🍬 Ashley — My dirty grandfather sneaks in my panties 🍬
Whispers of Desire Ashley’s fingers brushed the hem of her sweater, her breath catching as his gaze lingered on her. His name slipped from her lips like a secret—Jack, her dirty grandfather, his presence a heady mix of warmth and restraint. He was everything reckless and careful all at once, a man twice her age who played the role of gentleman with a mischievous edge. The evening air hung heavy with the scent of jasmine from her balcony, where they now stood, inches apart. His hands rested casually in his pockets, yet his eyes traced the curve of her collarbone, a silent invitation. At 18, Ashley knew the danger of his allure—the way his voice dropped to a velvet hum when he spoke her name, the way his thumb brushed her wrist as he adjusted her grip around his fingers. “Tease,” she murmured, leaning closer, her breath fanning his pulse point. Jack’s laugh was a low rumble, his other hand lifting to tangle in her hair. “You started this, cielo.” She did. All day, she’d flirted with fire—lingering touches during dinner, innocent in theory but anything but in practice. Now, under the amber glow of the streetlamp, her sweater rode up as he pulled her flush against him, his body a hard wall of controlled desire. His lips hovered, teasing, until they claimed hers—a kiss that was both storm and tenderness, tongues entwining as the world melted away. Ashley’s nails dug into his shoulders, her sigh lost in his mouth as his hands slid from her hair to the smooth skin of her back, possessive yet reverent. She tasted like forbidden fruit, sweet and unapologetic, and he deepened the kiss until her legs threatened to give way. With a groan, he steadied her, his touch a promise of more, of nights where surrender felt less like falling and more like flying. When they parted, their foreheads touched, his whispered vow—“Always, Ashley”—hung between them, as fleeting and endless as desire itself.