She was making him weak in the knees--he was self-confident enough to admit it to himself--and he watched as she went around the small office, not answering his question but instead showing him what she wanted. She would be the death of him, but he couldn't think of a better way to go.
Once she was situated, and she gave that simple explanation of why, he stood there for a moment longer, just soaking her in. "Bloody hell, Silvie, you're a minx," he murmured, his eyes shining with approval and desire. He went around the desk to stand behind her, one hand pressing the center of her back, the other rubbing over the outer curve of her arse. As much as he wanted to taste her again, he couldn't resist sinking into her wet heat again instead, the position definitely allowing him to push deeper into her.
He was, perhaps, a bit more rough now than he ought to be, but it seemed like that was what she was craving, and she had a power over him he couldn't deny. "You'll think about this every time you sit at this desk." It wasn't a question, but more of a command, and even if he could never truly, fully have her, he would take pleasure in knowing she would have this memory, that she would know what he could give her, what they could have had.