One more stupid dinner, then maybe I’ll just buy a mountain, go live in a cave.
But what I see through the glass of my office door when I turn to go. Out there in the reception area.
It makes my heart stop.
I stand, froze.
Glued to the spot. I feel my jaw dropping and an involuntary sound escapes me as I study her bent over, trying to pick up folders but kicking them further away.
I’ve never been an ass man.
But I can see now it’s because I’ve never come across the perfect ass.
Until this very moment.
I never knew I had a ‘type’ either, only that every woman who ever tried to get past more than a handshake and a kind word did nothing for me.
But her.
She’s here!
I blink, shake my head, and force myself to grip the handle and pull the door open.
I’m drawn to her without even having seen her face, her front. She could have a god damned beard for all I know.
For all I care.
She’s perfect. I just know she is.
I know in an instant that I’ve got a chance at something I’ll never have again. A chance meeting?
I don’t believe it.
I make my own results in this life, and I know what I see in front of me is going to be mine.
All mine. No matter what.
Each step I take gets more difficult, my dick getting harder with each pounding beat of my heart against my ribs. I feel my suit pants filled to capacity in three steps and know I’m gonna have to cover myself with something.
I’d prefer my dick to be covered with her. But who knows?
She could be married, have a boyfriend? Fuck! I mean, look at her, of course, she’s…
I can’t even bring myself to think like that, scooping a folder up, I hold it over my aching crotch and decide to stand still.
If only to stop myself from groaning out loud again.
Muttering to herself under her breath, she’s completely oblivious to me and I use my few moments of being hidden from view to study her more.
Her heart shaped ass hugged tight by her black skirt, fashionably long for work. Her thick thighs are pressed together and run down to flexing calves as she struggles to keep a box balanced in one hand while she’s bent over to snatch up programs with the other.
It’s a perfect view and my body and mind already ache for more of her, but I’m still only looking at half a body here.
With a growing need to see more of her, I clear my throat and she jumps up straight, a little sound coming out of her.
A mixture of startled, and a light groan, picking up on the feeling I’m transmitting straight into her.
Her back is wider at the shoulders, a perfect hourglass figure. The kind women used to have, the kind they’re supposed to have.
Her blond hair comes out of its ponytail in places, covering a section of her shoulder that makes me take a step closer, wanting to touch her hair, to take in its scent.
But my eyes move south again. Those hips. Those magnificent hips start to move like magic as she slowly turns around.
Hips I want to grab hard as I fill her from the front, then the back. Hips I know were made for just one thing.
Me.
“I was just…” she starts, but as she turns around, my throat broadcasts another, low growl once I catch sight of her face. Her full and perfect chest.
It’s an animal sound.
The sound a male makes when he’s found his mate. A sound to warn off all other males.
A sound that also brings her into heat, ready for him.
Her round face is flushed, even looking a little sweaty. A button nose sits between a set of full, ruby red lips, gloss but no lipstick required.
Her eyes catch mine. Deep blue, wide and clear. I watch with satisfaction as her pupils dilate, her lips wetted from a slight movement of her tongue’s tip across them as a little pout of frustration forms there.
Her eyes grow wider still, and her chest shudders once it registers who she stands before.
She drops the box and the few programs in her hand and starts to sway, those beautiful eyes growing misty, looking past me before she lets out a tiny squeak and starts to fall forward.
CHAPTER THREE
Jules
My mind’s made up. As soon as witch Karen is out of sight I’m out of the office and in a cab with the boxes of programs, heading straight for Mason Thorne’s building.
It’s a few blocks, but there’s no way I can manage huffing two boxes, and the growing fever I have, which I keep telling myself isn’t a fever at all.
There’s something about his building that makes me shiver too and not from the hot and cold flashes I’m getting in its shadow as I get out of the cab.
There’s something else…
It’s like something is pulling at me, drawing me in. Waiting for my change, I look up, not even able to see the top floors where it’s rumored the man himself actually lives.
The cab’s exhaust in my face tells me there’s no change.
“You’re welcome,” I murmur, hoping he enjoys his tip, and make my way inside.
A wall of security is working to capacity, even on a Saturday but then I remember, this is the same building the stupid auction dinner is being held in too, so security is tight.
I show my ID, explain the programs, and the boxes are checked through.
“We’ll take it from here,” A burly, short tempered guard mumbles, looking at me sideways once he notices I’m still here.
“Uh, I was told to deliver these to Mr. Thorne’s office… personally,” I add, trying to sound like I’m in charge when I really just feel like laying down again.
This dizziness, it’s coming and going again.
The guard puffs his cheeks and scratches his head. He watches me, making sure I don’t beep after I step through the security scanner.
He extends his hand to an open elevator. “Be my guest. Mr. Thorne’s office is empty. You can go see for yourself. Leave the boxes at reception and come straight back down.”
I feel a little stab of hurt like I must be sicker than I thought.
It actually feels like Mason is somehow brushing me off.
What a crazy thought. I’ve never even met the man.
“But I,” I start to protest. The guard looks more impatient than ever, so I scoop up the boxes and make my way to the elevator, leaning heavily against the brass railing inside to stop myself from toppling over from exhaustion.
The guard’s right. The whole reception area is vacant, not a single person to be seen.
There’s a huge pair of mirrored glass doors behind the reception counter, but I remember what the guard said, just leave the boxes and go.
I feel my hands slipping on one of the boxes, and watch helplessly as the top one tumbles onto the floor, spilling the executive programs in a sea of blue leather and glossy paper.
I curse aloud and bend down to start picking them up. I only manage to make it worse, kicking them and skidding on them instead.
I growl to myself, then suddenly feel eyes on me.
From behind.
A new feeling washes over me, replacing my anger with more of the Mason fantasy I had earlier. I even think I can smell a masculine cologne.
Metallic, but warm with a edge of…
“Ahem.”
His deep, throaty sound from behind travels right up my legs and into the place I never thought possible to feel so strongly, so suddenly wet on a workday.
I shoot upright suddenly and feel my whole body shiver, and my heart starting to sing in my ears as I slowly turn to see him.
It really is him.
Mason Thorne stands in front of one of those mirrored doors he’s opened silently.
He’s been watching me bent over. Oh my God, staring at my huge ass.
I want to flush with embarrassment, but the sight of him cancels out everything. The next sound he makes really does somethin
g to me.
It’s like a plug inside me has come loose and all I know is forgotten, the only thing I want, the only thing I need is him inside me somehow filling that space his low tone has just created.
All low growling sounds aside, the man is a god on earth.
He’s much bigger than I thought, well over six and a half feet.
My eyes lock with his dark and intense ones with a glow deep inside them that burns right through me, all the way down to my center.
I feel my chest bristling against my blouse, but I don’t feel ashamed. I feel compelled to have him look at me, to see what he’s doing to me. A part of me wants to lift my blouse and show him, to hitch my skirt up and beg him to take me right here on the cold marble floor.
What the hell am I thinking? It’s those eyes, that sound.
His thick dark hair seems to be held in place by the same power his whole persona just oozes. A clean shave, chiseled jaw, and flawless, tanned skin gives the appearance of someone who almost isn’t human, which only shows the faintest traces of lines near his eyes.
No man could look this good. Not in real life.
His suit shimmers in the full light which he fills it with his muscular frame, the slightest movement of his body underneath showing a figure that’s as conditioned and perfect as the rest of him.
Naturally, the way my mind’s going my eyes travel south, hoping to get the full picture of the man.
But his huge hands are folded over his groin, holding one of the programs I just spilled all over his perfect floor.
I hear myself trying to say something, but the whole room seems to pitch to one side before the floor starts to rush up towards me.
The remaining box and programs fall away, making me feel a little lighter.
I feel like an idiot, my first few moments of meeting the most perfect man alive and I’m falling over.
Probably fainting from fever.
Although now I can’t decide if it’s an illness or just the only kind of fever I know I’ll have somehow for the rest of my life.
Mason Thorne fever… and I’ve got it bad…
I know I’m falling, but I only hear a pathetic little sound from somewhere inside me.
Before I fall too far, I feel his firm hands on me, holding me up and drawing me closer to him.
How he moved so far so quickly is beyond me, it’s like there’s some magic rope between us, pulling us together.
“I got you. I’ve got you now,” I hear him murmuring, his huge arm around me while his other holds me up by the elbow, leading me back towards the doors he must’ve come through.
I feel like I’m floating. I can’t feel my feet.
And as stupid as one part of me feels for nearly fainting, another part doesn’t care.
He can hold me like this all day, forever if he wants to.
I look up, nuzzled into his massive chest and abs, which I can feel flexing underneath my soft body, as his heart pounds against his chest.
His eyes are still intense, but bright with concern as they narrow, looking away from me only long enough to guide me to a low, long couch along a wall in what I assume is his office.
I try to speak, to say something, but being this close to the only man I’ve ever had damp mid-day fantasies about is too much.
“Don’t try to speak,” he orders, making me shiver as his forearms go under my legs, lifting them up so I’m lying on the couch.
He leans in close, so close to my chest, my hard nipples are scratching at his suit so hard I can’t help but moan softly.
And then I see it.
His smile, about two inches from my face, his eyes traveling from his own view of my chest to meet mine, shining with satisfaction.
“That’s better,” he growls, hesitating with his hand at my blouse, moving back a little.
Being mindful of my own space, which I only want to be filled with him right now and nothing else.
“You almost went over just now,” he observes, seeming to struggle to collect himself, but not standing, just kneeling down beside me still.
“Are you unwell?” he asks, again reaching out with his hand for my brow, wanting to shift the hair stuck to it, but thinking better of it.
“I… I’ve been a little dizzy today… a fever, I think,” I rasp, feeling like I always do whenever any man even looks at me or almost gets close.
They get a different look in their eye once they really see me and take in my less than stick thin figure.
They give a smile, tell me ‘thanks for the offer’, and then they withdraw.
Liking me, but never wanting me.
I feel my lower lip start to quiver, blubbering something about dropping all the programs.
Out of habit, I tell myself I’m clumsy. Fat, that no man, especially Mason Thorne could ever find me even remotely attractive.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mason
I get to take her into my arms… just not quite in the way I would like. I’ve never had a woman faint just from looking at me but something tells me there’s more to this beauty than meets the eye.
I help her into my office, laying her out on one of the couches. I want to do more than just lay her down. I’d rather be carrying her off to my bed, but I can’t take advantage of her.
She seems to be unwell, like some sort of fever.
Crouched down beside her, I have to fight the urge to brush her hair back, to hold her hand, and the thousand other ways I suddenly feel compelled to show her how much I care, how much I want her.
But I can’t, not right this second.
That can come later, once I make sure she’s okay.
Try telling that to the splintering hard mast in my pants though.
I shift uneasily, trying to ease some of the pressure in my groin, but it’s no use. Every second being this close to her is only making me harder with each pounding beat of my heart.
I finally ask her if she’s been unwell if she’s sick. She admits a mild fever and some dizziness but is suddenly more upset by the fact she’s dropped all those silly programs on the floor in reception.
After a moment of looking like she’s going to burst into tears, she tries to sit up, murmuring something about having to go, having to get back to the office.
I feel panic rise in me, replacing the raw edge of my own arousal, the sudden thrill at having been so close to her even for just a few minutes.
“You can’t go,” I order, still being mindful not to follow my instincts and take her into my arms again.
Her eyes widen, then narrow a little. Maybe from dizziness still but in the end, they look defiant.
“I have to go,” she says coldly, and I feel my heart starting to tear open.
“At least let me call someone,” I continue, using my body as a shield to try and keep her on the couch when she tries to get up. “Your boyfriend…husband?” I venture, hoping the answer is no.
She looks like I’ve just insulted her, shaking her head and sitting up, using her own hands to get herself up.
“No! There’s no on. Now, please,” she stammers, the tears starting to flow now. “I’m very sorry but I have to go.”
I stand to move out of her way. I can’t force her to stay, I can’t and would never force her to do anything.
But why leave? You just got here.
I’m about to say something, anything I can think of to make her at least stay long enough to talk for five minutes when I hear two male voices.
My jaw clenches and I hear another growling sound escape me, the warning kind.
In three long strides, I’m back in reception.
The floor is littered with programs, with the mysterious girl skidding on a few as she bustles past two security guards to get to the elevator.
On guard looks to me, the other has his eyes on her, an arm reaching out as he steps towards the elevator.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hear myself roar, both men freezing on the spot, shrinking.
�
�Sorry, Mr. Thorne. We thought your office was empty. We only sent her up to drop off…” his voice trails as his eyes stray to the floor once he senses how angry I am.
“She’s mine!” I hear myself grow again through clenched teeth, my hands knotted into two fists.
Then, as quickly as it all seems to have happened, I hear the elevator chime and turn to see the doors close.
She’s gone.
The guards start murmuring more apologies, one offers to chase her down and bring her back, but as soon as the doors close, I feel my heart sinking.
I really thought…
But she was… she is…
I try and tell myself a dozen different ways, but honestly?
If she really was the one, why would she run? Why couldn’t she see…?
My mouth is dry with shock. I feel a little dizzy myself.
I hear the guards starting to pick up the programs, arranging them neatly back into the boxes as I turn to go back into my office.
“I never even got her name,” I say to myself when one of the guards pipes in.
“Ah, sir?”
I close my eyes, trying not to let my anger boil over again, looking up at the black space behind my eyes as I turn, one last time to the two guards.
“What?” I snap.
The guard who spoke is checking his notebook. “Ms. Jules McPherson. Works over at the Gainsborough building, her department is organizing tonight’s gala.”
Jules.
Jules?
Jules.
The more I say it to myself, the more it makes sense.
Jules. Like the jewels I know she has in that chest of hers, in those hips, in that space between her-
“Sir?”
I open my eyes, not realizing I’d closed them again.
I’m smiling now, I can feel my mouth stretching wide across my whole face.
Happy in the knowledge, the reminder that I am Mason Thorne. A man who knows what he wants, and more importantly… knows how to go about getting it.
Well. At least I know her name, and where she works.
It’s a start.
“Thank you, that’ll be all,” I announce, dismissing them both with a wave of my hand and returning to my office, and closing the door behind me.
Still smiling, I pick up the copy of tonight’s program as I sit at my desk, adjusting the front of my pants, realizing I still have a hard on that could probably cut glass.
Bidding For Her Curves: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 208) Page 2
