He walked into the lounge like he owned it. Sharp jaw, sleeves rolled, the top two buttons of his shirt undone like he didn’t give a f**k who was looking. But I did. I looked. I always looked.
I crossed my legs tighter, no panties underneath. That wasn’t an accident.
He slid into the booth across from me, his eyes dropping straight to my bare legs and stopping at the hem of my short black dress. His stare was hungry, and I felt it deep between my thighs.
“Where’s your husband?” he asked, voice low and amused.
“Working late. Again.”
His smirk told me he knew that already.
“Good,” he said, sipping his drink. “Now tell me why you really called me here.”
I didn’t say anything. I just let my eyes fall to his belt. He noticed.
“You’ve been acting like a good wife for too long,” he said,
