“Let me change real quick,” Amanda said as she came in behind me, putting her bag down and hanging her heavy coat on the closet door before ducking into my bathroom.
“Sure.”
I was used to this—it was what she did every time she came over—so I just sat on the couch, scrolling through my phone, enjoying the slightly drunken buzz I currently felt from the glasses of champagne I’d had at the party.
A minute later, Amanda came out in a delightful lace lingerie set, white and dainty against her dark black skin, the gold necklace in the shape of Africa hanging between her small breasts, her brown box braids tied in a ponytail high on the back of her head. She smiled seductively, one hand brushing a couple of stray braids back behind her ear, her skin and makeup perfect from the party.
“How do I look, daddy?” she asked. In her British accent, “daddy” came out as “deddy”—a quirk I found both charming and sexy.
“Sexy,” I acknowledged, smiling back at her as I leaned back on the couch and admired, my phone set down for good.