TREY
"T-Trey..." The word stutters out from her lips as she tries to pull back, looking up at me like I'm a storm she can't outrun.
I don’t waste my breath replying with words. All I do is what I do best.
I stare.
And sure enough, it takes three agonizing seconds before her resistance breaks. With a soft, shuddering breath, her hands drop to the waistband of her underwear.
Watching her sluggishly shimmy the wet fabric down her pale thighs is a special kind of torture. My jeans are straining so violently against my c**k it’s a physical ache, and my blood’s roaring like a freight train in my ears. But I stay still. I force myself to sit back and watch every f*****g second of her unraveling.
She kicks the balled-up cotton off her ankles and reaches down to toss it to the side of the tab
