“Stop,” she said and held out her palm, fingers pointed upwards. “You might as well take it all off now that I can still have a good look at it.” The light falling through the window caught in her red curls and created a halo effect behind her head. For a minute, I felt as if I was about to strip for a disillusioned angel.
I brought my hands to my back to unclasp my bra and let it slide off me. It fell to the ground with a soft, dry thud. I hoped my neighbour wouldn’t suddenly decide to cook a three-course meal in his kitchen.
The woman cocked her eyebrows up. “And?” Her voice dipped a little lower, to that sultry register from which no one can hide.
I flipped open the button of my jeans and ignored how my brain was trying to catch up with how my body was behaving. It wasn’t every day that I slowly undressed for a stranger in my living room. Goosebumps spread over the plains of my skin and my nipples creased into hard peaks as I lowered the zipper of my trousers. I always wore matching underwear—as if always prepared for this sort of behaviour.
Out of nowhere, her hand pulled me closer by the waistband of my panties and one of her red-nailed fingers slipped inside, not deep, just browsing the edge of my pubic hair, but enough to jolt my clit into a quick, pulsing action.
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