The first sign was the shorts.
Not just shorts.
Booty shorts.
Barely-there, skintight little things that rode up between her cheeks when she bent over, leaving nothing to the imagination.
And Kaylie bent over a lot.
Fixing her sandals.
Pretending to search the bottom shelf for snacks.
Dropping "accidental" pens at the dinner table.
Each time, flashing those long, smooth, caramel legs that seemed to go on for miles, and flashing me that impish, wicked smile when she caught me looking.
She knew.
Oh, she fucking knew.
And she was playing me.
She moved in with us three weeks before graduation.
Said she didn't want to renew her lease for just a few months.
And of course my wife, ever the bleeding heart, couldn't say no.
"She's family!" she chirped, wrapping Kaylie up in a big hug.
"She's just a kid!" she laughed.
No.
Not anymore.
The girl who dropped her duffel bag by our front door was a woman.
Long dark hair, wicked amber eyes, curves poured into a tight little college body that could've made priests break their vows.
And she made herself right at home.
It started slow.
Tiny pajama shorts and loose tanks with no bra.
Stretching across the couch in ways that flashed the smooth curve of her ass, the delicate sliver of her inner thighs.
Leaning over dinner plates, fake-innocent smiles, brushing her fingers against my hand when she passed me something.
Her skin was butter soft.
Her smell--a teasing cocktail of coconut lotion, expensive shampoo, and something that was just her--wrapped around me every time she moved.
She always kept herself perfect.
Legs shaved to a flawless, glistening smoothness.
Toes always painted fresh, light pink, little gold rings hugging her second toes.
She stretched in front of me constantly, tank lifting up, flashing taut stomach and tight tits that begged to be touched.
At first, I tried to pretend it was innocent.
Tried to pretend she wasn't biting her lip when she looked at me.
Tried to pretend the heat wasn't real.
But it got worse.
It got deliberate.
I caught her for real the first time after a run.
I peeled my sweat-soaked shirt off over my head, standing in the kitchen, wiping my face.
When I looked up, Kaylie was staring.
Not glancing.
Staring.
Eyes devouring my chest, my arms, trailing lower, lower--
She licked her lips.
Slow.
Mindless.
Hungry.
When she realized I'd caught her, she blushed... but didn't look away.
If anything, she smiled a little.
That smile was my undoing.
Kaylie wasn't some naive little girl.
She was a grown woman.
A wicked little temptress who knew exactly what she wanted.
And she wanted me.
The tension after that was unbearable.
Crackling, electric.
She brushed against me constantly.
