MONICA
Tony led me inside, his hand brushing the doorframe as he politely gestured for me to enter first. My eyes weren’t on the room though — not on the neat living room or the books stacked perfectly on the shelf. No. My eyes trailed lower, tracing the outline of his trousers, my mouth watering as I remembered what I had seen in the bathroom that day. That thick, impossible length that haunted me every night since.
“Would you like some water?” he asked, his voice as calm and nerdy as always.
“Yes… water’s fine,” I managed, my voice coming out huskier than I meant.
He handed me a glass, his fingers brushing mine lightly, but all I could think about was how close they were to unzipping his pants. I took a sip, trying to look composed, but inside, my body was burning. My p***y throb
