I want to see her again; I don't have the energy to stop myself now.
She's mine; she will be mine even if she likes it or not.
I walked back to her room, but she wasn't there. I walked downstairs, and I see her in my kitchen doing pancakes.
Moving her black hair from her shoulder, she grabbed them and tied them in a messy bun, revealing her neck, and few strands of her hair were falling back on her forehead making her look more alluring. She was completely engrossed in her cooking. This type of beautiful thing is nothing but the pleasure of the eye and torture to manhood, which gets excited each time she comes close to me.