Overruled

by Lana Ferguson

“I said I wouldn’t do this again,” she says. I can feel the tops of her thighs brush against mine; she’s so close now that I could lean forward just a little and press my mouth to hers. “And yet here you are.” “I really fucking hate you, Ezra.” It really does have to be some sort of psychosis, the way that makes me smile. “I know, Dani.” My lips ghost against hers, and the spark between us lights up like a match—her hands shoving into my hair and her body pressing into mine as she tugs me impossibly closer. Everything between us is always rough and rushed, but I like that too. I like knowing I can ruffle Danica Pierce’s feathers, this prickly woman who takes no shit. But she’s far from prickly when she’s with me like this. I let my hand slide up her spine until I can cup the back of her neck, tilting my head to sweep my tongue into her mouth as she lets out a soft sound that makes my cock ache. Her long black hair is silky as I plunge my fingers into it, and I close my fist to muss it, the need to mess up her perfect poise like a drug in my veins. “Couch,” she breathes into my mouth. I duck my head to swirl my tongue over the pulse at her throat. “I could do so much more to you in my bed.” “That’s not what we do,” she huffs. Which is true, since she refuses to let me have her anywhere that might suggest this is anything more than it is, but you can’t blame a guy for trying. The thought of her naked in my sheets is a tempting one. She’s unbuttoning her blouse as I lead her ...