~Slowly pulling my hands away from your breasts, dragging my nails down your tummy, slipping them out from under your shirt… setting my hands on you... shoulder and sliding them down your arm until l reach your hands, intertwining my fingers with yours, raising your hands up above your head… grinding my thigh up and down against your pussy. I open my eyes and look at you, pressing my lips to yours and release your hands… moving my hands down quickly and grabbing the bottom of your tank top,. “My dad’s . . .” “Yes, I know, you dad’s in prison. But, your other dad, your bio dad?” he said. “Yes, he’s been more of a dad to me than the one who raised me,” she said. A psychologist would have been able to explain it, maybe as a self-defense mechanism of sorts. Jenna’s attitude, at least her outward attitude, toward the father that had saved her, had morphed. She now avowed how the man, David Carter, though he had undeniably saved her, was a criminal and deserved his punishment. The. More

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