Ian

I watched from my seat as Summer walked up to the podium in the Charlotte Art Museum, fidgeting with her dress. What a dress it was, too. Long, deep burgundy, and a slip-satin that hugged her hips and waist. The neckline swept low, peeking at the swell of her breasts. The tone complimented her skin, especially when she blushed, and it was really damn difficult watching her move in that thing when all I could think about was getting it off her.

She placed a hand to ...