“I can be oh, so gentle,” I breathed.
Birdee shivered at my words. “How gentle?”
“So. Gentle.”
She leaned backward. “Take your shirt off.”
I did her one better.
I took my shirt and my jacket off, leaving me bare chested on the couch.
Her eyes took in every inch of me, from the breadth of my shoulders to the smattering of hair that led down to my cock.
“Oh,” she breathed, her hand attached to her good arm sifting through the hair on my chest. “You’re very…well defined.”
I snorted. “I had plenty of time to work out while in prison.”
She smirked. “Well, I can’t say that it isn’t appreciated.”
She slowly started to undo the buttons of her shirt with one hand, and I stayed there, frozen, as I watched her struggle.
“You could help,” she pointed out.
I licked my lips. “I can.”
She giggled as she reached for my hand and guided it to her shirt.
I struggled with the tiny ass buttons, slipping them out of their holes one exaggeratedly slow minute at a time.
“Stupid fucking buttons,” I muttered. “Why are they so small?”
She started to giggle uncontrollably, which only made the tiny enclosures even harder to work with.
I got the fourth one and her shirt gaped open, baring her naked chest.
“You’re not wearing a bra,” I pointed out lamely.
So smooth, dumbass.
“I, uh, don’t really have big breasts, Creed. What would be the point of wearing a bra, especially when I’m supposed to be limiting movement, when the bra itself won’t even be doing anything?” she questioned.
The reminder of her ailment had me freezing with my hands on the fifth button.
“Come on,” she urged. “You said you could be gentle, remember?”
I had said that.
But…
She pushed my hand away and did the rest herself, one-handed, in half the time it’d taken me to do four.
I watched, my mouth dry as the Sahara, as she slipped every button free and allowed the shirt to fall off her shoulders.
She was right.
She was on the smaller side.
But they were the perfect handful…
