SINFUL HOUR COLLECTION: Creaming on daddies spicy erotica

t. When did she even get this skinny? She wasn't always like that. Back then, we wore the same size, shared everything. I paused, frowning at my reflection in the mirror. My forehead cre

nights with my heart racing from stress, the therapy sessions where I couldn't even find words for what I felt-my throat closing up, hands clammy. I was losing it, slipping. But I made it out. Somehow. My fingers tightened on the hanger I still held. I didn't think I'd ever forget that version of me-the one sitting on a thin mattress, knees drawn to my chest, staring at unpaid bills scattered on the floor, praying for just one more chance to try again. Tears stinging my eyes back then. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not even my worst enemy. Especially being broke through it all-the constant knot of fear in my gut. My stomach growled loudly, twisting with hunger. Kitchen time. I was starving. Then it hit me. "Fuck," I muttered under my breath, cheeks flushing hot. "The pastries." I forgot them in the air fryer. They'd burn. I gasped, spinning toward the door. Just as my hand reached for the handle, fingers curling around it, it turned from the other side and swung open slowly. My heart skipped, thudding hard against my ribs. Tyler. He stood in the doorway, tall, broad-shouldered, the faint smell of whiskey wafting in with him. His eyes were slightly glazed, posture relaxed but commanding. My breath caught, chest tightening as I froze. "Shit-" the word slipped out before I could stop it, my voice higher than usual. "I'm sorry for barging into you and your wife's room," I stammered, voice cracking, hands fidgeting at my sides. "I totally lost my manners. I didn't know you'd be back this early. I was just-uh-checking out designers for my videos." He didn't blink at first. His gaze softened gradually, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as he stepped closer, his movements deliberate. "What are you talking about, sweetheart?" His hands came to rest on my shoulders, firm but gentle, palms warm through the thin fabric. His breath was warm, laced with whiskey, fanning over my face. "Jessica, you're the most beautiful woman in the world. You know I adore you, right?" My stomach twisted sharply, a rush of heat and panic mixing. "Sir... Tyler." My voice trembled as I looked up at him, neck craning, eyes wide. "This isn't Jessica. It's Joyce. Me-Joyce. Jessica's identical twin." He blinked once, confusion flickering across his face, brows drawing together briefly. Then he shook his head slightly, his thumbs still brushing against my shoulders in slow circles, as if he didn't hear me-or chose not to. "Shhh, babe," he whispered, leaning in closer, whiskey breath scalding my ear, voice raw and dripping with intent. Goosebumps rose on my skin. "But I'm not babe, I'