Jax’s apartment was nothing like hers, it was a small, industrial, one big open room with exposed brick and a king bed shoved against the far wall under a single skylight. It smelled like him: leather, faint cologne, and the sharp edge of rain from the open window. Mara had barely made it through the door before he had her pinned against it, his mouth on hers, hands everywhere, like he’d been starving for her all day. “Been thinking about this since the office,” he growled, yanking her blouse open. Buttons popped and scattered across the hardwood. “You in that skirt, bent over your desk. My cock buried in you while the city watched.” Mara’s laugh was breathless. “Show me.” He spun her, pressed her chest to the door, hiked her skirt up to her waist. No panties again, she’d stopped wearing them around him. His fingers found her soaked, swollen, ready. He didn’t tease. Just freed his cock, thick and hard, and thrust in deep, one brutal stroke that made her gasp and arch. “Fuck..
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