“I can’t stay mad at you when you look at me like that,” she says, speaking around my thumb, a furious blush creeping up her neck. “It isn’t fair.” “When I look at you like what?” I muse, the hand on her thigh traveling until it reaches the soft silken heat at its apex, my knuckles ghosting against her clit. No panties, even in fucking Boston. Carmen’s going to lose her shit.
