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Reasoning that it'd be no surprise to Andrea to find him in her room, he let himself back in, leaving only a small gap as he closed the door behind him. There was little of actual interest lying about in the room which, in spite of its attractiveness, appeared more practical than actually lived-in. A dream-catcher on the wall above the bed and throw cushions resting against the pillows, small picture frames with photos of people he didn't know, and an assortment of beauty products organized before a mirror were the highlights. None of which seemed to matter that much as he soaked up the thrill of just being where everything he'd heard, had happened.

He walked over to a set of wooden drawers, bending to smell the pot-pourri in a small basket that sat on a lace cloth on top of them. If there was a scent coming from there it must've been too weak for his nostrils, he thought, only then realizing his palms were resting on the handles of the top drawer. The idea of just having a quick peek inside raised its head, and, after he looked guiltily back at the door to see no-one was stood watching, was acted upon as he gave into the temptation, though he would hardly have needed an invitation had he known what was within beforehand.

The drawer slid effortlessly out, revealing row after row of immaculately folded clothes. His jaw dropped open as he saw them, the word 'jackpot' springing to mind - and sounding as if spoken by Adam as he thought it - at the sight of the underwear laid out before him. Eager eyes ran over each item as he stood there, not having had such a sight of silks and lace since locking himself in his room with one of his mother's shopping catalogs, many moons ago.

He stroked the delicate material with his fingers, the tips sliding across as though they were skating on ice. Holding the lacy cups of a fragile looking bra between his fingers and thumb, he marvelled at how transparent it was in places, the way it would tease with glimpses of skin between the feminine patterns marking it. Taking in the various styles and shades, pastels and prints alike, he set eyes on a pair of French knickers that summed up, in his mind at least, everything that aroused him about their owner.

So taken by the garment was he, that he felt compelled to bring it out into the light for a better look. Holding them up by his fingertips as gently as possible, he gazed in awe at the satin as it rippled in his grasp, shimmering in the sunlight reflected off the windows of the buildings opposite. The color of the panties threw up a contradiction, the pale shade as cool as ice, yet the lilac hue bringing a warmth that sat alongside the cold, complementing rather than cancelling it out.

Turning them over in his palms, he stroked across the white lace inserts that formed the sides, the insides of which Andrea's hips would've been pressed against as they hugged her skin. His fingers traced the matching lace edging as it wound its way along the hem, his hand arriving back at the gusset as it came full circle. With a nervous glance to the door, he lifted the panties to his face, bringing them close enough to his nose that they almost touched as he breathed deeply in.

He hadn't expected anything other than the fragrance of Andrea's fabric softener, and used his imagination to surmise the scent her most intimate place would leave as they were cast aside after a days wearing. The guilty pleasure had worked its magic on his crotch, the stiffening of his cock making things uncomfortable as it grew awkwardly in his jeans.

Both his hands were needed to rearrange his package to a more agreeable position, and the resulting sight of the underwear inches away from his groin gave him thoughts that he would've believed forbidden only hours earlier.

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