Beautiful," she ground thickly, tugging at the hem of his drab T-shirt and sending it up and off him in two seconds flat. Natasha looked down at his small breasts with a burn so hot that he could feel himself blushing from scalp to soles. "Pretty," she snarled, her voice so thick she could barely get the word out. One firm forefinger traced the soft, scalloped edge of his shell-pink demi bra, and he took a hard breath as the tip of her finger teetered a hair's breadth from the tight little point of his breast. Her second forefinger did the same on his unoffended breast, and he sighed heavily,...