“Do you have any particular attachment to these?” he asked as he fiddled with my panties. My mouth went dry at the implication in his words, but I managed to shake my head. He bent his head, blocking my view, and then I heard the sharp snap of rending fabric. Cool air rushed against the warm wetness between my legs, and I swallowed a gasp as I felt the ruined lace flutter against my thigh. He’d ripped my panties off me—with his teeth. Thank God I couldn’t have his babies, because I was pretty sure my ovaries had just exploded.
