The wet turquoise shirt clung to her breasts, which bounced intriguingly as she laughed. She managed to get her jeans off before jumping in the tub, but she couldn't help herself. I, however, don't get that far before I'm in the tub, too. Her shirt is off, soapy breasts pressing into my chest, as I feel her hands fiddling with my fly under the surface of the water. "These need to come off," she says:

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