I drove too fast. Recklessly, even. But I couldn't help it. The entire night had been pure torture. The dress she wore—that dress—had been haunting me since the moment I saw her in it. A whisper of silk barely clinging to her body, defying every ounce of self-control I possessed. I couldn't concentrate on anything, not on the dinner, not on the conversation, not even on the way other men looked at her—because I was too focused on how that damned dress teased me all night. The way it bared her back, an expanse of soft, pale skin that I could almost taste.
I exhale sharply, gripping the wheel as I navigate the last turn into my private parking lot. My knuckles are white. My jaw is tight. And my pants? Fuck—they've been uncomfortable for hours.
