14
Marcus
I’m on Emma’s doorstep at 6:45 p.m. sharp despite the usual rush-hour traffic. My regular driver, Wilson, is excellent like that. Through some uncanny combination of driving apps and instinct, he always manages to get me places on time—a virtual impossibility in New York City.
Taking a breath to steady myself, I ring the doorbell. Anticipation curls through me as I hear a loud meow, followed by light, rapid footsteps.
“Stop it, Puffs.” Emma’s irritated voice is muffled by the door. “Come on, you evil creature. Shoo!”
A second later, the door swings open, and I see her standing there, flushed and a little disheveled. Instantly, heat surges through me, centering low in my groin as images of how she’d look after I f**k her slide through my mind.
Focus, Marcus. Deep breath.
It
