Nash settled more comfortably into the guest chair, his legs spread wide to give Dahlia more space.
Lost in terror of the Red Zone and broken by the turn of events, the secretary was working frantically, driven by pure survival instinct.
Nash, on the other hand, maintained a marble-like calm, almost disconnected from the whirlwind of flesh moving on him.
His immense rough hands wrapped possessively around the young woman's bare ass, his fingers sinking deep into her tender flesh.
Less than two meters away, Harlan wasn't missing a single second of the show. Sprawled behind the executive desk, his forehead glistening with greasy sweat, the usurper was frantically massaging his own pants, his sexual frustration and arousal skyrocketing with every stifled moan escaping the secretary's lips.
The gears of his system were going wild on Nash's retina, his lust level dangerously flirting with the red zone.
