Page 21 of His for Christmas
It felt like his entire body was slamming into my clit, the friction too painful to come, but then he shifted position and his cock pressed a place inside me. I wrapped my legs around him and held on as he battered that place until I was begging him, asking for something with incoherent moans and stuttered breaths. Needing to come.
He pinned my arms above my head. “Angel. Oh fuck, Angel. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
I didn’t have enough air to respond. I was barely holding on as he rode me. In the end it wasn’t his cock filling me up or his hands on my wrists that made me come. It was his cheek brushing against mine that pushed me over, the unexpected intimacy of the moment, my heart swelling along with my clit as I shuddered beneath him.
My climax caused his, and he made a choked sound as he pressed himself into me, somehow deeper, somehow harder, straining against me while he filled me with his seed.
Chapter Eight
I groaned. “Oh God, that feels so good.”
Gage’s white smile was like the Cheshire cat’s in the dark. “Too much?”
My toes scrunched up as he ran his capable hands over my heel. An extremely intimate sound escaped me. A footrub in a stalled elevator was officially the most decadent thing that had ever happened to me, and I never wanted it to end.
“Just right,” I said on an exhale.
His voice grew serious. “You work too hard.”
I had to laugh. “You’re telling me that?”
“I own the company. I have a vested interest in its success. But you… you weren’t even getting overtime. I checked.”
Thank goodness it was dark so he couldn’t see me blush. “I guess I thought if I did a good enough job, I might be considered for a permanent position.”
Of course I’d known what a long shot that was, if only because it might require a more in-depth background check, one that might turn up sealed records.
But Mr. Thompson was silent, and I knew that he had never even considered offering me a permanent position. Not surprising, considering our first encounter, but it still hurt to know that he hadn’t wanted me. I’d thought I did good work, but maybe I was wrong. Or maybe that didn’t matter.
A few cards short of a deck, my daddy had said.
I tried to lighten the mood. “Not sure I’d want to work here anyway. What’s with offices being so high and spacious? I’m more of a burrower.”
“Angel…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll find another temp job. It’s not a problem.”
“Angel, I don’t understand why you’re trying to get a job like this. Filing papers? Filling out forms?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just like paying my bills.”
He barked a laugh. “Fair enough. I meant it isn’t you. That isn’t where your strengths lie.”
“What strengths?” I wasn’t fishing for compliments. I was genuinely curious if there was any way to earn a living while being both gullible and hopeless. Preferably not on my back.
“Angel, you’re caring, you’re courageous. You’re also pretty damn smart no matter what you say. But as much as I’d love to see you every day, it’d be distracting to have you as my secretary. I don’t think it would make you happy either, would it?”
“Well, I’d have food and clothes and maybe even my own apartment. They say money can’t buy happiness, but those things make me pretty happy.”
“You need to do something. You don’t need to do this. There are a lot of jobs in the world that aren’t being an assistant to assholes like me.”
“There aren’t,” I said flatly. “But I guess my daddy was right after all. I can’t make it in the real world.”
“This?” He made a sweeping gesture at the shiny metal walls of the elevator, at the marble floors. “This isn’t the real world. This is a boxing ring, and you aren’t going to be happy here because you don’t like to hit people.”
“I appreciate the attempt, but I know the real reason I’ll never make it.” And it wasn’t even the criminal record I had to disclose on every job application. The real reason was what had gotten me in jail in the first place. Too trusting, too blind, and too…
He groaned. “Jesus. You need to stop with that. You’re not stupid.”
I gave him a look. Which probably would have been more effective if he could see my face. “Don’t patronize me. I know what I am.”
“Fuck, Angel. You of all people know me better than that. I’m not a nice person. I’m not going to tell you things just to make you feel better, not if I don’t believe them.”
That was true, he wouldn’t.
“Who told you that?” he demanded. “Your father? If so, he’s an asshole.”
Something shifted inside me to have Mr. Thompson acknowledge that. Because my daddy had been an asshole. He hadn’t cared when they’d diagnosed me with some kind of learning disability, and he definitely hadn’t gotten me the help they’d recommended. No, he’d been too interested in me for all the wrong reasons, kissing and hugging me while he insulted me, hoping I was too stupid to figure out why he really liked to hold his thirteen-year-old daughter so close. I’d learned to keep my head down. Learned to stay under the radar.
