Holy cow, he shrieked to himself as his vision adjusted and his heart bounced into his throat. She had slipped off her stool and was standing, facing him, arm outstretched, a drink in her hand. She smiled, dazzling him even without the light, and then he saw that she had changed her clothes. The jeans and loose top were gone, replaced by a nightgown so sheer that she might as well have been wearing nothing at all. Spaghetti-thin straps struggled against the weight of her breasts to keep her covered, and, when he squinted, he could just make out a dusting of little red hearts scattered across the gossamer material. Her bosoms, heavy, rounded, much larger than Julie's, pressed the fabric, and the darkened raspberries of her nipples were prominent against the milky whiteness of her globes. His eyes dropped, following the folds of the transparency to its ultimate conclusion at the tops of her thighs. Oh, God, it was short, too short by half, he groaned as his eyes flirted with the hem and the dense tangle of black hair exposed beneath it. She was moving toward him, speaking to him, but the noise of blood rushing in his ears drowned her words. She came closer, reaching for him; he was lost in a welter of confused thoughts.

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