She staggered when he finally let her go, breathless and shaking. She wanted him to kiss her like that again, wanted his hands touching her in all the ways she’d been forbidden to touch herself, but instead he stepped back. “Get dressed,” he said. “You’ll remember your lessons better if you’ve had breakfast and a chance to wake up.”
Dully, Kimberly nodded. He had told her to get dressed before he kissed her, but where the prospect of being naked in front of him had been horribly embarrassing before, now she only wanted to entice him back into touching her. She reached up to take a blouse off its hanger, trying to stretch and show off her modest breasts as she did so. The blouse itself was flimsy and sheer white; it clung to her when she buttoned it, clearly outlining the hard, dark peaks of her nipples. A tight, short skirt followed, hugging her hips and short enough that one wrong move would reveal her lack of underwear.
Her mother would have said she looked like a whore. The cool air caressing the dampness on her bare thighs certainly made her feel like one.
Good, she thought, in a heady burst of defiance. She was tired of being a saint.