I help her down to her back and take a moment to drink in the perfection of her spread across my desk. “You drive me crazy, lady.” My voice is hoarse. I’m trembling, my fingers struggling with the buttons of her blouse.

“You drive me crazy.”

My palm meets her chest, and I inhale, the heat of her body penetrating me. I drive her crazy? She’s here, spread on my desk, bowing her spine, pushing her flesh into my touch, egging me on. And I drive her crazy?

My eyes fall to the beautiful lace cups covering her beautiful boobs. “So we’re made for each other,” I declare, pulling them out of my way. Her breathing escalates, and I look up at her, desperate to ask if she’s ready to fight me on this? I know it’s the only thing she won’t contest. Because, like me, when there is us, there is nothing else.

“Probably,” she whispers.

“There’s no ‘probably’ about it.” I curl an arm under her back and lift her, my mouth homing in on her neck, licking and biting, sucking and kissing. She sighs, the longest, most beautiful, contented sigh, as I lazily work my way up to her face, my tongue burning on the fire of her skin. My dick is crying. My heart singing. My skin blazing.

Fuck, woman, I’m mad for you. I need to be inside her, feeling her, kissing her, falling harder.

The office door swings open, and I flatten Ava against my chest, covering her. I turn my dazed eyes and find Sarah at the door, taking us in. What the actual fuck?

“Oh, sorry.” She’s not sorry at all. I can read her like a fucking book.

“For fuck’s sake, Sarah,” I grate, trying in vain to keep my anger locked down. “Knock!”

She isn’t fazed. Never is. “Finally got her in leather, then?” she snipes, and I gape at the door as she slams it behind her. What the fuck is it with everyone and their runaway gobs today?

“What did she mean?” Ava says, shifting in my hold, obviously uncomfortable now. I can’t blame her. So much for Sarah’s sincerity. I should have known. She’s a bitch, always has been, always will be. If I wasn’t so committed to my redemption, I’d kick her out on her arse.

“Nothing,” I grumble. “Ignore her, she’s trying to be funny.” Fucking hell, I just need to sit Ava down and confess.

I get her down from my desk, cover her boobs, fasten the buttons of her blouse, and remove the leather trousers. And the whole time, I’m speaking silent words of encouragement to myself. Where will I start? How will I explain? And, more importantly, how will she take it all?