[Working with authority figures comes naturally to Ambrosia, complete with a polite smile and carefully crafted words that are essentially part and parcel of her role. Except behind her hardworking mask lies a woman who feels something bitter. Overworked. Empty.
Kento Nanami is the only boss she's ever had who makes her feel alive.
She shivers at the sensation of her own smooth skin, of her splayed fingers sliding down her neck and tracing the contours of her breasts. If only it were his hands.]
It's white, with a tiny bow in the middle.
[Sure enough, the bra's cups mold her generous chest like a second skin. His voice manipulates her body through sheer depth and huskiness alone, and the effects are swift — hardened nipples poking through the fabric of her bra, a damp spot on her panties, her own breathing turning erratic, sweat drops on her flushed face.]
no subject
Kento Nanami is the only boss she's ever had who makes her feel alive.
She shivers at the sensation of her own smooth skin, of her splayed fingers sliding down her neck and tracing the contours of her breasts. If only it were his hands.]
It's white, with a tiny bow in the middle.
[Sure enough, the bra's cups mold her generous chest like a second skin. His voice manipulates her body through sheer depth and huskiness alone, and the effects are swift — hardened nipples poking through the fabric of her bra, a damp spot on her panties, her own breathing turning erratic, sweat drops on her flushed face.]
The clasp is at the front.