Fond Memories

Ryan walks Lydia through the door and makes one last tweak to her hair. She hums with anticipation, eager to meet his dad and take the next step. Nate sits at the piano, looking half-lost until he notices them. After quick intros he swears he’s seen Lydia somewhere before, but she just smiles and begs him to keep playing. The melody is soft and sad; he tells her his late wife used to play it better. Lydia slides onto the bench beside him anyway, and Nate’s shoulders loosen a little. Ryan leads her down the hall and shows off the real surprise—brand-new heels and a custom dress. Lydia slips into both while Ryan fusses with her hair again, then steps back with a cocky grin. She twirls, glowing, and admits she never expected to feel this good after losing someone close. Ryan nods, says they should show Nate, and steers her back out. Nate freezes when he sees her. With the fresh cut and that dress, Lydia is a dead ringer for his wife Megan at twenty-five. Lydia’s smile cracks; she demands answers. Ryan lays it out flat: he spotted her resemblance, faked interest, and groomed her like a gift for his lonely father. Lydia spins for the door, furious, but Ryan reminds her how grief tore through her own family. That stops her cold. He slips out, leaving her alone with Nate. Nate reaches for her, calling her Megan, voice thick. Every word about missing his wife hits Lydia’s soft spot. She feels her anger melt into something hotter and meaner. When he asks if he can touch her, kiss her, she says yes, just like Ryan knew she would. They sink to the couch. Nate’s hands roam under the new dress, fingers finding wet heat between her thighs. Lydia moans, spreads wider, lets him work two fingers deep until her hips jerk and clear squirt splashes his wrist. She yanks his cock free, swings around, and plants her dripping pussy on his mouth while she swallows him to the root. Sixty-nine turns frantic—her tongue swirling, his lips sucking, both of them chasing that edge. Nate’s fingers never leave her; every thrust drags another gush until her red hair sticks to sweat-slick skin and natural tits bounce with every spasm. She comes hard, soaking his face, then climbs on top, riding him until he floods her. They stay locked together, breathing heavy, the piano still echoing in the next room.