“Don’t pretend to sleep, bunny,” I whisper. She tenses and tries to fake a heavy sleep as my hand reaches the waistband of her pants and travels to the front of her slacks. I unbutton them and lower the zipper. I reach into the newly splayed fabric, rubbing the soft skin of her lower stomach and the soft hairs of her pelvis. “There’s no way you don’t feel this,” I say in a hushed tone as I tug her pants down. “Being asleep doesn’t make it any less wrong, you know? Pretending to be asleep doesn’t make it any less sinful.”
