|
"Like what you see, Bridget?" she asked
suddenly, blushing and lowering her head.
I swallowed hard and
my throat clicked. "I-I-I ... I love what I
see."
She lifted her
baby-blues out of the inch-long shag and looked directly
at me. "Since I've shown you my boobs, why don't
you show me those long legs of yours?"
So, she was a
leg-lover. What a well-matched couple we were proving to
be, because my secret weapon with the guys and gals was
a pair of lithe, honey-dipped legs that would've made a
ballerina proud. I fumbled my jeans open and slid them
down my legs, never taking my astonished pupils off
Morgan's magnificent mammaries. I stepped out of the
form-fitting jeans and strutted around the bed so that
she could get a good eyeful of my slender legs. I'd
spent a lot of time playing beach volleyball that
summer, and my legs were sun-kissed a golden-brown,
smooth and supple.
|
