And yeah, maybe I wanted to impress her too.
Sue me again.
I watched her as she stretched lazily and sat up, retrieving the lacy scrap of fabric she dared call a thong. She held it between her fingers like it was nothing more than an afterthought—like she hadn’t worn it while moaning my name just an hour ago.
Too bad.
That wasn’t her thong anymore.
It was mine.
I reached out and plucked it from her hands before she could slide it back on, twirling it once around my finger and tucking it into my backpack with a smirk.
“Hey!” she laughed, cheeks flushing. “I was—”
“You were mine,” I cut her off smoothly. “And now this is mine too. A little souvenir. You don’t need it anyway.”
She rolled her eyes, but her face was red as a damn apple. That blush traveled down her neck when she pulled
