Pulse skittering like crazy, she bent over the desk. She was so aware of everything—the hard surface beneath her, Easton’s heavy breathing, the slide of her skirt on her skin, her soaked panties.
He slowly peeled her skirt up. “Harlow.” His hands kneaded her ass, toying with the elastic edge of her panties.
Then he yanked the scrap of lace down her legs.
He sank a hand into her hair, pulling her back enough to kiss her, his pants brushing against her bare ass.
Then one of his hands pressed to her shoulder blades, and the desk was cool under her cheek, while the rest of her was in flames.
His other hand slid between her legs, finding her damp folds.
“Damn, baby, is all this wet for me?” He tugged on her clit, then thrust a finger inside her. “Have you been wet all day, Ms. Carlson?”
She moaned. “Yes.”
“Then time for my naughty assistant to get her punishment.”
She heard the clink of his belt and her belly tightened. Anticipation was like lightning in her veins.
She felt the tip of his cock drag through her damp folds. Her palms clutched the desk.
Easton’s hands gripped her hips. “Hold tight, baby.”
“Easton—”
His hips plunged forward and he buried himself deep inside her.
Harlow’s husky cries mingled with the pleasure driving Easton.
He bent his knees, then thrust into her again. Their groans mixed.
He needed more. Needed to stamp himself on her.
He picked up speed. She was pinned under him, taking his hard, furious thrusts. He’d never felt this desperate, this possessive.
She whimpered, pushing back against him.
His hot, sexy Harlow.
He leaned over her, his hips slapping against her ass as his cock filled her.
Then her body stiffened, and he felt his own body draw tight.
“Yes, Easton,” she cried.
Her head tilted, her lips parted and her face clenched with pleasure.
Easton released the last of his control. He thrust harder, felt her inner muscles clenching on his cock.
With a groan, his climax tore through him. His hips bucked, pleasure a hot, heady rush.
Then he slumped over her, tucking his face against her neck.
Jesus, he was wrecked. And he’d never get any work done at this desk again.
He kissed her skin, and she made a contented, humming sound.
“Despite not wanting to move, we’d better get going,” he said. “Or we’ll be late to my parents.”
She stiffened, then elbowed him. “Off. We can’t be late!” Her wide, slightly panicked eyes filled her face.
Easton tucked himself back into his pants. “So, something does ruffle the organized Ms. Carlson.”
She yanked her skirt down. “My God, we have to get to your parents’. Where are my panties?”
He found them hanging from the arm of the guest chair, and handed them to her.
She made a distressed sound. “Your come is sliding down my thigh.” She made a beeline for his private bathroom.
Damn, he wanted to fuck her again. Instead, he tidied up, and when she strode out, she looked as polished as ever, except for her flushed cheeks and swollen lips.
“Ready?” he asked.
“We have to stop at the florist on the way to get your mom some flowers.”
He frowned. “We don’t need—”
“No arguments.” She held up her palm.
His sister used the same hand move as well. He decided not to argue.
After a detour to the florist, he pulled up at his parents’ neat Edwardian in Noe Valley. They were only five minutes late. Vander’s BMW bike was parked in the driveway and Rhys’ silver Mercedes GTS was at the curb.
Harlow fidgeted in the seat beside him, holding a huge bunch of mixed flowers that he knew his mother would love.
Reaching across the seat, Easton gripped her chin. “They’re going to love you.”
“Easton, no mother loves the woman her son is sleeping with. I bet she’s not liked any of the women you’ve brought home.”
He was silent for second. “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never brought another woman home.”
“What?”
Full-blown panic appeared on her face, so he kissed her until she went liquid.
“Oh, you’ve squashed the flowers.”
Shaking his head, Easton got out, then tugged her out of the car.
“Oh, I love this house. I love the paint color and contrasting trim. And that door is original.” Harlow sighed.
“You like renovating?” he asked, with a small smile.
“It’s my little dream. It’s nothing.”
The front door opened before they reached it.
“Easton.” His mother hurried out. Clara Norcross was small and curvy, and kept her dark hair free of grays with regular trips to her hairdresser. “You work too hard.”
“I know, Ma.”
Then his mother turned to Harlow.
“These are for you.” Harlow held the flowers out.
“Thank you, they’re beautiful.”
“Ma, Harlow. Harlow, my mother, Clara Norcross.”
“Call me Clara.” Then his mother reached out and pressed a kiss to Harlow’s cheek. “You poor thing, Easton told me what’s been happening with your father.”
“I’m so, so sorry to drag Easton, and Vander, into my mess—”
“Bah. Those boys can’t be dragged into trouble, they jump into it. They gave me my first gray hair before they were teenagers.”
“What gray hair?” Easton asked, deadpan.
His mom swatted his arm.
“And my middle son is very, very good at making trouble.”
“I heard that,” Vander called out from inside.
“Come.” Clara took Harlow’s hand. “Let’s put these in water and get you a drink.”
Harlow shot him a wide-eyed look, then followed his mom inside.
“Harlow!” Gia waylaid them. “How you doing?”
“Fine.”
Haven stood right behind Gia. The women disappeared into the kitchen.
Rhys appeared holding two beers. “It’s not some fancy French wine.”
“Fuck you.” Easton took the bottle.
“You both okay?” Rhys asked. “Heard someone took shots at you this morning.”
“We’re fine. Harlow bounced back, as she always does.”
In the living room, Easton found Vander, Saxon, and his dad. Ethan Norcross had given his sons their tall, muscular bodies, and his rugged face was topped with salt-and-pepper hair.
“Looking forward to meeting your girl, Easton.”
“Hi, Dad.” He gave his dad’s back a slap. Such a solid presence, always supportive. He’d never put his family at risk to keep up appearances. “My girl’s had a rough few days.”
“Vander said you’re helping her out.” His father’s face hardened. “Her father isn’t helping.”
Easton felt a flash of anger. “He’s in over his head.”
Gia, Haven, and Harlow appeared, the three of them holding glasses of wine.
Easton’s father lifted a brow. “A blonde bombshell, no wonder you’re smitten.”
Easton pulled Harlow to his side. “Harlow, this is my father.”