"Hmmmmm..." The kiss deepened with an intensity that made the air around them vanish.
Sasha was lost in the pull of Ross Oakley—his lips, his scent, the confidence that clung to him like a second skin.
His hands finally went wild, slipping from the elegant curve of her waist down to her hips, and then lower, boldly cupping the soft swell of her ass like he owned it.
She gasped into his mouth, but didn't pull away.
Then his long middle finger pressed upward, applying slow, calculated pressure against the thin fabric of her dress—right between her legs.
It wasn't enough to breach anything, but it was more than enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure racing through her cunt.
She tensed, heat flooding her body like wildfire. Her knees weakened. Her breath hitched.
"Ahhh… stop," she gasped, finally breaking the kiss.
Her hand pressed firmly to his chest, fingers splayed over the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.
