He picked up speed. She was pinned under him, taking his hard, furious thrusts. He’d never felt this desperate, this possessive.

She whimpered, pushing back against him.

His hot, sexy Harlow.

He leaned over her, his hips slapping against her ass as his cock filled her.

Then her body stiffened, and he felt his own body draw tight.

“Yes, Easton,” she cried.

Her head tilted, her lips parted and her face clenched with pleasure.

Easton released the last of his control. He thrust harder, felt her inner muscles clenching on his cock.

With a groan, his climax tore through him. His hips bucked, pleasure a hot, heady rush.

Then he slumped over her, tucking his face against her neck.

Jesus, he was wrecked. And he’d never get any work done at this desk again.

He kissed her skin, and she made a contented, humming sound.

“Despite not wanting to move, we’d better get going,” he said. “Or we’ll be late to my parents.”

She stiffened, then elbowed him. “Off. We can’t be late!” Her wide, slightly panicked eyes filled her face.

Easton tucked himself back into his pants. “So, something does ruffle the organized Ms. Carlson.”

She yanked her skirt down. “My God, we have to get to your parents’. Where are my panties?”

He found them hanging from the arm of the guest chair, and handed them to her.

She made a distressed sound. “Your come is sliding down my thigh.” She made a beeline for his private bathroom.

Damn, he wanted to fuck her again. Instead, he tidied up, and when she strode out, she looked as polished as ever, except for her flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

“Ready?” he asked.

“We have to stop at the florist on the way to get your mom some flowers.”

He frowned. “We don’t need—”

“No arguments.” She held up her palm.

His sister used the same hand move as well. He decided not to argue.

After a detour to the florist, he pulled up at his parents’ neat Edwardian in Noe Valley. They were only five minutes late. Vander’s BMW bike was parked in the driveway and Rhys’ silver Mercedes GTS was at the curb.

Harlow fidgeted in the seat beside him, holding a huge bunch of mixed flowers that he knew his mother would love.

Reaching across the seat, Easton gripped her chin. “They’re going to love you.”

“Easton, no mother loves the woman her son is sleeping with. I bet she’s not liked any of the women you’ve brought home.”

He was silent for second. “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never brought another woman home.”

“What?”

Full-blown panic appeared on her face, so he kissed her until she went liquid.

“Oh, you’ve squashed the flowers.”

Shaking his head, Easton got out, then tugged her out of the car.