She hadn’t shaved above her knees in days and things weren’t looking so hot. An immediate slowing of her heart rate accompanied her hands meeting fabric. The tights were still in place. He’d been a gentleman and she’d been a lady. Mostly. At least she remained clothed and the twin wooly mammoths, undiscovered. She should try to slide out the bed and take care of her sasquatchian predicament, but a massive, warm arm held her pinioned. Its owner had something else heavy and warm too. It bumped against her hip and she had to bite her lip to keep from wiggling against it. Lip biting was hard. So was he. Wiggling was easy. So was she. This was a lot more fun that staring at the painting across the room. “Mmmm, good morning to you, Dinah.” “Sorry, just stretching.” “Liar. Feeling okay? No hangover?” “I feel fine. Kinda.” “Good.” The hand that held her sunk lower until it reached her knee. He hoisted her leg up and over his. The next thing she felt was his hand warm against her exposed flesh.
What do You think about The Genie's Witch (Dirty Djinn)?
