"Mmm..."
Skye Brown groaned softly, her watery pupils suddenly constricting as her neatly trimmed nails dug deeply into Dylan Wellington's tailored jacket on his shoulder.
Dylan Wellington———!!!
He hadn't even taken off his clothes, dressed impeccably from head to toe, a picture of aristocratic elegance in his suit and leather shoes.
Yet he tugged off her overcoat, lifted her sweater, and pulled down her pants... pants...
Despicable man!
Skye bit her lip, trying to push him away, but her body was pinned beneath his, pressed onto the wide tabletop.
Every sensation was so intense.
Countless electric touches pulsed through her limbs, all resistance and rejection transformed into a primal instinctive closeness to this man.
Yes, instinct, as if etched into her bones, engraved in the depths of her soul.
Three years of day after day of intimate whispers, tender entanglements, had already made her accustomed to Dylan Wellington's touch.
