“The way she looked at me.” As if he was her next meal. “The way she touched me.” With no gentleness and no doubts. “The way she spoke to me.” Knowing just what she wanted and not caring a damn for what he might. The thought was making him stiff in his dress trousers. “It was just like…” His eyes went wide. Bloody hell, it was just the way his mother talked to him! That thought made his trousers droop even more quickly than they’d risen. Could it be… deep down… he liked being spoken to that way?
