She stopped moving, allowing me to get close enough for her to reach out and put a hand on my dick, which was thick and hard under my jeans. “Am I?”

I grabbed her by both wrists and pushed her up against the hallway wall, pinning her arms above her head. “I’m going to give you one chance to come to your senses, Sylvia.”

“And if I don’t?” She strained against me, pressing her breasts into my chest.

I put my lips at her ear. “Then I’m going to spend the rest of the night doing very bad things to your body.”

“Do them,” she whispered. “I’m begging you, Henry. Do them.”

Hearing my name on her lips like that—hearing her beg—flipped a switch in me. I was done asking permission, done worrying about whether this was right or wrong, done trying to talk her out of something I so desperately wanted—no, needed—to do.

I crushed my lips to hers, plunging my tongue into her mouth. My hands moved down her body, along curves covered in red, and I wanted nothing more than to tear that dress from her skin with my teeth.

But first I had to taste her.

Dropping to my knees, I shoved her dress up her hips and reached for her underwear—except she wasn’t wearing any.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I whispered, the bulge in my jeans growing even bigger. “You knew what you wanted when you came here tonight, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, breathing hard. “So don’t stop.”

I lifted one high-heeled foot and kissed the inside of her ankle. Her calf. Her knee. I placed it over my shoulder and kissed my way up her inner thigh.

She flattened her hands on the wall beside her and gasped as I put my mouth on her pussy, stroking up the warm, slick center with my tongue, lingering at the top. I moaned at her sweet taste, at her velvet-and-satin texture, at the irresistible scent of her. I teased her clit with the tip of my tongue, and reveled in the way she moved her hips, and put her hands on my head, and tightened her leg against my back, pulling me in closer. She panted and sighed and murmured incomprehensible words of pleasure and disbelief. The leg she stood on trembled.

“I’m so close,” she whispered, and I sensed something like fear in her voice, almost like she was afraid her orgasm wasn’t going to happen. “Don’t give up.”

Give up? Was she fucking serious? Why would I give up? It made me wonder if her husband was an even bigger asshole than I’d previously thought.

But half a second later, he was out of my head.