Her sweater was the same red her gown had been this morning. It tried to be loose around her, but her breasts pushed out against it in rebellion, turning what should have been a boring outfit into something devilishly provocative. I’d seen those breasts, and now not being able to see them was like an itch I couldn’t reach.
I could go in there right now, lift her up on that counter, and murder that poor tortured sweater by ripping it in two. — James, Delicious
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