Imogene Scott
Damien shrugs out of his jacket and let it drop on the floor. Half my dress falls from my torso, revealing my breast. I stand there, completely unashamed and honest in my need for him.
He reaches around my back for the zipper, then finds and lowers it.
He pushes the dress down, and I let it slip down my legs, leaving me in nothing but a tiny red thong. He hisses, then pushes me back gently until I’m sitting on the soft, bouncy mattress. He hooks his fingers on the tiny waist string on my thong and pulls it down. Once I’m stripped of everything except my heels, his warm, large hands on my knees keep me spread wantonly.
“You’re dripping,” he grates out.
“Looks like you might be, too.” I try to say it playfully, but it’s difficult to act carefree when you’re so turned on y
