I want to watch you dress.
You glide over to the wardrobe, naked, your slender legs topped by a fuzz of blonde fluff, your breasts rippling slightly as you walk, your pert bottom tight and firm.
You pull out a pale cream bra, and cup it to your chest, fastening it behind you but with your hard nipples, still erect from before, pushing at the flimsy fabric.
You reach for some matching knickers and sit, leaning forward to pull them over your feet, giving me a gorgeous view of your cleavage. As you stand up, slipping the pants over your hips and covering up your pink lips and soft mound, your hair gently lifts the soft sheer material, with just a hint of wetness as a reminder of my hands there a few minutes ago.
You slip a cotton top over your head and flick your mane of auburn hair free, and then pull on a pair of tight but flared trousers over your slim waist.
I’m slightly forlorn to see your gorgeous sexy body covered up and hidden from view, and I want more of what we’ve just been sharing.
One day soon I will watch you undress and, for now, I revel in the knowledge that next time your skin is revealed, it’ll be my hands, lips and tongue all over it.
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