I pulled on yesterday's pants and tried not to think about how the fabric stuck to my skin. Shower sex didn't happen, thank god, because Mera was still walking like she'd gone three rounds with a professional fighter. Which, considering what my dick did to her virgin pussy last night, wasn't far off.
My shirt smelled like her perfume and sex and sweat. Perfect.
I grabbed my phone off her desk. Eleven missed calls from Marco. Two texts asking if I was alive. One from my father that I deleted without reading.
"You look good in my shirt."
Mera sat on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a towel, black hair dripping water onto her shoulders. The towel barely covered her tits. Red skin flushed darker across her cheeks and throat.
Stop staring.
You just spent an hour with your hands all over her in the shower.
You need to leave before you bend her over the desk.
"Your shirt's on the floor covered in come and pizza grease."
"Romantic."
"I try."
