What a surprise to see you here in SoHo when you live on the Upper East Side.” “Oh, right.” I step back, lowering my hands to my sides. I blink into reality and the gorgeous man in front of me. “Maisie.” He chuckles and then clears his throat. He’s the first to break away, but I chase him and pepper kisses on his cheek and neck. Not now that the hunger for real desire has been satisfied by one fiery, hot-blooded male with a very large penis. We kiss, frantic and then slow, hard and then soft, for so long my body is on high alert. I want so badly to wrap my arms around his neck and thread my fingers through his hair so I struggle out of his grip and I do it, tugging until we’re plastered together.

He pins my arms behind my back and kisses the life out of me. My few seconds of dominance are lost to the power of his. Rough on my tongue, tough under my teeth, he growls and meets my mouth with a new kind of savagery. I lick his chin like it’s a goddamn ice-cream cone melting on a hot day. I’ve never had the best self-control, and the little I do have slips. The ache at the apex of my thighs throbs. Performance coaching may be necessary,” he says, pressing in to my space so I have nowhere to go but meet his gaze.Īnd he smells good, like leather and cinnamon and Jayce-and my body, God, it remembers him. I remember a certain brief that was subpar. “I’ll have you know I’ve not been tardy once during my service with Drake, Otter and Kavanagh. Huh? “You waited outside my door to reprimand my reliability?” I shake my head to ensure the snooze alarm really did wake me up. His eyes burn in the early morning light as the sun barely peeks above the mountains made of brick. Pedestrians walk around us as he steps forward. Down and up my legs, he strips me bare as if remembering every part of me naked. I’ve no contract to hide behind today, and his gaze lingers on my breasts and hips. Stuck on wobbling knees, I remain rooted as he devours me. I suck in a breath and hold it for so long sparks mottle my vision. He’s delicious and fuckable and standing four feet away. A gray wool overcoat has never looked better on any person in the world. He leans against the back panel of a town car with tinted windows as dark as his stare. Shoving through the door with my shoulder, I’m met by the late autumn chill and my boss. I fly down the stairs to the first floor and hit the checkered tile in the lobby with a flourish, belting my coat as I go.

A Pink Lady by Elizabeth A. Miller