"It seems someone is going to catch a cold tonight," she said cryptically, her eyes flickering toward the door again.
She reached for the hem of her top and pulled the fabric up in one smooth motion, causing two huge, heavy bags of flesh to bounce free into the open air. No matter how many times Oliver had seen her jugs, he was still amazed by how lewd they were—pale, heavy, and tipped with perfect, puffy nipples that stuck outward in a vulgar, demanding manner.
"Damn," Oliver breathed, his eyes glued to her chest. "It looks more amazing every time I see it."
Isolde didn't stop there. She tossed her top aside and reached for the waistband of her sweatpants. She shimmied her hips, pushing the fabric down over her wide, doughy hips. The pants slid down over her thighs, revealing a pair of sheer black panties that struggled to contain her curves. She kicked the pajamas away, leaving her standing in just the black fabric that cut deeply into her hips.
