The second day arrived with a heavy, oppressive heat that seemed to seep through the glass of the high-rise, making the air inside the apartment feel thick and stagnant. Marcus had spent the morning in his home office, trying to focus on a series of contracts, but his mind was a chaotic loop of images from the last forty-eight hours.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Chloe—the way her back arched, the sound of her voice screaming his name, the feeling of her tight, wet heat gripping him.
He was staring at a paragraph he had read five times when the door clicked open. Chloe slid inside, wearing nothing but one of his white dress shirts, the buttons undone halfway down her chest. She was carrying a tray with two glasses of iced tea, her bare feet padding softly on the hardwood.
"You'v
