Shattered Control

“Someone could walk in,” I warned. “This needs to be fast.”

He spun me toward the closed door and placed my palms against it. “Fast is my middle name.”

“That’s a terrible middle name,” I replied, but then his palm was on my inner thigh, moving upward, and his fingers slid beneath the elastic of my thong, and I couldn’t even remember what we were discussing.

“Jesus,” he said quietly, against my ear