Naughty Ginger

Lauren Philips waves a red curl out of her face, leans against the desk like she's ordering take-out instead of calling her shot. "Lemme see what we're working with before I sign anything for your pal," she purrs, all sugar and sin. Ryan, polite soul that he is, pops the zipper, and out flops the undeniable. Lauren's eyebrows do a little dance. She gives a low whistle. Big mistake; the look in her eyes says the only contract she's signing now is with gravity. One smooth slide of skirt, she parks herself right on the edge of the desk, legs swinging open like saloon doors. "Hurry up and give it to me," she grins, "before the ink dries."