"If you'd let me, I'd have you screaming my name for hours—so long and so hard you'd be begging me to stop. Is that something you'd want, Sasha?"
His words were bold, provocative, and shamelessly direct—yet delivered with that signature confidence that made it hard to tell whether he was joking, seducing, or challenging her.
When Sasha heard those words, a shiver prickled across her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms.
She blinked once, then again, as if trying to shake off whatever spell had momentarily come over her.
Ross Oakley wasn't even her type. Not in the slightest.
His features, while striking to some, didn't quite fit her usual tastes.
He wasn't traditionally handsome—not in the chiseled, magazine-cover way she tended to go for. And yet…
She would be lying to herself if she claimed the man had no pull. Because Ross Oakley didn't need classic good looks.
He had something far more dangerous—raw, undeniable charisma.
