Sophia tilted her head, studying him.
"Not bad," she chuckled. "I should've tipped you more that night."
Ethan remained silent.
That memory surfaced—the night she'd left cash on the bedside table after their encounter.
Her scribbled note mocked his performance.
Bold as brass.
Only when the bathroom door clicked shut did he snap back to reality.
She'd teased him again.
Always outmaneuvered by this woman.
Sophia brushed it off, sensing their closeness had deepened.
She leaned against the desk, scrolling through her phone.
Ethan emerged with a towel around his waist.
"Potter's Town tomorrow," he said, drying his hair. "Your group leaves at eight. We rendezvous at ten."
Sophia glanced up.
"Old Benjamin asked what we want for dinner," she waved her phone. "He's grocery shopping."
Ethan wasn't picky.
"Anything works."
The old man's cooking never disappointed.
But right now, he craved something else.
He approached Sophia.
"Did you eat well today, Ms. Sullivan?"
She blinked.
"Mostly—"
His palm settled on her waist mid-sentence.
The world spun.
Suddenly perched on the mahogany desk, her legs dangling, hands instinctively circling his neck.
"Ethan," she frowned. "Put me down."
Then she understood his intent.
"I'm still hungry."
Hearing those words from his stoic face felt unfair.
Damp hair tousled.
Bare torso glistening.
The loose towel barely clinging to his hips.
Every defined muscle taunting her.
Untamed.
Magnetic.
Sophia wasn't immune.
Three years of marriage—she'd tried lace, silk, even uniforms.
Liam had remained chaste for Chloe.
Even told her to get lost.
Since then, she'd felt like unseasoned meat.
Only now realizing how starved she'd been.
Body and soul.
"Ethan."
"Hmm?"
"It's daytime."
"I know." His fingers crept under her shirt. "Will you refuse me?"
His scorching touch left tremors in its wake.
Sophia gripped his jaw.
"Who could refuse you?"
Neither were innocents.
Their mutual descent was inevitable.
She kissed him first.
Palms braced on his shoulders.
The scent of soap enveloping them.
Ethan's lips traveled downward.
Her T-shirt bunched at the waist.
Skin against skin.
Breaths mingling.
The desk shuddered.
Her toes curled.
He caught her foot.
Every movement threatened to unravel her.
When teeth grazed her collarbone, she bit his throat.
"Potter's Town tomorrow. Be gentle."
"I don't bite."
True—his mouth didn't.
But his every action proved more devastating.