Andrew
Those curves.
Not the ones of her hips or breasts. I’d hardly gotten a look at the school counselor’s figure, but she seemed pretty thin beneath the sweater and jeans. No, it was the curves of her lips. They were the perfect Cupid’s bow, slanting down in a delicious, inviting way.
Who got to kiss those lips at night?
Without warning, jealousy seared through me. Damn the man I’d never even met. Or woman. Maybe Miss Jacobs was gay. How the hell could I know?
But at least she wasn’t married. I’d already clocked the bare wedding band finger.
Damn, though, the things those lips could do. I could tell just from looking that she was a great kisser. More than that, probably. It was always the reserved, prim women who were the most passionate in bed.
“Mr. Marx, who lives at the home?”
