Then, without warning, he grabbed my waistband and ripped.
The button snapped. The zipper popped. I gasped. “Troy! f**k—those were my favorite jeans.”
“I f*****g hate your jeans,” he growled, voice wrecked and thick with lust. “You should never wear anything but silk. Or better—nothing at all.” He yanked the ruined denim down and froze, his gaze snapping to my lace panties. “Goddess. You little minx.”
I smirked. “Thought maybe you didn’t get a good look at them last night.”
His fingers trembled against my thighs as he finished stripping me. When I stepped out of them, I spread my legs slightly—just enough. His jaw clenched. His restraint was slipping.
“You haunting me wasn’t enough? You had to go and wear the matching set, didn’t you? I assume the bra’s got that ridiculous little flow
