Page 8 of Tell Me You Need Me

“Great. I’ll see you both at the office in an hour.”

“Yeah,” Nolan pants, his control crumbling as he feels his climax rushing upon him. “I’ll… see you.” He doesn’t wait for a response. He snaps the phone from his ear, clicks the call off, and tosses the device aside. It hits the carpet with a soft thud. The moment it’s gone, so is the last thread of his restraint.

“Fuck, Mischa,” he roars, hands flying to both sides of my head, holding me captive. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t hold back. He lifts his hips off the bed and fucks my mouth, driving his thick length down my throat. I take every inch of him, opening up, and my hands clutch his hard thighs as he uses me to find his release.

“Take it.” The sheer power of his body pushing into mine sends a sharp wave of arousal through me. “Take it all.” His hips snap forward three more times before he stays, his body going rigid as his orgasm hits him all at once. Nolan lets go completely. I feel his release sliding down my throat as he sends shot after shot of his thick, hot cum my way. I swallow greedily, taking every last drop, milking him with my mouth and hands until he’s drained, his body shuddering in front of me.

I slide my mouth off his softening shaft. A single stray drop of his release glistens on my bottom lip. I rest my chin on his lower abdomen, looking up at him through my messy hair. He’s lying back, his eyes staring at me with an intense level of possession.

“You’re a menace.” He reaches down, his thumb sweeping gently across my bottom lip, catching the droplet, then pushes the digit into my mouth for me to suck on.

“I’m your assistant, Mr. Cross. I’m just doing my job.” I let his thumb go with a loud pop and offer him a satisfied smile before lifting my body into a sitting position. Nolan let’s out a bark of laughter. His hands reach down to pull me on top of his body until I’m lying flush against his chest. His arms wrap around me, trapping me safely against his heart. “We’re going to be late,” I mutter into his skin, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek.

“It can wait,” Nolan growls, kissing the top of my head. “We’re not going anywhere yet.”

CHAPTER SIX

nolan

My palms rest flat on the polished marble of my desk, my chest heaves beneath my dress shirt, and my breathing is anything but normal. The top three buttons are undone, my tie is skewered, and my skin still burns from where Mischa’s fingernails were digging in moments ago. I almost took her again.

Right here. Right on top of the same desk where I buried myself inside her last night, completely ignoring the fact that it’s eleven o’clock in the morning and I have an entire executive board operating down the hall.

Her lips are swollen, a deep, bruised crimson, and her black pencil skirt is twisted around her hips. She’s leaning on the edge of the desk, her green eyes glassy, and her breathing matches mine. The low, persistent buzz of the line on my desk phone breaks the thick silence of the room, it’s the second time the line has rung in the last few minutes.

“We’ll pick up where we left off later tonight,” I promise, my jaw locking tightly as I force myself to take a step back, breaking the moment before we both lose our sanity. Mischa adjusts her blouse, her delicate fingers smoothing down the front of her skin when she hops off my desk, watching as her tits bounce, deliberately trying to make me go after her again. And she knows exactly how much control she’s stripped from me.

“It’ll have to be much later,” she says with a spark to her eyes as she looks up at me through her eyelashes. “It’s girls’ night. I’m heading to the bar with the girls straight after work.” Her tone is dripping with a quiet, teasing challenge.

“Is that right?” I narrow my eyes while rebuttoning my shirt then fiddling with my tie in an attempt to put myself back together when all I want is to say fuck it and continue about my time with Mischa.

“That’s right, Mr. Cross,” she mumbles, stepping past me and toward the exit. Mischa pauses at the door, hand resting on the heavy brass handle, throwing a lingering glance over her shoulder. “Don’t wait up.”

I stare at the space she just occupied, my mind already spinning into gear. Girls’ night. She thinks slipping out into the city, sipping on cocktails in some dimly lit lounge while I sit at home in my empty bedroom, waiting for her to grace me with her presence is going to happen. She’s clearly forgotten who she’s dealing with. A plan takes root, one that’s going to require a tactical shift, a few strategic calls, and a massive distraction. If Mischa wants a night out, she’ll get one, but she isn’t doing it without me watching over her.

She glides into her office area, closing the door behind her, but not before stepping around the man walking in. Maxim steps into my office, carrying a tablet under his arm, a smug, knowing grin plastered across his face. He’s my best friend, my head of operations, and currently the single biggest obstacle standing between me and his sister.

“Tell me you signed off on the Changi shipping manifests,” he says by way of greeting, walking over to the leather club chairs sitting across my desk and tossing his tablet onto the small glass side table nestled between the chairs.

“I handled it hours ago, Max,” I reply, stepping around my desk and dropping into a chair myself. “The Zurich line is cleared, and the primary transport limits have been overridden. Is there anything else on the Asian logistics package?”

“Nope. Singapore is locked and loaded. The board is going to be purring by the time the quarterly review hits their desks on Thursday.” Max takes five minutes to run through the remaining numbers—stiff, routine corporate chatter about fuel surcharges and port tariffs—before he stops mid-sentence. He leans back in the chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach, a grin widening into something far too observant for my liking. “Alright, work is done. Now tell me what really happened this morning.” The amusement is written all over his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I don’t look up from the document I have in front of me.

“The hell you don’t. I called you at nine o’clock this morning. You sounded like you’d just finished sprint intervals up a mountain, and you tried to say it was from the treadmill. I’ve known you since college, Nolan. You don’t do cardio at any given time unless someone is forcing you.”

“I had a busy morning.” I snag my Montblanc pen off my desk. Maintaining my mask of cold indifference is damn hard.

“I know you weren’t actually at the gym,” Max pushes, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at me from the side. “Pretty sure whoever was working you over is the reason for your good mood. You should start your mornings like that more often.”

The sheer irony of his words hangs in the air between us like a heavy fog. If he had any idea who was working me over this morning, kneeling between my legs, in my bed, while he was talking about waivers in my ear, he’d be tearing my office apart with his bare hands.

“So, who was the woman?” He searches my face for an answer.

“Focus on the briefing, Maxim. My personal life isn’t on the agenda.” I wave my hand dismissively in the air, brushing the question away like a nuisance gnat.

“Fine, but next time, you may want to actually hit the end button on your phone. Lucky for you, I’m not into voyeurism. Whatever you do, make sure whoever is keeping you satisfied doesn’t distract you from the board meeting.”