Jan Week 3: Spa Day with Samantha...Leah kisses the attendant...

Ethan’s face hovered over hers, jaw clenched and lips parted, radiating a hunger that had nothing to do with spa etiquette or even basic human decency. Leah watched him, heat and panic tightrope-walking through her nerves, certain that any second he’d come to his senses, remember himself, or maybe just collapse from sheer overexertion and post-orgasmic shame. Instead, the attendant jammed his mouth down onto hers in a kiss that was more mugging than romance, snatching the air right out of her lungs. Leah met him, savage and starving, every muscle wound tight and every thought of Jonathan vaporizing in the white-hot shock of Ethan’s tongue plunging against hers.

Her brain tried to protest, to bring up her fiancé’s face or the threat of blackmail or the hard math of how much this would complicate her life, but it all got steamrolled by the taste of Ethan—by the animal press of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the fact that he was still inside her and getting harder again by the second. His kiss was unpracticed, almost violent, and Leah couldn’t remember the last time she’d wanted something this much. She bit his lip, huffed a growl, and mashed her hips up to meet his next rutting thrust. The table juddered wildly, the cold edge digging into her spine, but she didn’t care.

Ethan groaned into her mouth, the vibration of it running down her chest and pooling like molten lead between her legs. The feel of him—big, hot, driven—made her dizzy. She kissed him with abandon, sucking his tongue, letting drool string between their mouths because there was no room left for dignity or decorum. He tasted of sweat and salt and aftershave, with an undertone of raw, unfiltered want.