“You grew up nice, Wick,” Jamie said, taking a step back. Her hand drifted down his chest to the top of his jeans. Eyes wide with delight, she dangled her fingers by his zipper. With tantalizing deliberateness, she touched the fabric that strained across his throbbing member.
“You keep that up, I can’t be held responsible…” he whispered.
“You keep that up, I can’t be, either,” she replied.
“I really wanna kiss you, Jamie.”
“On the bike,” she suggested. “I get paid a percentage of what they bring in.”
© 2016 Dellani Oakes