I obey all of his instruction and let him on his way. He leans down and rests his mouth near my ear.
"Wei Lin, I really like this dress of your," he whispers, and I clench my eyes closed to ride out the quiver that travels through my entire body.
Both of his hands travel inwards until they arrive at my nape. He gathers my hair and places it over my shoulder, and then slowly draws the zip of my dress all the way down. I flex my neck muscles in an attempt to control my overwhelming need to shake off the shudders that he's instigating, but I give up when I feel his lips rest against my upper back and his tongue gliding up to the nape of my neck.
Every fine hair stands on end, and I arch my back in response to his long, hot stroke. There is a certain degree of torture to this. I want it to stop so I can gather my scattered senses before I say something I don't mean like;
Yes, I'll marry you.
