Sinner or saint?

Never trust a girl with eyes like that. Betty's deep browns are soft, round, liquid — the kind that say please and sorry before her mouth ever opens. Looks like she'd melt in your palm. Then she spreads on the bed, bare and flushed, and the act splits in two. One hand stays gentle on her breast, stroking slow, almost shy. The other slips down between her thighs, fingers parting, seeking, working. She breathes through it, hips lifting in quick, stubborn little jerks. The good girl is still there, wide-eyed and trembling; the bad one is already soaking the sheet. She keeps both alive, never letting one win.