Ms. C.

Andre Quinn had enough experience to know that he wasn't a submissive, yet her total control of the situation which dripped into his skin spread waves of carnal desires to his flesh.

He hardened in every possible way,

And swallowed an even harder lump of anticipation.

"Okay, Ms. C." It wasn't he who replied her; something else had taken over his mind and sucked the need for control out of him. He was a shell of panting need and breathless desire for her, willing to do anything to make up for the time he had lost running.

She took two steps towards him and covered his hands with her small palms, her thumb rubbing over his wrists affectionately while he watched her. Hell, she emanated danger with her cologne and that skin hugging catsuit and fucking red stilettos.

And that make up... He almost came in his pants.

"Come with me."

He followed that hypnotic whisper of assurance and trust, his heart pounding as she led him to the bed and halted.

He swallowed, again, and again.