Darrell
I watched her fingers hook under the waistband of her panties, the black lace catching briefly on her hips before she tugged them down slowly, almost reluctant, but not stopping. She lifted her hips just enough to slide them past her thighs, letting them drop to the floor in a soft heap. The air in the office felt thicker now, charged, like the moment before a storm breaks.
Her skirt was already bunched at her waist. She hesitated again, her eyes flicking to mine, searching for mercy she knew wasn’t coming, then hooked her knees over the arms of the chair. The motion spread her wide, open, and vulnerable. Her p***y glistened under the fluorescent light, lips swollen and slick, c**t peeking out like it was begging for attention she hadn’t yet allowed herself to give.
Fuck. My c**
