Jasmine.
He suddenly hooked his fingers into the waistband of my shorts and yanked hard, denim scraping down my thighs in one rough pull.
I scrambled for purchase, palms slapping the table, then his shoulders, nails digging into muscle as the fabric caught on my knees before he ripped it free and tossed it aside.
Cool air kissed my soaked skin; my panty—thin black lace—was plastered to my folds, the crotch dark and clinging.
Finn’s hands clamped my hips, dragging me forward until my ass perched on the table’s edge, legs dangling, p***y thrust toward his face.
He didn’t ask.
He gripped the lace between thumb and forefinger and twisted, bunching it into a cruel, thin rope that dug deep between my lips, the seam grinding hard over my swollen clit.
“Oh… f**k…” I cried, back bowing,
