They’re just boobs.
I’ve seen them before.
Touched them before.
Lick-
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Come on, man.
I clear my throat and shift on the couch, trying to get comfortable. Or at least look comfortable.
Structured separation.
That’s the goal.
But wait, Dr Brett never actually said no sex right. I mean…
I grind my teeth and pretend to be fascinated by whatever I was watching before she came in.
She shifts again.
My eyes betray me instantly.
Jess reaches for another shirt, leaning forward just enough that the neckline dips.
I swallow.
This is deliberate. It has to be deliberate.
She knows exactly what she’s doing.
And the worst part?
It’s working.
My body doesn’t care about therapy. It definitely doesn’t care that she lied to me. All it seems to remember is how good she feels and smells.
Licking my lips, I try very hard not to stare at the little valley that forms between her breasts every time she bends to pick something up.
But I do anyway.
Finally, she folds the last of the clothes.
Oh, thank God.
I let out a slow, relieved breath as Jess carefully stacks everything back into the basket and stands.
She heads down the hall, probably to put it all away.
I rub a hand over my face.
Who knew laundry could be this… erotic?
Deciding it’s safer to retreat before she decides to start dusting the living room or something equally dangerous, I push myself off the couch and head toward the kitchen.
