Contract marriage: I am the daughter of my husband's enemy
Sweat-slick skin gleams in the light, my torso half-bared now, the undersides of my breasts visible under the baggy t-shirt still clinging.
I kicked at the pajama pants next, starting with the thick flannel outer pair. The drawstring unties in a rough pull, and I shove them down my legs, stepping out aggressively, nearly stumbling in my haste. The jersey lounge pants followed, yanked to my ankles and flung aside with a foot. The cotton sleep shorts slide off just as fast, my thighs quivering from the exertion. The innermost silky pants come last for the bottoms, peeled down in a swift motion that exposes my panties. Lucien gulps visibly, his darkening even more than possible.