I raise my arms with effort, and he peels the fabric up and away, revealing the swell of my breasts in a lacy black bra, heavy and full, the n*****s tightening. He reaches behind me and in a single practiced motion, he unhooks my bra. It falls to the floor, and there I am, half-naked in front of him.
He kneels to ease down my jeans, his fingers hooking into the waistband and drawing them downward with deliberate care. He moves the fabric over my hips and thighs while his palms smooth along my legs to keep the motion gentle. He glances up at me from the floor.
“Zara? Can I take your underwear off?”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak. Gently, so carefully, he reaches out and slides the black scrap of lace down my legs. My p***y comes into view, the soft folds glistening faintly from the
