Bethany Moore Nudes Mga Nobela at Kwento

"Now leave before I call security." Bethany scrambled to collect the money, her hands shaking. She pulled down her dress and grabbed her purse, practically running for the door. It slammed behind her. I walked over to where I'd set up my phone. Stopped the recording. The video was perfect. Clear shot of Bethany sucking my dick. Clear shot of me fucking her from behind. Clear shot of everything Moana would hate seeing. I watched it once, laughing sinisterly. This would destroy her. It would show her exactly what happens when she leaves me for someone else.

I asked, not wanting to waste my time with someone who didn’t have a substantial audience. “Three million will tune in for this,” she beamed. “Alright, what’s your name?” I asked. “Bethany Gold.” “Well, Bethany Gold, that was definitely me. I’m quite familiar with my bikini and robes,” I replied with a grin. “But why would your ex, the man who abandoned you to languish in jail, be aroused by your photos? That’s the hot topic online,” she pressed.

Her heart was beating too fast, her stomach in tight knots all over again. He nodded toward her, his lip rising in a sexy smile. "You're going to need that nap, beautiful." She tugged at the dress, the material silky as it slid down her skin. Her white panties and bra barely covered her body; the undies no doubt wet along the front. Damon's head hit the door behind him, a soft groan lifting from him as his hand reached for the door handle. "Enough ... that's enough." "Oh no ... We’re just getting started." Bethany reached behind her, undoing her bra and letting it drop. She slid her hands up her thin waist and cupped herself, tugging at her nipples and groaning as she watched him.

The girl's naked body looks very seductive. .

Something more raw, some flesh. Beth sent another picture with the strap of her dress halfway down her shoulder. She was teasing me, trying to provoke me to reply to her. One nude, and she would get a text. Another image, but this time, not of her. It was a man holding a giant fuck you sign. Me: I would love to fuck you too.

My sense that this was getting out of control was even stronger, but my whole body felt sensual and turned on. Just when I thought the pressure would explode, he stepped away and clicked a picture. "Oh Mom, you're so hot. Now turn toward me and spread your legs. Put your hands behind your head, and push out your tits. Oh yeah, that's terrific. What a turn on you are. And you really are good at modeling. Okay hump your hips forward, mmmmm, that's it, show me that cameltoe, a little more, oh yeah, there's your slit. Geez you're sexy, Mom. You know what would be neat. How about we shoot some nudes?"

A playful smirk danced on her lips as she took a step back, her movements slow and seductive. Without breaking eye contact, she reached up, letting the thin straps of her slip fall from her shoulders, leaving her completely naked before him. Nathan’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as his hungry gaze devoured every inch of her soft, tempting curves. Benita took another step back, her hips swaying seductively as she turned and walked toward the bathroom. She didn't need to look back to know he was following—she could feel the heat of his stare burning into her skin.

From behind, he looked like any other powerful CEO—sharp suit, shoulders squared, jaw tight. But inside, he was anything but composed. He wasn’t looking at the view. He was trying not to remember the way her lips had parted when he kissed her awake. The softness of her breath against his neck. The way she’d curled into him afterward like she didn’t want to let go. Behind him, the door opened. “Mr. Moore,” came Nathan’s voice—always calm, always precise. “The Harborfront proposal is ready. The board needs your final review.”

That's my Benny, always the optimist. I sipped my champagne and continued to study the really huge image hanging on the gallery wall. My portrait had been enlarged and printed on canvas for this show. The effect was a bit startling but even so, it was apparent that Benny had talent. For a child of Somali refugees who started with less than nothing in the UK, he knew how to configure a picture. He'd posed me on my back with my head turned to the side, my arm over my breasts and my fingers flared between my legs. He'd wanted my hair splayed out, my legs straight up, and my pussy covered. I'd worn a string thong for the shot, but you couldn't see it. Nothing showed that would classify my image

Ethan’s camera clicked rapidly. “Wow,” Mom beamed. “You look incredible! Ethan, make sure you get the side profile.” He stepped closer, adjusting the angle. His voice dropped low enough that only I could hear. “Fuck, Lily… I can see how wet you still are.” Click. “Those thighs… I want them wrapped around my head again.” I bit my lip hard, fighting the flush spreading across my chest. Mom was adjusting lights, completely oblivious. Next came the bikinis. Tiny string pieces in tropical colors and metallic gold. I felt naked under the bright lights as I posed on a white chaise they’d brought in. Ethan knelt for lower angles, his gaze burning between my legs.