Ava’s pov

“The report is finished. You should tell me to leave.”

He didn’t. He just watched me over the rim of his glass while the whiskey burned slowly in my throat.

The small couch felt even smaller with both of us on it.

His knee stayed pressed hard against mine. The desk lamp was the only light left and it threw everything into sharp shadows.

“I’m not telling you to leave,” he said. “Not yet.”

I set the glass down because my hand had started to tremble.

The ache between my legs had gone from a dull throb to something sharp and constant.

Hours of sitting across from him,...