“What’s that?” my voice had been gruff, my index finger pointed to the thin cloth clinging all over her.
“It’s a nightgown, baby.”
Standing, I’d walked right up to her, stopping only when her hot pointy nipples struck my tensed midriff, “That ain’t no fuckin’ nightgown. Nightgowns are flannel, and high necked, and hideous.” I slid my fingers into the rich satin, feeling her warmth through the material, a decadent delirium to fuck her in every goddamn way possible making me shake. The neckline plunged down her cleavage, her tits were hung under gathers, slung over her shoulders were the most pathetic excuses for straps I hadn’t been able to resist hooking a finger under one of them, desperate to tug it free. “Shit,” I’d whispered.
Stepping back, I’d motioned with my hand, “Turn.”
She hadn’t turned, of-fuckin-course-not. Bella had swiveled her hips and smoothed her hands and shook her ass and tilted her head back to me and angled her insanely hot body so that I had the most unbelievable view of her tit peeking from the gaping side of the ‘nightgown,’—the bottom contour of her breast lifting up in a soft fleshy weight with only her puckered nipple hidden.
The indent of her waist, the swell of her hips, the sweetest Christly ass dimples and all her gorgeous back bared right down to the top of her bum.
My hands slid into the side of her dress as it slither-whispered around her feet, my lips had wet her shoulders, her spine, the nape of her neck, “Yeah, this ain’t no nightgown.”
Smirking, my sensual goddess, the sexy smart ass, had placed her hands on my chest and looked down at the enormous erection aimed at her, “Well, I ‘spose Bubba might call it a peignoir, what with his Babs Cartland fetish.” The slinky minx had walked to the single square 4 x 4 window of my bedroom, probably on purpose, because just then that fat fucker of an ebullient moon chose to break through summer night cloud cover and illuminate every friggin’ inch of her porcelain skin. “You know, I was flipping through Fire in the Blood in the bathroom, and it ain’t half bad.”
I hadn’t heard a word she’d said. She was too far away, all of three feet from me, “Get back over here.”
Negating me, she’d made out, “Not so fast, Buster, I put this on so we could talk.”
