Grace's Lusting After Me

Grace busied herself with kneading the dough, rolling it out onto the floured tabletop and plunging her hands into the soft, white mass. The muscles danced in her forearms as she bore down upon it, stretching and folding and squeezing,. And it was a while before she looked up at Amos again. He hadn't even noticed her surreptitious glance toward him. He was staring at her cleavage as if entranced, his mug halfway to his lips. Heat rose to Grace's face as she realized her culpability. Her white chemisol was low-cut, the top button not even done up, and her breasts bulged softly out over the top