“Why are you wearing clothes?” Because I’m the fool who thinks that we can forget about what happened last night. In reality, we can’t forget about it at all. His hand moves out from under my shirt, which makes me want to protest, but then, his dexterous fingers start unbuttoning my silk top. “This should not be on you,” he says as he makes his way up to the top. I don’t even think I can unbutton my shirt that fast yet, he does it with one hand. When he’s done, he parts the shirt open, exposing my breasts, and he cups one of them in his rough, calloused hand. I try to hold back, but I groan as
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