Panic claws at my back.

Fix it. Fix it now.

"I'm sorry, baby," I whisper against her plush mouth, then lower at her throat where her pulse races out of control. I'm pushing up her skirt. Dragging my open mouth down the front of her heaving body, toward her cunt. It's my single-minded destination. I can repair this. I can give her pleasure and forsake my own. I can lick her off until she forgets my proposition. Never mind that she was supposed to say yes. That my plan was to make her my whore ...