She was wet. I could sense it, I could smell her wet pussy—feel the sudden rush of slick coating her folds, the way her inner walls clenched again, aching for something to fill them.
"I grew up in Orange County," she started, voice unsteady. Her fingers dug into my thigh now, nails biting through the wool like she needed the anchor. "Wealthy family. All the expectations. Law school at USC—fuck—" She broke off, eyes fluttering.
"How does touching you feel like that?"
This woman~
She did not play innocent and asked the anomaly she was feeling.
I smiled—slow, predatory—and let my hand slide to the back of her neck. My fingers tangled gently in her hair, thumb brushing the sensitive skin just below her ear.
She moaned—quiet, surprised, almost embarrassed by her own reaction.
"Like what?" I asked, innocent, knowing exactly what she meant.
