Finding Mr. Perfect
Freya’s silhouette moved sinfully, her hand slipping under her dress, the other cupping her breast.
“God, you look so hot, hubby,” Freya moaned. “I love looking at you like this.”
Kenneth couldn’t tear his eyes away. He leaned against the wall, his chest rising with every breath, his own hand moving around his shaft with growing urgency.
“Fuck, Freya,” he rasped.
She met his eyes, the corner of her lips curling wickedly. She whispered, “Let me help you.”
Before he could respond, she dropped to her knees. Her warm hand wrapped around his length, and he gasped. “Ahhh.”