Max was going straight to hell for lusting after another man’s fiancée. He was absolutely sure of it.
As he followed Hailey out of the three story building she was about to purchase, he berated himself for allowing his attraction to this engaged woman to obliterate any self-control he’d had over his physical response to her. Just because he’d had her soft, curvy body pressed intimately against his a few minutes ago—okay, plastered against him would be a more apt description—it was no excuse for his unruly dick to leap to immediate attention.
Yeah, bad choice of words, but leap it did, without his goddamn permission and before he could fully process what was happening—beyond the instantaneous knowledge that Hailey Ellison fit against his body as if she’d been created specifically for him to fuck. In a matter of seconds, the surge of heat and awareness bought on by having her full, lush breasts crushing against his chest, and her hips aligned so perfectly to his, had his cock perking up and responding to all that physical stimulation.
God, he was such an asshole. It wasn’t enough that he’d gotten a boner, but in that brief moment he’d imagined what it would be like to take the embrace one or two steps further. To back her up against the nearest wall and slide one hand beneath the hem of her very prim and proper black skirt that hugged her hips and flared out around her knees. To wrap that thick, silky looking hair of hers around his other fist to pull her head back so his mouth would have unobstructed access to the creamy expanse of her throat, while his fingers slipped beneath the edge of her panties and touched her intimately, deeply.
See? He was totally going to hell.5