by Skye Warren
I knew exactly how good it would feel to let him do that, like he had the first day. And I knew it would end there, with me feeling wonderful and him still afraid of his own dark desires. I couldn’t do that to him, even if he wanted me to.
Underneath his dress shirt was a white tank. I pushed it up out of the way, revealing the hard planes of his abs, his chest, lightly furred and clenched tight with restraint.
“So sexy,” I murmured.
He laughed, unsteady—more an exhalation of air. “Angel, enough.”
“No.” I trailed a finger down his chest, enjoying the ripple of muscles, all the way down his abs and over his belt, to the bulge in his pants. It pulsed at my touch. “I don’t think it’s enough.”
He made a muffled sound that I took as wholehearted agreement. With him, that was as close as I would get.
I stroked him through his pants. “Keep holding on to the bar if you want.”
“Okay.” He shut his eyes. “I’m going to.”
He said it like a threat. It made me smile. I was still smiling when I unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. How pretty. He wouldn’t like that word, but it was perfect for his cock. Long and thick and impossibly smooth. Already wet at the tip, because he wanted me that much. What could be prettier than that?
I leaned down and kissed the tip. He jerked in my hand. His whole body shuddered, but he didn’t release the bar. When I pulled back, my lips were wet from his arousal.
“More?” I asked.
“I can’t control it.” He was pleading with me now. For me to keep going? Or for me to stop? Maybe both. Maybe he wanted to hurt me and have me forgive him.
I leaned down and closed my lips around the head of his cock.
“Fuck,” he shouted. The word bounced off the walls, filling the elevator.
I used my hand to pump his cock while I sucked the head and swirled my tongue around. I tried to draw out every drop of salty precum, swallowing it down and searching out more. It was hard to take him deep in this position, with him sitting up straight. He was practically holding his body up, gripping the bar and pushing his hips toward me. I took him as far as I could, letting the wetness slide down and coat him, using it to lubricate my fist as I worked him.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
I barely understood what he was saying, or why, until I saw his arms come down. As if released from a spring, they grabbed me before I could blink. He rocked forward, shoving me down to the floor, climbing on top of me. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
My breath was coming fast and then not at all. Was this it? Was he going to hurt me now, like he’d sworn he would? But I wasn’t afraid of him. I was afraid for him. How much would he hate himself if he did hurt me? And I knew I would let him do anything to me. I’d never say no. Never make him regret anything we did together.
I let him move me, let him yank down my panties and spread my legs. Let him put his mouth against my sex, and God, God, it wasn’t a hardship at all to let him suck my clit. He dipped low and slid his tongue into my folds, drawing out slickness and pleasure, making me shudder and cry out. Then he went high again, lashing my clit with steady, urgent strokes, begging me to come, demanding it.
“Mr. Thompson.”
His voice was muffled, but I heard him anyway. “God, yes. Again.”
He pressed one finger inside me, working it along the inner walls until I clenched around him. He added another finger until I felt full—but not enough. Not even his wicked tongue on my clit or his deft fingers in my cunt were enough.
Tears fell down my cheeks. “Mr. Thompson,” I whispered.
He lunged forward until his body canted over mine. His eyes were dark orbs above me, almost cruel. He notched his cock against my body, a warm and urgent threat. “I’m sorry, Angel.”
Then he pushed inside me, relentless, giving me no time to adjust, no time to do anything but stretch and burn and ripple around his hard flesh as I sobbed his name. Immediately he pulled back and thrust inside me again, his pace faster than I could breathe, his movements so hard I felt like the whole elevator car was moving instead of just him.
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.
Learned to be stupid, so no one would ever pay attention to me.
Or maybe I was just fooling myself. Maybe I was just stupid and desperate enough to make up reasons.
A cold sensation wrapped around me, gripping me with its fingers and squeezing tight. There were no more reasons to make up. No more excuses. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said flatly.
He blinked, clearly not used to people talking to him that way. But he didn’t get angry. Instead his eyes softened. “I know you’re smart in everything that matters. You’re smart about people. You’re smart about the way I treat you and the way you treat me.” He paused. “You’re smart about us.”
About us. Oh God. I wanted there to be an us. And how stupid was that? “I have a record,” I whispered.
“What?”
“I have…” Damn it, this was harder than I’d thought. And I’d thought it would be pretty freaking hard. “I have a criminal record, okay? I got out of jail six weeks ago. I was inside for two years, for conspiracy to possess with intent to distribute.”
He stared at me, mouth open. His brown eyes were no longer angry or fierce. They were shocked, and for the first time I noticed his dark lashes. They made him seem younger, almost vulnerable. He was like the building, hard steel and concrete—and the thin layer of glass that I’d slammed into like a sledgehammer, breaking it with no care at all, only concerned about what this job would mean to me.
He shook his head slowly, disbelieving. “You were… a drug dealer?”
A short bitter laugh escaped me. “That would require some level of intelligence. And in that case, I wouldn’t be broke. No, I was just the dumb girlfriend of the dealer. I kept the boxes in the room I was renting because he’d asked me to. And when the cops showed up to search them…”
“Jesus, Angel.”
“I do have my diploma,” I said somewhat defensively. “At least that part was true. I got my associates degree while I was there. But I didn’t disclose my crime on the application. That’s the only reason I got this temp job.”
He was silent a moment, the darkness almost suffocating as I waited for him to judge me. He couldn’t say anything worse than I’d already told myself. But it would still hurt, from him.
“How the fuck does a minor get two years in prison for someone else’s crime?”
Surprise held me suspended, almost floating above the cool elevator floor, hanging by a breath. He didn’t seem mad… at me. It had to be a mistake. A temporary reprieve. Just one more thing I didn’t deserve. “The judge said I needed to learn my lesson. That running away from home had proven how little responsibility I took for my life. He said that even if I hadn’t meant to, I should have known better.”
“That’s ridiculous. What was his name?”
“The judge?” My eyes widened. What did he want to know that for? “I’m not telling you.”
“I’ll find out easily enough.”
“It’s sealed. My record is sealed. The judge did that much for me, at least.”
My heart seemed tight, my chest too small to contain it. I found myself clutching the elevator floor, almost bracing myself for whatever would come next. Whatever he would say, whatever he would do—except before he could say anything, footsteps approached from… above? Through the door, but it almost sounded like the floor was halfway up.
Gage was on his feet in a flash. “Hello,” he shouted. “Anyone there?”
Someone shouted back. “I hear you. You okay in there?”
That almost sounded like the man out front…except I didn’t know his name. “Santa?” I called, feeling silly.
There was a laugh. “Yes, ma’am. I knew you went in this morning and never came out. Figured I better check on you.”
I smiled. “Thank you. We could use your help.”
“Call security.” The Big Bad Billionaire was back. “Tell them Mr. Thompson is in elevator bank three and to get their asses down here.”
“Will do.”
It got quiet, and Mr. Thompson sent me a sideways glance. “How do you suppose he got in with the doors locked?”
He must have found some way in, maybe a way that wasn’t totally kosher, but I wasn’t going to complain about that. Or let him get in trouble. It was my last day, and even if it hadn’t been, I’d have been fired after that confession. “The chimney, of course.”
Chapter Nine
After adjusting a strand of glittery tinsel, I stepped back to examine my work. The little household plant bore its Christmas trappings with dignity… kind of like a dog forced to wear a Halloween costume. Well, a Christmas tree wouldn’t fit in my room here. Not that I’d been able to afford one.
I dropped onto my couch and sat back. Maise wandered over and curled up on my lap. I stroked her absently. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
Maise purred.
“Just don’t eat the tinsel. I’m pretty sure it won’t digest well.”
A knock came at the door. I frowned. The owner of the house had gone to visit her son in Alabama. I was watching Maise until she got back, though to be honest, the gray and white striped cat had taken up residence almost since I’d gotten here. There were a few other people living in the house, but they were at work.
Which meant I had no idea who was knocking on the door.
I pushed a reluctant Maise off my lap and went to peer through the peephole. Oh God. “Mr. Thompson?”
“Gage,” he said.
My heart started beating like crazy. What was he doing here?
Was he finally going to turn me in?
He looked about cold enough to do it, his mouth set in grim lines. In fact his face seemed starker than it had been, shadows under his eyes and a shadow of scruff on his hard jaw.
And deep inside, stupid hope beat against my ribs, clamoring to get out, and God, I didn’t want to be wrong. Not again. Not about this. I needed some kind of protection around my heart, but seeing him standing outside my door in that ratty hallway tore down every defense I might have had.
“It’s Christmas,” I said, stalling.
“That’s why I came today,” he called. “I knew you couldn’t turn me away on Christmas.”
Damn him, he was right. Just like I’d told him he couldn’t fire a guy a week before Christmas. Fear and a small, strange excitement warred inside me as I opened the door a crack.
His expression was reserved. He held up a small box wrapped in red and gold. “I come bearing gifts. Well, one gift.”
If there were handcuffs in there, I was ready to be seriously pissed. Well, unless he had a different use planned for them… But worrying would get me nowhere. I had no choice but to
open the door and show him up to my room. Then close the door and take his coat, as if he would be staying awhile. Doing anything else was physically impossible.
“I didn’t take you for a cat person,” he said as Maise twined between his legs.
“She’s not mine.” Just to be contrary I said, “But she’s sweet. I could’ve had a cat.”
“I see you with a dog. Something small but energetic.”
I’d have done anything for a dog. Only, even as a young girl I’d been smart enough not to ask for things. Maybe I hadn’t always been stupid. I’d just spent my brain cells on survival, on staying under my daddy’s radar so he’d never have leverage against me. Never touch me. “I’m not allowed to keep pets here anyway. Maise belongs to the owner of the house.”
He wandered farther into the room. He stooped to examine my pathetic houseplant Christmas tree. I felt overexposed with him seeing where I lived. How I lived. He looked sharp in a suit—even outside of work, on Christmas day. That was him, covered in masculine linen and silk, wrapped like a present.
“I’m starting a new trend,” I said lightly.
When he glanced back at me, his expression was solemn. He looked less like a stranger, more like the Gage Thompson I knew from the office. The Big Bad Billionaire… but even with his stern face, I wasn’t intimidated by him anymore. If he wanted to ruin me, it would be only too easy. With his money and his power, he could ruin anyone. I was completely at his mercy, and I found, for some reason, that I liked it here. It didn’t feel scary.
It felt safe.
I didn’t think he was here to turn me in. “Did you come to offer me a job?”
He glanced at me sideways. “Do you want one?”
“Depends what I’d have to do.”
A small smile turned his lips, challenging and intimate. “What if I said you had to come to my office, late at night when no one else is there?”
My stomach knotted. “I’d say that sounds familiar.”
He withdrew something from his pocket. Folded paper that he opened. “Angel Marie Cole,” he read.
