Sophie walked toward him slow, hips swaying in those tight black trousers like she knew exactly what she was doing.
She did.
Every step made the fabric pull tighter across her thighs, across the curve of her ass.
Ryan stayed leaned back on the couch, eyes locked on her. She looked like sin and victory all at once – cheeks still flushed from the counter, top a little crooked from his hands, that bratty fire in her eyes now mixed with something hotter, something that said she was done pouting and ready to prove a point.
She stopped right in front of him, between his knees, close enough that he could smell the faint vanilla of her lotion and the heat coming off her skin.
For a second she just stood there, letting him look. Then her hands moved.
She started with her own body, like she was putting on a show just for him. One palm slid up her stomach, over the thin top, cupping one tit slow and deliberate, squeezing until the fabric stretched and her nipple pushed against it.
