Page 14 of His for Christmas
He leaned down, so close, and I almost came in anticipation. But then he kissed the side of my breast instead. He worked lower, to the underside, grazing his teeth along tender, almost ticklish skin. And all the while his fingers worked me, bringing me higher, until my hips were rising to meet them, hungry and needy and so beyond shame now.
The urgency made me whimper, and he jolted at the sound. His mouth found my nipple, his lips closed around me. He’d given me permission to come when he did this. No, he’d given me an order to come, and I could have. With his fingers inside me and his thumb stroking my clit and his mouth at my breast, I could have come so hard. But it was the expression on his face that arrested me—at once tender and dark, both generous and cold.
My body shot into orgasm with all the power he used on me, the confident strokes of his fingers and the steady sucks of his mouth. I soared through my climax, seeing stars and blinking red lights and snowflakes falling, falling, coming back down to earth in a blanket of warm, white snow, but it wasn’t the ground at all, it was his arms, and he was holding me, soothing me while I floated back into myself.
“What about you?” I mumbled.
“Shh.”
I blinked rapidly, clearing my vision. “You really aren’t going to come?”
“I can’t,” he said tightly. But I knew he could. He could slip inside me and come so easily. He could pump into my fist or my mouth. He just wouldn’t do those things, because he was too afraid of hurting me. The irony was almost painful as he held me sweetly, believing the worst of himself while he treated me better than anyone ever had before.
Chapter Six
On Thursday morning the elevator dinged. I looked up to see the doors open. All of Mr. Thompson’s appointments came through that elevator. It was the only way in or out. Sometimes they were men, all wearing suits and ties and nervous expressions. Other times they were women, and I had to wonder if he was using them the same way he’d used me. He left the door open a crack¸ so I knew he wasn’t. Which just made me wonder why he’d left the door open. Did he know I’d wonder? Bottom line: I was slowly going insane.
This arrival was a man. Or a boy, really, younger than most of the execs who had appointments. He had pale blond hair and a grin that almost hid his unease.
He stopped in front of my desk. “Noah Waters. I’m here to see Mr. Thompson.”
I double-checked the calendar in case there’d been any last-minute changes from when I’d memorized it at the start of the day. Despite the rocky start, or maybe because of it, I was determined to be freaking great at this job. And copier battles aside, I’d mostly managed it—even if all it had earned me were grunts and clipped thanks from the boss.
Your ten o’clock is here, I typed into the company IM system like Christy had taught me to do.
Mr. Thompson didn’t immediately answer, so I figured he was on a call or something.
“He’ll just be a minute,” I told Noah with a nod toward the waiting chairs. The uncomfortable waiting chairs, which I’d found out one day when I’d sat in them. Had to be some kind of intimidation tactic, because the company could afford plush luxury on all the floors, especially the top. Not to mention my own chair behind the desk—Christy’s chair—which was an ergonomic masterpiece.
But Noah didn’t sit. “Are you new here?” he asked instead.
At my questioning look he gave me a sheepish smile. “I didn’t see you at the Fourth of July picnic.”
“Oh.” I blushed. I wasn’t sure why I blushed except there was something in his eyes that looked like interest. It had been a long time since I’d seen interest that didn’t also come with a threat, like the guards in prison or strangers on the street. Or a certain billionaire just a few feet away. “I’m just temping until Christmas,” I explained. “Nothing permanent.”
He seemed disappointed but undeterred. “What’s your name?”
“Angel. Christy will be back after the holidays. I’ll be gone soon.”
His smile finally faltered. “Me too, I think.”
Sympathy tightened my lips. Dread and I were old friends—old enough that I could recognize it in someone else. I wasn’t sure I should ask but… “Is everything okay?”
“Okay? No, not really. It’s a mess actually. A really big screwup.”
Oh no. “I’m sorry. Maybe Mr. Thompson will understand. He’s harsh but fair.” I had slowly learned what Christy meant by that, watching Mr. Thompson in action. He was a lot of bark, but he only bit when it was really warranted.
