Stifling a sob, Anna took up the soft, elegant, cloth napkin from the table and wiped her lips nervously. She placed it down and, after casting a troubled look at Vincent, seized the hem of her tight, knit sweater. She took a deep breath and began to pull it upwards. It rose over her breasts, up over her face and then over her head. When it was clear of her long, flowing, black hair, she dropped it to the floor next to her chair.
Anna had firm, ample breasts, not showgirl sized, but more than enough for a handful. She had worn a white bra that covered her n*****s and areolas. There was a pattern of fine lace etched on the filled cups and a trace of lace along the tops. Her stomach tightened and soured as she reached behind her to loosen the hook that connected the straps. As she did, she
