But now, his invading hand feels strangely warm and sensuous. Although it’s only been three months since I’ve seen Scott, he looks different. His lanky build looks more robust than I remember him—he’s probably pumping iron. And the rash of pimples on his face has been replaced by a well-groomed three days’ growth of beard in keeping with current fashion. He’s cut his hair like a prep school kid, and I find myself I thoughtlessly squirming in my seat, while brushing his hand from my thigh.
“You wouldn’t possibly reconsider my previous proposals, now would you, Miss Monroe?” He’s obviously conscious of and quite proud of his improvements.
I sigh in that disparaging way I have, and suddenly all I can think of is Sunny hogtied and gagged, getting her ass reamed. Why that picture comes to min
