The dress he picked out was too short.
Too tight.
Too f*****g dangerous.
It clung to my curves like a second skin, the hem brushing my upper thighs, barely covering the mess he left dripping between them.
And I wasn’t allowed to wear panties.
I sat in the passenger seat of his car, legs pressed together, heart pounding as we pulled up to the rooftop café. It was classy. Public. Bright daylight. Normal people.
Meanwhile, my p***y was still pulsing from being stretched and stuffed all night long.
“Keep your legs open under the table,” he said as he parked.
I swallowed hard. “People will see—”
“That’s the point.”
He walked ahead like he owned the damn place, hand on the small of my back as we were seated near the edge—private, but not too private. Anyone could walk by.
The second w
