"Why the hell are you still clothed?"
Lyralei smirked, her eyes dragging down the length of his body without a shred of shame. Every scar, every line of muscle, the way his c**k stood rock hard—she took it all in like she was committing him to memory.
Gerald stood proudly, opening his arms in invitation. The smirk on his face said like what you see?
She walked toward him slowly, each step deliberate, her gaze never leaving his. When she reached him, she stood close enough that his c**k pressed against her through the fabric of her dress, the heat of it burning even through the layers between them.
Her hand wrapped around his length, fingers closing firmly as she watched his face. Every micro-expression—the slight widening of his eyes, the way his jaw tightened, the sharp intake of brea
