That dress showed off her lean and athletic physique, her long, toned legs, and her smooth, tanned complexion. I swallowed with a dry throat. Not only did I know she wasn’t wearing underwear, I could tell. That powder-white dress left little to the imagination, the thin material almost translucent against her sun-bronzed skin. At some point during the match I noticed that Adelaide had dozed off. Flicking off the TV, I gazed at her sidelong, allowing myself to openly stare at her, to drink in the sight of her. The golden lamplight played over her face, her bare shoulders and the perfect, gentle curve of her breasts. My breathing deepened and I felt my cock stir as my gaze raked over the shadow of her nipples, stiff and proud, pushing against the fabric. I wet my throat. At the party earlier tonight, my cock had strained against the zipper of my jeans at the mere sight of her.
