Pink sweatshirt unbuttoned just enough to see the curve of her tits through the fabric. She pretends to adjust something on the desk but really it’s him—the way her breath hitches when his shadow falls across her lap. Black lace panties riding up, thighs parting just an inch too far. Bent over that stack of books with no idea you’re watching. Then—oh—she turns and catches him staring right at where his cock is pressing against his jeans. Smirks, winks like she knows exactly what he wants before he even opens his mouth. Finger slides under that elastic first—slowly—and then pop—down around her ankles in one smooth motion. No bra strap left behind.
