His tongue slides against mine in a slow caress, his hands rucking up my skirt until it’s gathered at my waist with decidedly more urgency. He groans when his palms slide across the lace on my thighs, hovering there only for a moment before moving higher to hook his fingers into the elastic of my underwear. “Sometimes I pretend you’re not wearing these under your skirt,” he says huskily, still nipping at my lower lip as he begins to inch them down. “I pretend that you’re always ready for me. That at any moment I could have you just like this. Fill your soft, wet cunt anytime I like.” My thighs
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