He growled as Ivy shifted underneath him and…oh baby. Blessed be the day. He must’ve been born under a lucky star. Or singled out by the most forgiving of angels. Whatever. The reason for his good fortune didn’t matter. Label it time off for good behavior. Call it emotional parole. Place addiction at the top of the list. Only one thing mattered—Ivy and what she made him feel. Without effort, she tipped the scales, upending him completely, blowing past rational to shove him straight into enthrallment. Now he reeled, head spinning, body humming, a prisoner of desire as he deepened the kiss and took what she offered. Everything she gave. All he wanted too. Which made him a first class cad. He shouldn’t be kissing her like this. Shouldn’t be nestled between her thighs and pressed to her core. Shouldn’t be chest to breast with her, hands threaded in her hair while he tangled his tongue with hers either. Not before they talked and he came clean.
What do You think about Fury Of A Highland Dragon?
