The door to Morgan’s apartment hadn't even clicked shut before he had Claire pinned against the mahogany paneling. The transition from the hushed, sterile air of the library to the dim, musk-scented warmth of his living room had been a blur of frantic breathing and stumbling footsteps. The kiss was no longer a clash; it was a starvation.
Morgan’s hands were everywhere, clutching at her waist, sliding up under the hem of her silk blouse, his palms rough and hot against her skin. He groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated against her throat.
"Still think you're the one in control, Claire?" he rasped, his voice thick with a hunger that mirrored her own.
"Shut up," she gasped, her head hitting the door with a dull *thud*. "Just... shut up and touch me."
He didn't need to be told twic
