Phoebe's POV
The dining room air crackled with heat.
The overhead lights seemed to sway, but no—that was me trembling.
I clung to Harold's neck, my legs locked around his trim, muscular waist. My clothes were completely wrinkled, but thank God they were still on. Nothing was showing.
Still, being fully dressed didn't make our embrace any less intimate or charged.
Breathless, I stared at Harold, his eyes blazing red.
I pressed my tender, swollen lips together, then turned and bit down on his bobbing Demetrius's apple to release some frustration.
A low, rough groan rumbled in his throat. "Ugh... Honey, if you keep teasing me like this, I really won't be able to hold back."
I gritted my teeth, pleased to hear his strained sounds. "Do you really think it looks like nothing happened, with us like this?"
That bastard had done everything except the very last step—both what he should and shouldn't have done.
He hadn't held back one bit.
