Wren

Goosebumps prickle my skin at the words, and the way they roll off his lips.

My stomach tightens as I plant the flat side of my shoes on his shoulders.

He slips a hand under my dress, touching the bare skin of my ass.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, pinning me with his darkened stare. “You’re not wearing panties.”

My throat thickens. “I c-couldn’t. The material is thin and—”

“Trust me honey, I’m not complaining. Hold your dress up,” he murmurs. “Shiitt.”

Shaky ...