“I’m not even naked,” she tells me with an astonished expression on her flushed face. “I’ve never come like that before, and I’m not even naked.”
I lock away the surge of pride I feel at that, hoping it isn’t visible on my face. “Then let’s fix that,” I push up and straddle her hips. “Let’s get you naked.”
With two fists full of her flimsy blouse, I pull my hands apart, and the material makes a satisfying ripping sound as it separates. What it reveals is nothing short of a shock.
“A black sheer bra?” I ask. “What a slutty choice for a vicar’s daughter.”
Her forehead creases. “You know my dad’s a vicar?”
“I do my due diligence about my biggest competition. But let’s not get distracted. Let’s talk more about your underwear. It’s see-through. Cassie, I can see your nipples.”
At her side, her arms twitch as if she was about to cover up her fucking perfect breasts. I love that she stops herself and that she pouts at me before she speaks. “What’s wrong with me enjoying sexy underwear?”
“Nothing,” I say, running my finger along the top seam of each cup. “Nothing at all. But the question I really want you to answer is, do your panties match?”
“Myknickers,” she says with emphasis. “Well, you’re going to have to find out for yourself, aren’t you?”
Another little fizz of surprise and delight bubbles up inside me. She’s meeting me where I’m at. She’s pushing back. She’s matching my snark and my attitude and,fan, this could be so addictive.
I move off her hips and kneel by the side of her body. Checking her eyes are on me, I slowly undo each button on the fly of her jeans. When she starts to wriggle and rock her pelvis up into my hand, I know I’m going too slow for her liking. Frankly, I’m going slower than I like, but driving her a little bit wild is going to be so worth me having to find patience for once in my life.
After the last button is popped open, I grab hold of the jeans’ waistband and pull. They don’t go very far.
“Lift your hips up, pretty girl,” I tell Cassie, and she obeys. This time when I pull, they slide down her slim, milky-white thighs that I’m only momentarily fascinated by because I also discover that her panties, her fuckingknickers, do indeed match the bra. More sheer black nylon that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
“You shave!” I exclaim, and it is an exclamation. Never in a million years would I have assumed that Cassie Everard shaves her pretty English rose pussy.
“Iwax,” she says with an adorable blush that I just know she’s very embarrassed by. “I live in LA most of the year, you know. If you’re not waxing here, they practically send out faxes to tell everyone.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you pluck out each individual hair.” I pull her jeans all the way off her body with another rough tug. “This is the hottest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen.”
This time, she can’t control her silly little instincts. Her hands come to cover her underwear, and I go into full attack mode, pulling them away and pinning them by the side of her body. I kneel between Cassie’s open legs and take my time looking at her. All of her.
“What are you doing?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbows.
“Looking at you,” I say, my eyes back on her cunt.
“W-why?”
This reluctantly pulls my gaze back to her.
“For the same reason everyone looks at you. You’re beautiful.”
A shy laugh tumbles out of her mouth. “But not everybody looks at … that part of me like that.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Has anybody?”
A deep red blush fills her cheeks. “No.”
“Vilka jävla idioter,” I curse in Swedish, my eyes back on her pussy.
“What did you say?”
“I called all the men you’ve ever slept with fucking idiots. Because they are. If they didn’t even bother to look at this part of you, then you were wasted on them. They didn’t deserve you.”
“And you do?” It’s a pointed question delivered with an equally pointed lift of her voice. I’m both proud and pleased when I look up and see her defiant little lifted chin.
“I’ll let you decide,” I say with just as much of a teasing tone. “Give me an hour with this English rose pussy and then you tell me if I deserve you.”
