Page 54 of Secret Obsession
I stalk back to the bedroom. To my pants, neatly folded on top of her chair of forgotten clothes, and yank them on. At the last second, I find her panties and clean my dick with them. A mix of her arousal and my cum soaks through the thin, sheer fabric.
A present for her to find later.
Jeans buttoned. I grab my shirt and almost,almostput it on. Instead, I grip it harder and stride back to where I left her.
She seems frozen and unsure, andfuck, naked and timid Willow is just as big of a turn-on as the fearless wildling that parties too hard and puts on an excellent bravado.
The thing is, neither of them are the real her.
I guide her arms through my shirt, then her head. While I have her limp, I undo the remaining ribbon from her wrist and slip it in my pocket. Fuck that corset—she’ll wear it in my bedroom and nowhere else.
What I should’ve done was find her panties, or sweats, or something… but my shirt hangs down to mid-thigh on her, and my dick twitches at the sight.
Again.
I mean, I kind of blue-balled myselfandher just now…
“What are you doing?”
I don’t know.
I ignore her question and go back to her room. This time, she follows. I rifle through her drawers and hold up a mess of hot-pink lace.
“What is this?”
She chokes.
I face her, my brows furrowing. “Why is it all… what is it?”
Her face turns red. “Um… crotchless panties?”
“What?”
“They were a gag gift. You know…” She shrugs. “For easy access.”
I’m intrigued. I stuff them back in the drawer, resolved to revisit that idea later. She has a shit ton of thongs, which would display the bruise on her ass nicely. See, thinking aboutthathas my mind slipping back toward fucking her senseless.
But then I register thegiftpart of her statement.
“Who the fuck is giving you panties?”
She laughs.
Laughs.
“Pretty sure it was Thalia.”
My brows furrow automatically.
Her smile drops. “Aspen’s roommate? You’ve met her on more than one occasion…”
Right. “Sure.” I snag a black pair that look like normal underwear and toss them at her. No bruised ass on display or piece of string wedged up her ass.
“These are my period undies,” she mutters. “Can I—” She steps up next to me and hooks her finger around a neon-green string thong. Like, there’s a minuscule triangle of fabric, but—that’s it.
“Why would you wear that?”
“To make you uncomfortable,” she replies. “Is it working?”
