‘You going to come over here and take me?’ There’s a daring, flirtatious edge to her tone. It must be the alcohol. Or maybe she’s just finally done with being a good girl while her husband is the baddest bastard around. ‘Sweetheart, if I were to come over there,’ my voice drops dangerously low and husky, ‘I would take you every which fucking way invented.’ A tiny gasp slips from the phone. ‘Maybe we should continue this conversation over FaceTime.’ ‘FaceTime isn’t going to cut it, sweetheart,’ I growl. ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’
