Christian glances at the bouquet on my desk and nods towards it. “Pretty flowers...” He rubs a finger over the acrylic nameplate next to the vase. “Elena.” Holy shit. Holy fuck. The way this man just said my name was pure sex. I take one small step backwards to try and relieve some of the tension that’s pooling between my legs. What I wouldn’t give to have him say my name like that again. Like it’s the prettiest sound in the world. Like it’s coated in sugar and dripping with honey, and he’s got a massive sweet tooth. I blink and look at the flowers, cotton mouth stealing my ability to speak.
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