Lana moved against him. Her hips rolled in a teasing circle.
Dante felt the hot heat of her pussy through his pants. The thin fabric did nothing to hide her warmth.
Each grind woke a deep, primal hunger inside him.
"Still playing statue?" she whispered. Her voice was a low, dangerous purr.
She leaned back, a predator's smirk on her lips. "You can pretend all you want. But I can feel how hard you are for me."
Her hand slipped down. Her fingers slid under his waistband.
They wrapped around his dick.
Her grip was tight and knowing.
She stroked him slowly, watching his face. His jaw tightened. His breath caught.
"Mmm," she hummed, her stroke becoming firmer. "So thick. So hard. Just like I picturized. Perfect."
She pulled her hand away and stood up. Her eyes never left his. Her fingers went to the clasp of her skirt.
It fell to the ground with a soft sound. She wore nothing under it.
Dante froze. The air stuck in his lungs.
