“Anyways,” he says gruffly, “thank you for the assistance. I will make sure your men are taking care of.”
“Of course,” I say. “Anything for a member of the Syndicate.”
We say our goodbyes and hang up.
But when I return to the office, I freeze.
My fiancée is sitting on the desk in a skimpy bit of lingerie, laptop in one hand, stilettos on her feet propped on the chair, knees far enough apart I can see a wet spot on her panties.
My d**k twitches. And when she puts the laptop down, kicks the chair away, and crooks her finger at me, all the blood left in my brain goes straight to my c**k.
These last weeks of recuperating haven’t been easy for either of us. And while we’ve slept together, all we’ve done is literally sleep. My balls are so blue, the cane isn’t because of my leg anymore. I
