Page 7 of His for Christmas
Then there was only the ragged sound of my breathing. Soft caresses brought me down slowly, like he knew how tender I felt, how vulnerable.
How afraid.
He pulled his hand from my panties, and before I could register what he was doing, he pressed his fingers against my lips. “Taste yourself,” he ordered gruffly.
I opened my mouth—to protest?—but he pushed inside, swiping the musky flavor on my tongue. I closed my lips around him and sucked his fingers clean. I’d never done that before, but it felt right. It felt especially right when he made a choked sound that I knew was arousal. I slicked my tongue against the seam of his fingers and closer to the tips, pretending they were his cock, miming the actions I’d use to pleasure him and lap the precum from the head.
But he didn’t spin me around then. Didn’t push me to my knees like I thought he would. Wasn’t that what rich men in suits wanted from the women around them?
Instead he gently straightened my bra so it covered my breasts and began buttoning my shirt. I was still half-delirious from the orgasm. I was completely dressed by the time I could speak.
“What about you?” I whispered.
He stepped back. I couldn’t see him move, but I could hear him, feel him, as he removed his strength and warmth. And then I was standing alone. Again. Reeling from an orgasm I should never have had.
“I’m fine,” he said in a clipped voice that proved his words a lie. He was not okay, and it was my fault. All of this was my fault, because I’d sneaked into this situation, clearly unprepared.
I whirled to face him. “What was that?”
It shouldn’t have been that hard to figure out. The big bad billionaire had taken what he wanted from the secretary. If I kept working here, he’d probably keep taking it from me, again and again. Why did the thought of that make me clench? I should be horrified, disgusted. I should be angry, but when I looked into the dark, troubled eyes of the man in front of me, all I felt was anticipation.
“I mean we’re finished,” he said gruffly. “You’ve done your job. Now get out.”
My eyes widened as hurt lanced through me. I should be running out the door. Heading straight to the HR department to tell them I quit. But all I could think was, You promised my nipples would be wet from your mouth. He hadn’t tasted them yet. I hadn’t tasted him yet either. How could we be done?
He didn’t want to be done.
I could see that in the stress around his mouth. Tense, because he hadn’t gotten any relief tonight. Not yet.
I stepped closer, and I could almost feel his wariness. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice clipped.
“I’m returning the favor.”
“That’s not how this works.” He swore softly. “They’re supposed to give you instructions.”
Well, they hadn’t. Did that mean he touched all his secretaries? The thought made me tense, even though it shouldn’t have been a surprise. “What instructions?”
His eyes hardened. “That you do what I want. And don’t ask questions.”
My hands clenched into fists at my side. I hated being helpless… although I felt most comfortable that way, with a guard telling me where to sleep and what to eat and when to bend over. And I liked it too with a stranger telling me when to come. He’d proven that much, and I hated that my own body seemed to have turned against me. Tears pricked behind my eyes.
He leaned forward, placing two fingers under my chin—the two fingers that had just touched me intimately—and looked me in the eye. “It’s not personal, Angel. I request a girl when I need one. I use her until I’m done. Understand?”
I swallowed hard, not breaking eye contact. It was just business, the way he’d cupped my breasts and slid his fingers deep inside me. Just business the way he’d groaned into my hair. But no one could be that cold, even him. Especially him. I stared into those murky depths, wondering what pain he was hiding. “Yes, sir.”
His eyes flashed white-hot, and I knew he liked me calling him sir. But when he spoke, his words lacked any of the warmth he’d imbued into every touch. His hand dropped away, and I lost even that bit of connection.
“Now tell me, Angel. What happens next?”
Leave. He wanted me to leave. He also needed me to stay. I felt that in every cell of my body. But it wasn’t my job to fix a lonely billionaire. I didn’t even have that power if I wanted to.
“And tomorrow?” Because I really did need this job, and I hated the idea that I should have to suffer—and possibly get evicted—just because he had intimacy issues.
