I grab her chair, angling her my way and tipping her head back until she’s forced to look at me. I trace my thumb—the same one that traced her clit last night—over her supple bottom lip. Her breath catches as she stares up at me with wide, curious eyes. “No, Rory. I didn’t say your name because I knew you were watching.” She sucks in a breath. “I said your name because it was you I was thinking of long before you came out of your room.” I pinch the jersey between the fingers of my free hand. “Just like it was you I thought of the last time I stroked my cock, imagining you in nothing but this.”
