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Summary
"You're late with the filing, Will," Chance murmured, his voice a low, vibrating baritone that seemed to settle right in the marrow of Will’s bones.
"I had to make sure we weren't interrupted," Will whispered, his eyes fixed on the silver fountain pen resting on the legal pad, his pulse thrumming in his throat.
Chance finally leaned back, his heavy leather chair creaking softly as he settled into the darkness, his dark eyes tracking the way Will was subconsciously worrying his bottom lip again, pulling the damp skin between his teeth until it was a deep, bruised crimson.
Series
- Part 3 of The ByChance Special
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