If Vera Cross really loved him, she would free him from his twisted hell.
For five years George loved her unconditionally.
For five years he imagined how it would feel to be inside her.
Vera’s presence made time stand still while he waited with as much patience as a shark catching that first scent of blood in the water. Her every move, every word, every look felt like an extension of his own body, his own mind, his very soul. She unleashed a burning craze in him every time he heard the click of her heels on the polished tiled floors. He couldn’t handle the loneliness any longer. Couldn’t bear to spend another night without her by his side.
“Tell me what you need, Mr. Bradley,” she said, her sexy voice making his pulse race.
I need you, Vera. He smiled to himself, knowing that if she gave him the chance, he would make her happy . . . in every single dirty way.
The long sweep of her charcoal lashes cloaked the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. Blue like a freshwater lake beneath a glacier, vivid against her alabaster skin and jet-black hair. Ripe in all the right places, her body should’ve been replicated into a sculpture, for his eyes only. With endless curves and slopes to make a man hungry for action, she defined a cock-teasing goddess. He felt utterly compelled to lick the glossy leather of the plain black heels encasing her tiny feet.
He wanted it all.