To him pushing her back on his desk, roughly pulling her jeans down and off, standing between her open, begging thighs.
To his fingers deep inside her quivering, aching, straining body.
To his eyes blazing down at her as she came, then came again for him.
To tasting herself on his lips when he’d kissed her, whispered against her trembling lips that she was the most amazing, delicious little thing he’d ever known.
To how deeply she was starting to feel for him, for exactly the wrong man. No way Scars would be content sitting here with her, watching her baby on a Sunday morning, after being up half the night not having s*x, but instead feeding a hungry baby, rocking a crying baby, changing a wet baby.
God, his hands, though. On Friday, they’d been drenched in her sweet release, and he’
