Her curves press tight beneath her clothes. I want them off of her—right f*****g now. Seizing her button-up blouse in two hands, I tear it apart. Buttons go flying.
Corrie gasps. “I liked that shirt!”
“Shut up,” I growl. She whimpers into my mouth as I grab her again roughly, palming a heavy breast in one hand and squeezing the front of her throat with the other.
It’s as rough and primal as anything we’ve done yet. But it feels right somehow. This is my language—two bodies colliding. Sweat. Desperate, hungry panting. Lust in its purest form.
I spin around so now she’s the one caught against the desk. She cries out again when I grab her thighs and flip her onto her back. Papers and cups of pens go crashing to the floor, but I don’t give a damn. All I care about is Corinne. About making
