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The fact I didn’t hesitate a second to eat her out at the office and how close I came to fucking her.
The way those candid selfies on Cesar’s engagement night elicited such interest, considering the parade of women I’ve been seen with.
And finally, because I couldn’t get her out of my head no matter how much I tried.
It all freaked me out.
I’ve never craved a woman this much, and I’m not sure what to make of it.
“Maybe I did hit my head.” I mutter to myself.
Curiosity takes over and I open my drawer.
I don’t have to search.
My gift is staring at me–a scrap of cobalt blue lace. I hold the lingerie with both hands and admire it.
My cock twitches with need.
My mouth salivates, eager to taste her again.
Little devil.
She didn’t go for regular panties. No. She went for the heavy artillery—a G-string with three straps on each side.
Images of them adorning her sexy ass assault me, followed by a vision of her shimmying out of them.
Goddammit.
I bunch the fabric in my fist.
Shit.
They’re damp.
She must’ve just put her wicked plan into action.
Bad girl.
I guess I should say, good girl.
I bring the fabric to my nose and close my eyes.
Her headiness hits my senses full force.
I let out a low groan.
My cock swells.
Since the intelligence room encounter, I’ve been a choirboy. When I’m on uncle duty, I’m on my best behavior. So now, I’m about to snap like a twig.
I grab my phone to text her.
Beckett: You’re itching for my hand to slap your ass.
Her response is fast.
Arianne: Happy Monday! And good afternoon to you!
