~~Damon~~
Ugh.
Shantelle is the mother of bad timings. It’s like she has a sixth sense for walking in when things are already spiraling.
“Just a minute,” I call out. I’m still trying to catch my breath, my thoughts scrambled, my body screaming for me to focus. I try to adjust myself. My shirt feels like it’s strangling me, my tie is a crooked mëss, and my bulge is evident against my pants.
Claire, meanwhile, is furiously smoothing her skirt and readjusting her blouse. Her face is set in a mask of forced calm. She avoids my eyes, her movements jerky, almost frantic. Every brush of her fingers against her hair, every tug of fabric, sends a jolt of desire through me.
I shouldn’t have done this. I know I shouldn’t have.
And yet, I can’t stop watching her. The way her chest rises and fall
