It happened on the walk back from town.
The sun had already started setting, casting long shadows on the road. Your girlfriend’s hand was curled around yours, her fingers warm, her thumb occasionally brushing against your knuckle.
You’d been smiling earlier. Some barista had complimented your hair. Harmless, you thought.
But as the two of you walked in silence now—her lips slightly pursed, her gaze downward—you felt something subtle shift in the air.
When you reached the mansion gate, she didn’t say anything.
She just hugged your arm tighter.
Her curves pressed into you—thick, plush, and warm. Her massive breasts softened against your bicep with each step, the swell of her hip brushing yours every few strides. You didn’t think much of it. She was always clingy.
But when you stepped inside and she guided you gently to the couch, tugged you down beside her, and then—without a word—climbed onto your lap?
That’s when you realized.
She was jealous. Not angry. Not possessive.
Just… full of love that needed to be reminded.
She curled into you, straddling your waist, her thick thighs pressing to your sides as she rested her forehead against yours.
“I know it was nothing,” she said softly. “That girl back there. But…”
She shifted, her massive chest pressing flush to yours, nipples barely brushing under her thin top.
“…I still need you to know. I love you. A lot.”
You wrapped your arms around her waist. Flat tummy. Fat ass. Big heart.
“I know,” you murmured. “I’m yours.”
She smiled, her lips brushing yours like a whisper. “And you’re mine.”
She didn’t kiss you hard.
She didn’t grind her hips or tease.
She just held you. Full weight, full warmth, full body, full love.
And for a while, the only thing that filled the room was her quiet breathing—and the comforting reminder that nothing could touch the bond you shared.