He could smell her. The clean, soapy scent of her skin, the sweet smell of her shampoo, and underneath it all, the scent of woman. Of aroused, sexually-stimulated woman. He could’ve sworn he’d never, in his life, been so horny. His cock felt weighted down, so heavy, so full, so damned hard it could’ve torn out of his pants. But it seemed as though every little thing was conspiring against him, keeping him from making love to his wife. He’d barely crossed the threshold, hung the keys beside the door, and turned to look at her like one would look at dinner when the phone rang. He snatched it up with a displeased grunt. “Mr. Forrester?” He groaned at the voice, quickly becoming all-too familiar. “What now?” “Can you talk?” “Barely.” His cock pushed against his fly. It felt like a bomb waiting to explode, and his jaw hurt, his teeth overly sensitive. “The reason for our call, Mr. Forrester, um, er, Marcus, is that we have reason to believe your wife’s state is contagious,”
