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Magnus strolls in and sits right beside me like I’m already his. Practically in my freaking lap.
“Where do you see yourself in five years, Miss Bristol?” she asks. “Still thankful I survived today,” I say. Oops. Wrong answer.
Meanwhile, Sabrina Bristol glares at me like she’s holding an invisible cigarette she’d love to stab out on my forehead.
Take their criticism to heart. Let it burn you and then grow from the ashes.
Desperate to make a woman you can never have smile like she doesn’t want to shank you in the throat.
“Jesus. You need to be nice,” I scold him. “It’s bad enough when you talk to us like that, but at least you pay us for the privilege. She doesn’t make enough to put up with your shit.”
Cat art and superstitions are just a few of my favorite things. Merry Christmas, Miss Bristol.
Every night since Phoenix, I’ve clenched my teeth and wrapped my fist around my cock, feverishly wishing it was her.
I can’t wait to get my tongue inside her, to fling her legs apart, throw her against the wall, and eat her delicate pussy until she’s nothing but a wet, simmering mess of pleasure.
Before the dawn comes, I’m going to fuck the soul out of Sabrina Bristol.
“Come for me, woman,” he grinds out, his throat so tight as he watches me. “Fucking shatter.”
“Come for me again. I know you want to. Give me the whole night,”
“Brina,” he sighs, rooting himself in me. “I’m going to come inside you like mad. Just like I was always meant to.”
Fuck yes, I’m going to have this woman for all seven courses, if I don’t have a goddamned heart attack first.
I’m torturing her, and I love it. I’m also mapping every last bit of the forbidden, the first of many nights I’ll fuck her in this office.
I swear to fuck, I’ll eat her out until she screams so loud it breaks glass.
But first, I can’t resist bringing her over the edge. I suck her clit between my tongue, holding it prisoner, while my tongue lashes her into a release so intense she’s slapping my desk. This liquid heat pours out of her, against my face, and I drink in my reward. There’s no small pride that I’m the first man to make her squirt. I’ll also be the last.
The weird, possessive splash of color reminds me how far gone I am, how I’d give up my fortune to spend every damn night inside her.
“If you so much as look at her again, I’ll scoop your eyeballs out,” I roar, my voice ragged. “Call her delicious again, Baxter, and you’ll be having a second nose job. Good thing we’re in the right place.”
Mention her again, and I’ll bounce your head off the ground until your skull splits.
“I love you,” I whisper. “A little more with every breath.”
