“Seriously, Rhiannon?”
I laugh, the sound light and victorious, pleased that I’ve managed to deflect his attention and stall his advances—even if every fiber of me wants to give into them.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to stand and try to pull the skirt as high as I can get it without zipping it all the way. I’ll turn around then I need you to try backing the zipper straight out of the grooves without tearing the fabric of my thong,” I instruct, my tone pure business now. “If you can get the angle of the fabric right, it should naturally untangle. I just can’treach it from here without stripping the whole thing off, and I’m not giving youthatkind of show.”
“Why not?”
I playfully smack his hand away as he wets his lips and stands, waiting for me to move into position.
“Turn around,” I tell him once he’s standing up.
“Why? I’ve already seen you naked plenty of times.”
“Twice is notplenty of times.”
“Once would be once, and anything more than one time is plenty of times, but not hardly enough if we’re being honest.”
“Your logic is ridiculous. Turn around.”
“You’ve never been self-conscious with me.”
“Cain...”
He sighs. “Would it help if I showed you mine? I’m not wearing a thong today, but I can let you see the briefs I have on. Maybe you’d like to add them to your collection.”
“No!”
He laughs and puts up his hands in surrender, his green eyes softer now. “Okay, okay. Fine.”
He spins around and folds his arms over his chest as I hop off the toilet, yank the skirt as high as it can go and tug hard on the zipper. It hardly budges from its place rooted within my silk underwear but it’s enough that my front is now somewhat covered, though the top half of my ass crack is still exposed to the warm, bathroom air.
“Okay, you can turn around now.”
He turns, a big grin on his face as he steps forward.
“I could see you in the mirror the whole time.”
“Shut up.”
He laughs and shakes his head then his hands find my hips, spinning me around until he can access the stuck zipper.
I can’t see his face, so I have no way of telling whether he’s looking at my bare ass or the zipper at this point, so I close my eyes and try my best not to think about the way his fingertips are digging into my skin.
“Bend over and brace yourself on the toilet seat,” he says, in a voice far too deep and sexual for what we’re doing.
I do as he instructed, putting down the seat cover and attempting to steady myself. His hands are warm and gentle as he slowly works to back it out of each groove out, careful not to rip the delicate silk.
My breathing becomes slower as I feel his hot breath on my neck while he works and then refocus on his hands that are now brushing against the bare skin that’s been exposed on my hip.
The fabric suddenly loosens, and I know he got the zipper all the way out.
“Got it,” he says softly.
My whole ass is out now, and he’s frozen behind me, still holding the loosened silk thong between his fingers. The thin strip of fabric is stretched from his grip to my body, pulled tight up my crack and pressed right against my clit and the wet ache of my pussy.
I’m so turned on I can’t think straight. If I so much as press my thighs together, even a little, I know I’ll come right here in the middle of his bathroom.
Then I feel it—a faint tremor running through his hand.
