The soft cotton of Rich’s sheets is cool against my bare skin, a stark contrast to the heat pooling low in my belly. My fingers are busy—two buried deep inside my wetness, a third circling my clit with frantic, practiced rhythm. God, he loves watching this. The thought alone sends another shudder through me. I arch my back, thrusting my full, heavy breasts toward the ceiling, and turn my head to stare at myself in the mas...