Mira's face burned an even deeper crimson, the flush spreading down her neck and across the tops of her still-exposed breasts.
Her hands flew up instinctively, palms cupping the heavy swells as though that small gesture could erase the evidence of her arousal—the stiff, dark nipples pebbled tight against her skin, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her thighs clamped together so hard the muscles trembled.
A thin sheen of sweat glistened between her cleavage, catching the firelight like liquid gold.
"S-Shut up!" she hissed, but the words came out fractured, breathless, more plea than command. Her voice cracked on the last syllable, betraying her.
I let out a low, dark chuckle that rumbled from my chest. The sound seemed to vibrate through the small space between us, making her flinch.
