Her panty-less pussy kept getting wet every time she thought of him having his way with her. Tonight, she would completely give in, and let him do an...thing to her, she thought. ‘I’ll be his little fuck whore,’ she thought, ‘he can own me tonight.’ She felt her juice start to leak down her thigh, and then decided she better focus on work until she got off, or she would have an embarrassing wet spot on her dress that she would have to explain. Unknowns to her, Angie had seen that she came out. I can see your red hair"She wasn't wearing panties and she could feel the cold air through the opening of her jeans. Oh, so arousing.She started talking about her day, her voice broken from the excitement, and he could feel it. He then turned his chair to see her and give his full attention to her face. He put his left elbow on the table, holding his head with his left hand. He put his right hand on her shoulder."Turn toward me and keep your legs open."She hesitated a moment, but she really. He must just be able to see you, maybe even tell how wet you are. I sit across from him in an empty armchair. You turn and lock eyes with me, then move closer to him, beginning to dance for him, slowly. You turn again and he unzips your dress, letting it fall to the ground, and now you're just wearing lingerie. You dance some more, grinding your beautiful ass on him, then turning, running your hands over your breasts as you take them so close to his face; I can see your nipples through the. Vulnerability. Fear. Emotions I loath the most because they all stem from my family bullshit—my father’s bullshit. My mother raised me fearless, my father raised me fearful of everything, most of all him. ‘You asked who I was talking to at the restaurant in Rome. Who made me . . . act the way I did. It was my father.’ Leo doesn’t look at me, and I wonder if that’s more for my sake than his. If I focus on the mirror I can see my face, but I don’t look. He doesn’t press me further, and his.