He watches me through eyes that are heavy-lidded, drugged. “Holy shit,” he says, pushing both hands through his hair. “Get on the desk.” Watching him come just now left me so worked up I can barely stand it, but I force myself to be responsible. “We need to meet the realtor.” “Get on the fucking desk,” he growls. He backs me into it and lifts me himself before I can even think of arguing, shoving my sundress around my thighs and dropping to his knees.
