She didn't hear me. She was muttering something in Spanish, frustrated, pulling harder on the wet laundry.
I took a step.
The ache in my trousers was now a sharp knife edge...unforgiving. I needed to be inside her. I didn’t care about the consequences, the job, Catherine, or God.
Right now, there was only the primal, chemical compulsion driving me toward that tempting view.
"Marcella," I whispered, the name a thick, jarring sound that felt foreign coming from my lips.
She jumped, startling violently. Her head yanked back from the dryer drum, her breath catching in a loud gasp. She spun around, eyes wide, her chest heaving, the sheer white fabric of her top clinging momentarily to her n*****s.
"Mr. Gregory! Dios mío," she exclaimed, pushing a loose strand of dark, thick hair from he
