Samantha was beautiful. Long, ginger hair. Pale skin that could rival Snow white's. A thin figure, with C-cup breasts that verge on being too big comp...red to the rest of her body. I couldn't think those things. Not in a situation like this."It makes sense. I'm... i'm sorry I can't..." I trail, unsure what how to word my apology.Samantha is dying. The doctors give her a 50/50 chance in her surgery. And it's now zero hour. Pretty shitty 18th Birthday, right?"Don't. Don't make this final. Please.. ‘I also like your neck.’ My lips moved upward. ‘I also like your cheeks.’ My fingers toyed with the long strands brushing her shoulders. ‘I definitely like your long, sand-colored hair.’ ‘More than my breasts?’ Anya asked. Even though I could not see her smile, I could practically hear the ends of her lips curling upward. ‘Perhaps,’ I admitted, slipping my hands down the front of my wife’s body, rhythmically squeezing her ample feminine swells through the flannel shirt. ‘Then again, perhaps. More

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