusiastic movement. Long nipples brushed the edge of the towel, dragging wet trails across her skin.
Elara smacked her forehead. "Maya! Manners! You're eating like an animal."
"Can't—help—it!" Maya gasped between bites. "This is better than any meat stall in the market! Brother-in-law, marry me next—you're a fucking wizard!"
Evan barely registered the praise.
His eyes were glued to Maya's chest. Every greedy lunge forward made her tits bounce harder—nipples stiff and dark, areolas tight from the cool air, the towel slipping lower with each swallow. Pre-cum leaked steadily from his tip, soaking into his underwear in thick, warm pulses.
"Evan… Evan!"
Elara's soft hand on his forearm jolted him.
Both sisters stared.
Maya tilted her head, curious. She casually cupped one breast, lifting its heavy weight as if inspecting fruit at market. "Brother-in-law… why were you staring at my tits so hard? Something wrong with them?"
Elara leaned closer. "Yes, Evan. What is it?"
Brain scrambling. In this world women's breasts weren't erotic. Staring wasn't lewd—it was just… odd. Like fixating on someone's knee.
He dropped his voice into something soft, wounded. "I… they remind me of my mother's. I miss her so much."
He spun the lie from Evan Black's memories—his mother, still a servant in House Black, gentle, same generous build. He let his eyes go misty, shoulders slumping just enough.
The room went quiet.
Elara's expression crumpled with sympathy. Maya's playful grin vanished.
"Oh, Evan…" Elara whispered.
She pulled him into her arms without hesitation, pressing his face straight into the soft, warm pillow of her cleavage. Her breasts molded around his cheeks, nipples brushing his skin through thin fabric.
Maya circled behind him instantly, hugging tight—bare tits flattening against his back, hard nipples dragging slow, deliberate lines over his shirt as she squeezed.
"Don't be sad," Elara murmured into his hair.
"We're your family now," Maya added, voice low against his ear.
Evan wasn't sad.
He was in torment.
Face buried in Elara's tits, back cradled by Maya's bare chest, cock so hard it felt bruised, throbbing against the confines of his trousers, pre-cum dripping in steady, hot rivulets down his shaft. Heaven. Pure, torturous heaven.
He breathed through clenched teeth and prayed neither felt the steel rod trying to drill through his pants into Elara's stomach.
They held him a long, agonizing moment before finally releasing him.
Breakfast finished quickly after that—Maya still moaning over every bite, Elara stealing shy glances at Evan, and Evan fighting for his life not to come in his pants from sheer proximity.
When the plates were cleared, Evan leaned back, locking eyes with Elara. He tilted his head, resting his chin on his hand in that devastatingly charming way.
"So…" he said softly, "would it be okay if I cooked for you every single day from now on?"
Elara froze.
Twenty-four years without a single flirtatious word. Twenty-four years of being invisible.
Now this beautiful man—bold, sweet, capable—was looking at her like she was the center of his universe.
Her face ignited scarlet. Her heart slammed so hard she felt dizzy.
Maya whistled. "Sister… you are blessed."
Elara stared at Evan's face—those warm brown eyes, the gentle curve of his lips—and felt something deep inside her fracture.
Am I really allowed to keep someone like him?
Maya dressed and left soon after—off to her post as a royal guard for the Court of Lionheart, her supernatural strength making her one of the most respected warriors in the kingdom despite her playful attitude.
Elara, meanwhile, stacked two enormous baskets of cakes atop her head. Fifty kilograms at least—maybe more.
Evan stared in disbelief. She was barely 160 cm, delicate except for those lush breasts, lame in one leg—and balancing that load like it was nothing.
"Wait—those are way too heavy!" he protested. "Let me carry one. We can sell faster together."
Elara stopped at the threshold, expression turning steely. "No, Evan. Going out to work is a woman's responsibility. You stay inside where it's safe."
He saw the pride in her eyes—the need to prove she wasn't helpless—and backed down.
"…Okay. I understand. Just… be careful."
Elara adjusted the baskets and stepped outside.
She hadn't gone far when Mrs. Gable—the nosy old widow from three houses down—shuffled over, eyes gleaming with false concern.
"Oh, little Elara! Off to sell already?"
"Yes, Mrs. Gable."
"And leaving that gorgeous new husband all alone?" The old woman leaned in, voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "What if he runs? Or worse—what if some hungry woman climbs your wall while you're gone? A boy that pretty won't stay untouched for long."
Elara's stomach plummeted. Her fragile confidence shattered.
"…What should I do?"
Mrs. Gable smiled sweetly. "Don't fret, dear. I'll watch your house for you. But… a little something for my trouble?"
She rubbed her fingers together.
Elara fumbled in her pouch, pressing coins into the wrinkled palm. "Thank you. I'm sorry for bothering you."
"Oh, no need between neighbors!" Mrs. Gable said, pocketing the money faster than lightning.
Elara exhaled shakily. "I feel better now."
She limped away down the path.
Behind her, Mrs. Gable's kind mask cracked into something ugly and greedy.
She spat on the ground.
"Lame little shorty," she hissed. "Think you can keep a boy like that? Sooner or later someone's going to fuck him right under your nose. I'll be watching when you cry."