“Can I pull my skirt down, first?” Sarah asked, dismayed by the need to ask permission.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” he said, turned to brace his hard little butt against the counter’s edge.
Sarah recognized the arousal in his expression. Face flaming, she knelt in front of him, knowing full well that there would be no lovemaking, no gentle touches or kisses or sweet nothings in her ear. What he wanted wasn’t even s*x, although it was certainly s****l. He wanted to use her, to drive his point home, so to speak. What she thought about it didn’t make any difference at all. To her horror, the idea of being an object lesson made her n*****s ache.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said in a helpless whisper.
Fletcher gripped the counter edge on either side of his lean hips and looked down at her.
