Chapter Thirteen
When Max arrived home, Diandra was waiting for him there.
“You’ve been a little slut tonight,” he observed. Her skirt barely covered her tight twin buns, and the deep cut of her lycra top revealed the way her bra beneath pushed her breasts into a risqué cleavage, she could have easily bent down and kissed them with her own lips.
Her droopy eyelids batted at him blushingly.
“What little crimes did you decide to commit tonight?”
“Oh, Max, I hadn’t planned it, it just happened,” there was almost a whimper in her trembling voice.
“But that’s what you’ve been trying not to do.”
“I know.”
She looked very apologetic and terribly desirable—a combination of traits she’d practiced well—just to lure him into bed.
He reached out, taking her chin firmly in his fingers and lift
