"That one," Veronica confirmed.
She grabbed her own breast.
The full, generous weight of it — her own magnificent breast, the kind that had been weaponized over the course of a very deliberate adult life — and brought it up and over his cock, pressing the warm, soft flesh against the shaft, her other breast joining it, the both of them sandwiching him in the warm, deliberate channel of her cleavage.
She looked up at him.
"Her parents are forcing the wedding," she said, her voice pure silk, her eyes pure ambition. "You should go fuck her on her wedding bed. In front of her husband." Her tongue found the tip of his cock as it appeared above her pressed-together breasts. "Teach them all a lesson before you bring her here."
He looked at her.
The warm, unhurried look.
"You," he said, his hand tightening in her hair, "are really a bitch."
She grinned.
The full, unguarded grin of a woman being told something she knows is true and finds complimentary.
He grabbed her head.
Pushed.
