Youngermommy 22 12 02 Kenzie Love In Mommys Bed... -

At twenty-two, Kenzie Love was barely older than the babysitters I’d had in high school. But the way she moved through the house told a different story. She had traded her usual going-out crop tops for a soft, oversized cashmere sweater that kept slipping off one shoulder. Her hair, usually wild and bleached, was pulled back in a loose, damp bun.

"Now stop thinking," she whispered, pulling the covers back. "And come take care of me." Note: This content is fictional, intended for an adult audience, and explores the dynamic described in your topic request.

"You are." She padded across the thick carpet, barefoot, holding two mugs of chamomile tea. Steam curled up between us. "You’ve got that wrinkle between your eyebrows. The one that makes you look like your dad." YoungerMommy 22 12 02 Kenzie Love In Mommys Bed...

I blinked. "I’m not."

"You’re overthinking again," she said softly, closing the bedroom door behind her with a quiet click . At twenty-two, Kenzie Love was barely older than

I exhaled. "I just... I feel like I’m in over my head."

"Good." She leaned in, her forehead pressing against mine. Her breath was sweet and warm. "That’s exactly where I want you. In over your head. In my bed. In my life." Her hair, usually wild and bleached, was pulled

The rain tapped a gentle rhythm against the bedroom window, blurring the city lights outside into soft, glowing orbs. The room smelled like lavender detergent and something else—something distinctly Kenzie .

I did. In the low lamplight, she looked impossibly young. But her eyes—those were ancient. Tired. Hungry.