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“You’re right. Never seen him use technology this much,” Donnie said.He clicked Inbox and sure enough, the sender name ‘Grace Larson’ taunted at the top of the list. No matter what it read, the offer was still rescinded. For both of their sakes. His sanity. Her safety. His cock’s well-being.But when he opened the e-mail, he knew immediately from the nauseating jolt of need, he was too far in to ever cancel the chance to have her in his presence. In his home. To have such an art piece decorating his furniture. Sitting out on his terrace, the back foyer, the mezzanine’s leather sofa. He stopped there, envisioning her poised on the leather. She would be wearing that long sleeve plaid shirt. The one that consumed her frame and made his hands eager to press against the loose fabric, discover the slender, warm body beneath it.Her curls were the exact color as the sofa, a deep brown that, only when the sun glided in through the bay windows, lightened to a glistening almost-burgundy. Her. It had been kinda nice.Mary and Misti had come in a few minutes later. They had a good laugh at the way Betty had described it to them. Misti had looked at her, got up and went to the sink and wet a paper towel. She handed it to Betty, telling her, "You're STILL leaking, Babe. Wipe your thighs." This was the first time any of them had seen Betty blush. It was EXTREMELY becoming. Betty shook her head to clear it and concentrate on what was at hand. She started by starting the coffee. It had been pretty cool last night, so hot coffee would be most welcome. It took her two minutes or less to do that, the coffee would be ready very soon, so she reached over and took the flour canister and dipped some out to start biscuits. She put some on the breadboard, and the rest into a bowl, and added her other ingredients. Her head was still loopy and she almost forgot the salt. THAT would have been a disaster. She poured some buttermilk in, and, on a whim, a couple big spoons of butter. Everyone.
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