He had already set his eyes on her but wasn't daring enough to act on them from the first day itself.
He found himself hopelessly lost in the sway of her narrow hips, his gaze drawn again and again to the fullness of her curves. Every time his eyes lingered, a hungry thought followed—that maddening wish to see the true shape of her ass underneath the veil of fabric, to know just how generous her ass and curves truly were.
What followed was a gradual erosion of boundaries, justified by the fiction of care and hospitality but driven by desires that Emmanuelle had thought safely buried.
As usual, his pervert mind was at work as her hands moved over him, feeling the delicate and intimate touch.
She helped him into the bath, her hands lingering longer than necessary as she assisted with washing, her touch growing bolder as the evening progressed.
Jaenor smirked, watching her.
