Finding My Daughter

Karlie Montana walks around damaged as hell. A miscarriage back in her teens ripped something out of her, and the wreckage just kept growing—old scars, new nightmares, a mind that keeps splitting into pieces when things get rough. Old therapist kept her together just enough to fake normal. New one's an idiot who pushes fantasy instead of fixing what's broken. So Karlie ends up going after girls who look like the daughter she lost. She finds Melissa Moore right nearby, pretty, the spitting image. She knocks on the door, clipboard in hand, fake census worker grin, asks all the right questions, then starts steering Melissa’s thighs apart. Once she’s got her tongue on that wet cunt, it doesn’t take long—sliding and sucking on Melissa’s throbbing clit, fingers hooked inside, until the girl’s shaking and coming loud enough to wake the house. Then Karlie teaches her how to return the favor, lips to lips until they’re grinding wet and desperate. When she climbs on top for sixty-nine they lock in tight, faces buried between open thighs, working each other raw, tongues flicking fast, hips rocking hard until both of them are slick and spent and breathing like they just ran a mile.