”“Be reasonable? From the man who told me to skip breakfast and lunch? The man who's made a million times what he's paid me from my fucking tits?” India caught her anger and carefully suppressed it like she was screwing shut a bottle of perfume. She exhaled. “Fifty percent.”Simon looked at her tits. Even beneath her wool sweater, the shape was apparent. Men across the shop kept stealing glances at her. The gawking barista had already broken two cups.“I don't even need you,” Simon mumbled. “I’ve given hundreds of women your tits. I'll employ one of them. I'll use photos. I don't need you.”“You don't?” India examined her fingernails. “But without me, your clients will walk down the street to one of the other guys. The moment they go with you is the moment they see my tits in the flesh. The moment their eyes can't look away. The moment they touch my tits and start dreaming of everything their own can be. Silicone isn't remotely similar.”Simon's eyes met hers. He gripped the edge of the. She slowly slipped off his jacket, giving her more freedom to explore, he lifted her jersey and they broke apart for a few moments, as he slipped off the jersey, she hooked her t-shirt and pulled it off as well. Joe could see her pink nipples already hardening, their color growing slightly darker, he followed suit, pulling off his t-shirt as she stepped close to him again, her soft breasts pressing up against his naked torso as their lips found each other once more.He ran his hand over her supple back, exploring her flawless skin, the soft velvety feel of her a feeling he had missed dearly. Her hand had slipped between them, stroking over his body as her other hand explored his back, he ran his fingertips over her back, pressing just hard enough for her to feel it and she moaned softly as he pressed those fingers down on the knotted muscles of her shoulders. After long moments her fingers slid to his jean, unzipping it and popping the button, allowing it to fall to the floor, her.
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