"Fuck me harder against the tree," Molly had gasped last Christmas, her nails digging into Leonard's shoulders as the ornaments rattled above them. The memory flashed hot behind her eyelids now—the sting of tinsel on her bare thighs, the way her swollen breasts had swayed with each thrust, milk leaking onto his crisp dress shirt. The HR file labeled him a predator. She called him a god. Her fingers lingered on the hem of...