Just watching her, Ward was perspiring, his cock hard. She writhed on the top of Holt’s desk, the blond wrestler type forcing her to ride the peak for long moments. The guy was broad with a thick neck, the hunky sort of every woman’s fantasy. And Cassandra was definitely enjoying every lick and swirl.Her classic features were illuminated by the desk lamp. With the blinds closed, she was spotlighted, her breasts bobbing as she rolled to her partner’s rhythm, her fists burrowed in hanks of his hair. Then she turned her head, opened her eyes, and the light of them pierced him as if she could see every line of his body in the dark office.And he understood her game. She wanted him here as her voyeur. As she had when he watched her on Wednesday, she came hard, her body bucking. He enhanced her pleasure, only God knew why.He should be appalled. He should feel used. He should be irate that she was giving to another man what Ward wanted for himself. She’d labeled him a peeper, a pervert, a tool.
