God, does it feel good. And bad. And oh, so right. He’s consuming me as if I’m Christmas dinner and he hasn’t eaten in months. I nearly squeal with excitement when his right hand drops to my towel-covered arse and palms it decadently. He pulls me snuggly against his crotch. Against his erection. It’s in that one pump of his hips that I realise with a thunderous thud of my heart that the playboy flirt who kissed me when he came into Patch Alley yesterday is gone. Instead, he is replaced by a sinfully arousing and totally mind-blowing conqueror that is Camden Harris. And I am screwed.
