Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Sounds like a good deal to me.
“Matteo,” Azra calls out, voice strained. “Can you come here… please?”
I grin as if she hasn’t shot down every offer I’ve made to fasten the zippers. I picked them specifically because she shouldn’t be able to reach the fasteners.
She must have extremely long arms, because in the past two hours, she hasn’t called me once to assist.
“What’s wrong? Need my special help?”
“Just get in here,” she snaps, doubling my grin.
I push the curtain aside and step inside. Azra stands in the back of the oversized changing room, face red with embarrassment. Dress ten is stuck around her stomach, hiding her hourglass figure with a racy red material. No matter how much she tugs, it won’t go up or down.
She looks like a very furious, very trapped caterpillar.
“How did you even get it on?”
“Don’t,” she warns, glaring at me. “Just help me.”
“I’ll get the shop assistant.”
“No!” she blurts, eyes wide. “Please don’t. I’m embarrassed enough.”
“Of what? Looking hot as fuck in mismatched panties and bra?” I step closer. “Are they printed cotton panties?” I bite the edge of my palm to muffle my moan. “Fuck me, micina. There’s something wickedly hot about cotton panties, especially when they’re dirty—”
“Matteo!” she cuts in, her breathing quiet and desperate, like my filthy words shadowed the front of said panties. “Please… get it off. I don’t care how.”
I almost shake my head, the visual too enticing to disrupt, but the fact that she trusts me enough to ask for help stops me. She could have called in the store clerk, who’s been eye-fucking me from afar since we arrived, and I would have missed the opportunity to confirm that her body is as rocking as my deviant head has conjured multiple times over the past twenty-four hours.
Fuck me, she’s gorgeous.
“Okay.” I step behind her. “Hold still.”
She does.
For once.
I dig through the fabric, seeking the zipper. It’s nowhere to be found.
“Where the fuck is the zipper?”
Azra groans. “It’s in the front.” She waits for me to face her before admitting, “I’ve been zipping the dresses in the front and then twisting them around.” When I smile, she throws her fist into my stomach. “It was no easy feat. Every dress you’ve picked is skintight.”
“As it should be,” I murmur, eyeing the material bunched under her tits.
Even after I bust the zipper, the dress refuses to budge. It clings to her as if it has a personal vendetta to make her pay.
Azra mutters under her breath, “This is humiliating.”
“Could be worse.”
“How?”
“I could have made out the dresses you picked were hot and acted clueless when Antonio screwed his nose up at them.”
Again, she groans. “True. I guess.”
Under her watchful gaze, I keep working the fabric inch by inch, trying not to laugh at how utterly done she looks.
I ease the fabric upward without yanking, striving for several long minutes not to tear anything—including her pride—before realizing my stupidity.
“There ain’t no way this will get over your tits without ripping them off, so I say we go down your hips.”
Without waiting for her to respond, I drop to my knees and coerce the fabric down her sweltering body.
Not gonna lie, the view is fantastic. And the smell… ah.
It could only be better if I pierced my nose between the folds of her pussy.
“Matteo…” Azra’s voice sounds different. Strained.
“Yeah?”
She shifts her weight, her limbs suddenly heavy. “Is it moving?”
That isn’t what she wanted to ask, but since it was the safe option, she ran with it.
“I think so.”
“Good. Keep going.”
I obey, because what good boy doesn’t?
Slowly, methodically so, the dress inches toward the area of her body growing more fragrant with each second that passes. Azra’s tiny, so naturally, the backs of my fingers brush past the cotton material clinging to her pussy as readily as the first coat of paint to canvas.
Azra moans before covering it with a sigh. “I swear, if this thing survives, I’m burning it in this very dressing room.”
“Pretty sure that’s illegal. The price tag alone could make it a federal crime.”
She lowers her eyes to me, cheeks flushed. “Then I’ll bury it in the scarf bin.”
“Also questionable.”
“Matteo.”
“I’m just saying we should burn down the entire store. That would be a much more satisfying result.”
I tug again, fingers brushing firm enough for her shudder to conceal her breathy moan.
Azra has wit by the bucketful, but it disappears when her libido is raging.
“Why did you remove my panties?”
I glide my eyes up her body, momentarily pausing on the garment she’s discussing.
They’re still very much in place—regrettably.
I learn I have the situation wrong when she murmurs to herself, “Why remove them if you had no intention of… going down on me?” She shrugs like her last four words didn’t scorch her throat. Sometimes she’s so fucking innocent it’s cute. “You could have a fascination for collecting panties, but it seemed like more than that.”