The way her lower back met the swell of her ass was poetry in motion. The fabric stretched in the kind of way that screamed accidental intimacy. Like I was seeing something forbidden, and she didn't even know she was holding me hostage with it.
She stood there. Casual. Chill. Completely unaware she was setting fire to whatever purity I had left.
Jesus Christ. I'm going to hell. But if this is the preview... I might go smiling.
The system was absolutely right to flag this woman; it practically screamed at me the second I laid eyes on her thighs. Thick. Smooth. Mrs. Rodriguez was practically sculpted for sin—those thick thighs, that tight waist, the kind of body that made men's marriages wobble.
