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That can’t be allowed to happen.
If Juliette wants to experience her first orgasm, I’ll be the one who gives it to her.
That realization is like a punch to the gut and knocks the air from my lungs. Once that thought takes up residence inside my brain, there’s absolutely no shaking it loose.
My gaze flickers to her, only to realize that she’s stripped off both the sweater and skirt. She’s standing in nothing more than a bra and—
Holy fuck.
A thong.
The girl is wearing a ridiculous excuse for a thong. It’s nothing more than a thin scrap of material that does absolutely nothing to cover her backside. Those rounded cheeks are out there, begging to be stared at.
What would it be like to sink my teeth into that juicy peach of an ass?
This time, my cock doesn’t just stir with interest, it stiffens right up like a bird dog spotting fresh quarry. I’m so damn hard that I could easily punch a hole through the wall.
As much as I know I should look away, I can’t bring myself to do it.
Are you kidding me?
Of course I can’t.
I’m barely breathing at this point.
My eyes slide back up her body before settling on her breasts. They’re fucking perfect. I’ve seen her in a bikini but certainly nothing this skimpy. The lace of her bra is damn near see through.
Scratch that—I can definitely see the rosy hue of her nipples poking through the material.
I don’t realize that I’ve risen to my feet until I take a step in her direction. That’s when I force myself to stop.
Exactly what the hell am I going to do?
Touch her?
My breathing turns ragged as she reaches around and unsnaps the undergarment. The silky straps slide in slow motion down her arms before the cups fall away from her chest. From this angle, I’m just able to make out the curve of one pink-tipped breast.
A groan rumbles up from deep in my chest as I clench my hand until the knuckles turn bone white.
She’s more than a handful. Even for someone like me who has large hands. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to cup her titties and feel the soft, warm flesh against my palms.
As soon as the material drops to the carpet, she lifts her arms overhead, arches her spine, and stretches. There’s nothing seductive or sly about the movement. She’s not attempting to be sexy.
She just is.
Unaware of my intense perusal, she stumbles to her dresser and yanks out a drawer before digging through the contents until she finds a hot pink tank top and yanks it over her head, pulling it down to cover her breasts. It’s so damn tempting to rip the flimsy material off her body so that she’s wearing nothing more than the thong.
Fuck.
Instead of doing exactly that, I drag a rough hand through my hair.
When was the last time I was this worked up?
Have Ieverbeen this turned on?
Doubtful.
I blink when she picks up a brush from the top of the dresser and yanks it through her hair. I can’t help but wince as it makes a ripping sound. Before I realize my intention, I pluck it from her fingers and steer her toward the desk chair.
