Page 25 of His for Christmas
I should pull away. I really should. And I would just as soon as I leaned in close and soaked up all his warmth. “No, you know that isn’t wrong. I want that too.”
“And I want you to have food,” he continued in that persuasive tone of his. I imagined him using that tone when negotiating a multimillion-dollar deal, and felt strangely flattered by the comparison. “I want you to have clothes and your own apartment. Is that wrong?”
“No…” I drew the word out.
“And I want you to be happy.” He pulled me flush against his body, his mouth against my temple. “So let me buy you a little happiness,” he whispered.
I bit my lip to stop the laugh, but it came out anyway. “I did set myself up for that one.”
“You can figure out your next step. You can try out different jobs. You can do whatever the fuck you want, but do it near me. That’s all I want.” He looked down at me, his eyes dark and somehow bright. “That’s my happiness.”
I swallowed thickly. “Oh, Gage.”
His expression was tight, almost pained in its uncertainty. This wasn’t a man used to uncertainty. “Is that a yes? Will you let me make you happy? Will you be mine?”
“It’s a yes, please.”
And he was good to his word, giving me the happiness I needed and wanted, bending his head to brush his lips across mine, deepening the kiss until I was lax in his arms and he was breathing heavy with need. One of his hands was threaded through my hair, cradling my head as he delved his tongue into my mouth. His other hand roamed my body from my breasts, down my stomach, to cup my ass, and then started the trek all over again—with a kind of urgency born of denial, as if he thought he’d never get to touch me again and had to prove to himself that he could.
When he pulled back, his eyes were hazy with desire. They focused on me with slow-burning intensity. “Show me your bedroom, Angel.”
“Why?” I looked up at him, coy. “Do you have something to show me?”
“I have several things to show you,” he growled. “Right here on the floor if you don’t take me to your bed.”
Ooh, I liked him growly. “Wait. First I need to see what’s in the box.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Mercenary. I approve.”
I shrugged, unapologetic. I was way too curious about what he’d gotten. Besides, it had been a long time since anyone had given me a present. As soon as he handed me the box, I pulled aside the ribbon and tore the paper. Lifting the lid, I found a gleaming onyx pen inside. His pen. I picked it up, admiring the smooth shine.
Only then did I notice the engraving along the side. Property of the Big Bad Billionaire. Please return if found.
My jaw dropped. This was exactly how he’d gotten his reputation. And just like the man in the Santa costume had said, he lived up to his reputation. “Oh, you’re very bad.”
“So they tell me. Big too.”
I swatted him. “Arrogant, overconfident, egotistical—”
“But you didn’t think I meant… you, did you? Only the pen is mine. That’s what I meant.”
“I see,” I said, even though he was such a tease. A sexy tease, and I never wanted him to change.
I loved him like this—demanding and confident like he should be, none of the hesitation and self-disgust he’d had before. Sometimes we were the worst judges of ourselves. He wasn’t a rapist, no matter what his father had done. And I wasn’t stupid, no matter what my daddy had said.
“But you can use it. Now that you’re my girlfriend, I don’t want you going around, borrowing other men’s pens.”
“Not when you have a perfectly good one.”
He leaned down and kissed me, murmuring between hot presses of his mouth on mine, “Perfectly. Good.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on tight for what I was sure would be rough and wild and absolutely decadent. My lips close to his ear, I whispered, “You’re too pretty, and it’s been too long.”
His lips curved against my neck as he recognized the same words he’d spoken to me. “Do you know what you’re asking for?”
Better than he did, almost. And I wasn’t afraid.
Chapter Ten
He didn’t reach for me right away. Didn’t pull me close or pin me down. Not yet.
Instead his gaze was appraising, weighing my sincerity. Wondering whether I could take him. I raised my chin. I’d survived on the streets. Survived prison. If there was anyone strong enough to survive him, it was me.
“It’s too late to back out now,” he warned.
“Use me,” I said softly. “I won’t break.”
He cocked his head. His gaze took me in, from my nipples pebbling underneath my threadbare cami to my bare feet, visible beneath the hem of my too-long pajama bottoms. Not exactly the sexiest outfit, but the hunger in his eyes left no doubt that he wanted me. And I knew exactly how he wanted me: hard. Rough. And fighting back.
