My worst turned out to be exactly what she'd ordered.
I stripped the leather off her the same way I'd stripped everything else tonight, without ceremony, without asking. The bustier laces gave under my fingers and her breasts spilled free, already heavy, already leaking, twin drops of milk catching the torchlight the Sanctum had provided because apparently even fake dungeons came with mood lighting.
"There they are," I said.
"Don't talk about my tits like they're a surprise gift."
"They kind of are." I cupped one, thumbed the nipple, and watched her breath stutter. "Every time. Fresh disappointment for the world that you keep these hidden under a leather jacket and a bad attitude."
"The bad attitude is load-bearing." Her hips rolled against nothing again, chains rattling, the fishnets I'd bitten through now torn wider. "Take it away and I fall apart."
"Good." I dropped my mouth to her breast and pulled.
