“Yes, you’re telling me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind? Or yes, you’re admitting that if I slid my hand up your dress and dipped my fingers between your legs right now, I’d feel just how drenched you are for me?” “That,” she stutters. “That one. Yes.” “Mmm.” Grasping her thigh, I lean back and holler “you’ve got five minutes” to the bartender.
