And maybe an obeisance or two as well.

Or ten or twenty, he decided, deeply appreciative of the scene unfolding before his eyes.

Once sans shoes, Liv had tumbled back onto the bed and was in the process of stripping off her lacy panties, her silken thighs and blonde pussy a damned inspiring sight.

Quick to take his cue, he pulled his T-shirt over his head and dropped it.

A second later, green silk panties joined his T-shirt on the floor.

He unsnapped his jeans.

She looked up, her dress half off. “This is sooo bizarre,” she murmured, the sound of the snap having buzzed her back from her jazzed-up, take-me-I’m-yours trance.

“Don’t knock it. Karma’s karma.”

“You think?”

He shrugged. “Absolutely.” No way was he stopping. Not with her dress down around her waist and her lush boobs scorching his retinas.

“Okay,” she said, as though maybe she’d needed permission. Then he slid his jeans down his hips and legs, stepped out of them, and any hesitation she might have had instantly vanished. She wanted what was under his boxers with or without karma or reason or practicality. Someday, she’d question her obsession. But. Not. Right. Now.

Back on track, she slid her dress downward, slipped her legs out, and tossed the bright yellow silk aside. Kicking the duvet down to the foot of the bed, she figured she’d worry about whatever there was to worry about later-like tomorrow or never. “Yesss, normal sheets,” she exclaimed. “Chaz has not gone completely Bollywood.” Falling back in a languorous pose that was second nature to her after ten thousand photo shoots, she lay on Chaz’s six-hundred-count lavender cotton sheets and said with a smile, “As you may have noticed, I’m in a slam-bang mood.”