Because she was lying. They all were. Every single one of them had noticed. Had stared. Had tried not to stare and failed miserably, eyes drawn back again and again like moths to a flame that was absolutely going to burn them.
The outline was obscene.
Thick. Long. Curved slightly upward like it was reaching for her. The wet spot at the tip spreading, growing, evidence of exactly how much he was enjoying watching her fall apart.
And she—
Delilah was grinding against it now. Soaking him with her need while he soaked the fabric with his. Two wet spots becoming one. A dark bloom of desperation spreading across both their clothes.
"I've never seen one that big," Amber admitted, and the rawness in her voice surprised even herself.
The confession. The vulnerability of it.
