Page 6 of Double the D
I watched, satisfaction building as her cheeks began to color. Drake kept her wrapped in his arms just a beat too long, and I watched, anticipation unfurling, when she didn't protest.
Drake let her go, one hand coming to rest on the small of her back, propelling her towards me. "Go greet Dane."
She complied, coming to me, letting me wrap her in a hug.
Good girl.
I breathed her in. She smelled like lemongrass and home. Our girl felt fucking fantastic in my arms. Her curves deliciously generous and perfectly plump. Her double-d tits pressed to my chest and I couldn't help the rumble of pleasure that echoed in my chest.
Her breath caught, her body trembled once before she stepped back. She immediately looked away, hand reaching up to tuck stray hairs behind her ear.
"I… I-I-I didn't realize you were coming today." She finally stammered, standing awkwardly in the middle of the small kitchenette.
"Thought we'd drop by and see our main man," Drake said, sliding easily onto one of the seats at the four-seater table. He clasped a hand on Mr. Henderson's shoulder. "Gotta make up for lost time."
Her hands lifted, fluttering up to touch her collarbone before settling on her hips. "Right. Well, I'll just get back to dinner." She turned, hesitating. "Did you want to stay?"
The words were a concession. Everyone in the room except old Mr. Henderson knew how much it cost her.
"Love to, Honey," I answered for us. "Whatcha making?"
"Chicken biryani."
"Sounds great. Can we help?"
She blinked. "Um, no. But thank you."
I settled on the opposite side of Mr. Henderson while he dished out coffee, donuts and the latest gossip. Sally and Johnny were divorced. The old Randall couple had sold up and moved to Idaho to be closer to their grandkids. Belle's parents, the people who'd run the group home, were in Europe for the summer.
"And what about our fine little Bluebell?" Drake asked, leaning back in his chair. "What's been happening with you, Miss Belle?"
She'd been quietly frying and chopping in the background, the smells teasing my taste buds. She stiffened.
"It's Blue now." She murmured, still turned away from us.
"Sorry?"
She cleared her throat, shoulders straightening. She twisted, giving us a serious look. "I go by Blue."
I sensed from her tone that this was important to her. "Any particular reason for the change?"
She gestured down at her body. "Bluebell is the name of some white girl wearing Daisy duke cut-offs and a crop top. That's never gonna be me."
"Baby, you can wear cut-offs and crop tops around us any time," I told her, letting everyone in the room hear the heat in my voice.
But I got it. Her Latina mother and southern white father had gotten pregnant in their teens. They'd been disowned by their families for various but equally fucking ignorant reasons. Only Bluebell's great aunt on her daddy's side had stood by them. She'd been named for that aunt but, it had to be admitted, it was one of the frilliest names I'd ever heard.
"Blue," I muttered, liking the way it rolled off my tongue. Liking even more her little shiver of pleasure. "Okay, Blue it is."
She nodded once, then turned back to the stove, swirling a large spoon through the simmering curry. "Nothing to really add. I'm sure Mr. Henderson has told you everything."
He had but so had her parents. In dribs and drabs over the last decade we'd received updates on little Miss Blue. She'd worked two jobs while studying nursing then landed a job in the hospital a town over. After a few years there, she'd transferred to a local clinic, preferring the short commute and friendlier hours. When Mrs. Henderson had passed and Mr. Henderson had decided to move into aged care, she'd helped him sell the house, pack up his things and move in here.
"Ah, pish posh." Mr. Henderson shook his head. "Blue's roof got damaged in the storm last night. She's staying with me."
As one, Drake and I turned to look at the beautiful woman in the kitchen.
"What about your parent's house?"
