His for Christmas Page 4

  His eyes seemed to burn. “She gave me her last name and left the line on the birth certificate blank, so the press never found out. And I’ve tried to keep myself away. To keep myself locked up. In this office, in my penthouse. Away from people I could hurt.”

  Oh God. “You didn’t hurt me.”

  He’d touched me. He’d made me come. But he hadn’t hurt me. He also hadn’t done anything for himself, stopping before he could get off, stopping before he knew he’d made a mistake with me.

  He cleared his throat. “I use the service when I need it. To keep myself in check.”

  I laid a hand on his arm then. I couldn’t stop myself, even knowing I might get burned. Almost wanting it. “You don’t have to do that. You’re a regular man, capable of… doing regular things.”

  Regular sex. Regular relationships. And I almost laughed at myself for the sad spark of hope deep inside, as if he might have regular sex with me. A regular relationship. With me.

  He shook his head, gaze locked on mine. “Maybe this is all I have time for.”

  If that were true, if he really preferred this, then he wouldn’t feel the need to justify it. And he certainly wouldn’t make the appointments so spread out that he was dying to be with a woman, so hungry for one that he didn’t even notice she was wearing the most old, threadbare clothing. Like I had been.

  “I don’t think so.” I had no right to tell him anything, but the tortured look in his eyes wouldn’t let me stay quiet. I raised my chin, stubborn. I could be stubborn when it mattered. He mattered. “I think you want more. And you deserve more.”

  A curious light passed through his eyes. No, curious was too benign a word. This look was determined. This was the way he might look at an opponent across the boardroom, digging deeper and deeper until he’d found their weakest spot. “Why are you so understanding of this? I think most women would have reported me. Or at least quit.”

  “I don’t know if that’s true. I’m not that special.” Ignoring his doubtful look, I continued. “But I know what it’s like to have people make you feel bad for things that are true—and things that aren’t.”

  He looked almost amused. “No one’s trying to make me feel bad, Angel.”

  He didn’t seem to notice the slip of my real name. “You’re trying to make yourself feel bad, Mr. Thompson. But the thing is, I’m not going to let you.”

  He opened his mouth. Closed it. “Nothing special. Is that right?”

  My cheeks heated. “That’s right,” I said, pretending like I had no idea what he was talking about. It wasn’t hard to pretend. Often enough I didn’t know what people were talking about.

  “I think I’m not the only one trying to make myself feel bad,” he murmured.

  I thought in that moment that he saw me better than anyone ever had. That he wanted to see me more than anyone ever had. His head bent toward me… He’s going to kiss me.

  He didn’t kiss me.

  He licked my lips instead. I parted them on a gasp, and he bit my bottom lip, tugging it and worrying it between his teeth. Then he slipped his tongue into my mouth, sliding it against mine.

  It was a kiss, the most carnal kiss I’d ever gotten. Like animals mating. And I realized that the nickname Big Bad Billionaire must have been given by someone who had met him, maybe even by someone who had been fucked by him, because it completely applied to this. He was a wolf. He’d hunted me, he’d taken me down. And now he devoured me.

  I let him. I did more than that—I kissed him back. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down to me, to my level. His hands went under my skirt, curving around my ass and lifting one thigh so that when he pressed me against the copy machine, my sex was flush against him. Even through the clothes I could feel his erection. Feel the heat of him.

  That wasn’t enough for him. Not enough for a man used to taking what he wanted.

  He lifted me onto the copy machine, so I was sitting on it—no, lying down on it. He spread me out and stole my panties. He took over my body with the control and precision he must apply to business, and I was bared to him, spread open, left without any defenses.

  He stared down at my pussy so long I began to squirm, acutely aware of the hard plastic lid I was lying on top of. My head barely rested on the edge of the copier. When his eyes met mine, they were molten—dark, almost red, or maybe that was just the reflection from the Empty Tray light.

  “I can’t wait to taste you,” he said, his voice low, and excitement raced through me. Especially when he leaned down and placed his mouth against my lower lips—oh God, especially then. He kissed me there without any hesitation or delay, as if he really couldn’t wait, as if he needed to lap at my tender skin, as if he was desperate to press his tongue between them and draw out my juices.

  His moan vibrated through my skin, the movement almost excruciating against my clit, in the very best way. My legs stiffened in reaction, falling off the edge of the copier. He caught them and put them on his shoulders. His hold on my thighs widened me, opened me to him, so he could press his face even deeper against me, sliding his tongue up and down the slick folds until I thought I would scream.

  “Please, please, please,” I moaned.

  His gaze met mine. “What do you need, Angel? Tell me.”

  He wanted me to say it, and just the thought of it, the faint humiliation of begging and the prospect of being denied, made me clench. He noticed—because his finger was inside me now. He’d slipped it in when I was busy writhing against his mouth, so wrapped up in his tongue and my clit that I’d hardly noticed the intrusion. But I noticed it now as my muscles squeezed him tight, just that one finger—how would it feel to have something thicker? Like two fingers, three? Like his cock, pulsing and heavy, wrapped with latex and shoved inside me?

  “Make me come,” I whispered.

  His expression was strained, almost desperate, and he went at his task like a man starving. He ate at my pussy with harsh, angry strokes, using his lips and his tongue and even his teeth to bring me to the edge.

  “Not yet.”

  I gasped a breath. “Mr. Thompson.”

  He groaned. “Jesus. Not yet.”

  It took all my strength not to come, all my willpower as my body surged toward orgasm, hovering on the brink. I shuddered on top of the copy machine, writhed against the plastic made warm by my body, almost turned on by the faint texture of the casing, by the cool wash of air from the vent above us. Every touch on my skin turned me on—because of him. Because he was here, staring at me like he’d never seen anything sexier. Because he was touching me, tasting me.

  Because he made me wait.

  “I want to see you again. Want to see those pretty tits flush pink when you come.”

  A shudder ran through my body. My arms were boneless, useless, bound at my sides by their own sex-drenched laxity, and he used his free hand to unbutton my shirt. He pulled the cloth aside and tugged the bra down, all while steadily, slowly pumping his finger inside me. And then another, stretching me, giving me the faintest burn as my walls accommodated the extra width.

  “What did I say I’d do to your nipples?”

  “M-m-my nipples?” My voice was shaky, trembling. My whole body was trembling.

  “That’s right, baby. What am I going to do to them?”

  “You’re going to make them wet. With your mouth.”

  His dark gaze was approving. “That’s when you come. When my lips are wrapped around your nipple, I want you to come on my hand. Understand?”

  He didn’t wait for my answer. His hand sped up, circling my clit, almost there, already painful. That was how he wanted it: painful. This was what he longed for, what he needed, what he gave in to sometimes. With a woman he paid, like me. Only not like me, because they usually came from an agency. Me, I’d gone through HR.

  He leaned down, so close, and I almost came in anticipation. But then he kissed the side of my breast instead. He worked lower, to the underside, grazing his teeth along tender, alm
ost ticklish skin. And all the while his fingers worked me, bringing me higher, until my hips were rising to meet them, hungry and needy and so beyond shame now.

  The urgency made me whimper, and he jolted at the sound. His mouth found my nipple, his lips closed around me. He’d given me permission to come when he did this. No, he’d given me an order to come, and I could have. With his fingers inside me and his thumb stroking my clit and his mouth at my breast, I could have come so hard. But it was the expression on his face that arrested me—at once tender and dark, both generous and cold.

  My body shot into orgasm with all the power he used on me, the confident strokes of his fingers and the steady sucks of his mouth. I soared through my climax, seeing stars and blinking red lights and snowflakes falling, falling, coming back down to earth in a blanket of warm, white snow, but it wasn’t the ground at all, it was his arms, and he was holding me, soothing me while I floated back into myself.

  “What about you?” I mumbled.

  “Shh.”

  I blinked rapidly, clearing my vision. “You really aren’t going to come?”

  “I can’t,” he said tightly. But I knew he could. He could slip inside me and come so easily. He could pump into my fist or my mouth. He just wouldn’t do those things, because he was too afraid of hurting me. The irony was almost painful as he held me sweetly, believing the worst of himself while he treated me better than anyone ever had before.

  Chapter Six

  On Thursday morning the elevator dinged. I looked up to see the doors open. All of Mr. Thompson’s appointments came through that elevator. It was the only way in or out. Sometimes they were men, all wearing suits and ties and nervous expressions. Other times they were women, and I had to wonder if he was using them the same way he’d used me. He left the door open a crack¸ so I knew he wasn’t. Which just made me wonder why he’d left the door open. Did he know I’d wonder? Bottom line: I was slowly going insane.

  This arrival was a man. Or a boy, really, younger than most of the execs who had appointments. He had pale blond hair and a grin that almost hid his unease.

  He stopped in front of my desk. “Noah Waters. I’m here to see Mr. Thompson.”

  I double-checked the calendar in case there’d been any last-minute changes from when I’d memorized it at the start of the day. Despite the rocky start, or maybe because of it, I was determined to be freaking great at this job. And copier battles aside, I’d mostly managed it—even if all it had earned me were grunts and clipped thanks from the boss.

  Your ten o’clock is here, I typed into the company IM system like Christy had taught me to do.

  Mr. Thompson didn’t immediately answer, so I figured he was on a call or something.

  “He’ll just be a minute,” I told Noah with a nod toward the waiting chairs. The uncomfortable waiting chairs, which I’d found out one day when I’d sat in them. Had to be some kind of intimidation tactic, because the company could afford plush luxury on all the floors, especially the top. Not to mention my own chair behind the desk—Christy’s chair—which was an ergonomic masterpiece.

  But Noah didn’t sit. “Are you new here?” he asked instead.

  At my questioning look he gave me a sheepish smile. “I didn’t see you at the Fourth of July picnic.”

  “Oh.” I blushed. I wasn’t sure why I blushed except there was something in his eyes that looked like interest. It had been a long time since I’d seen interest that didn’t also come with a threat, like the guards in prison or strangers on the street. Or a certain billionaire just a few feet away. “I’m just temping until Christmas,” I explained. “Nothing permanent.”

  He seemed disappointed but undeterred. “What’s your name?”

  “Angel. Christy will be back after the holidays. I’ll be gone soon.”

  His smile finally faltered. “Me too, I think.”

  Sympathy tightened my lips. Dread and I were old friends—old enough that I could recognize it in someone else. I wasn’t sure I should ask but… “Is everything okay?”

  “Okay? No, not really. It’s a mess actually. A really big screwup.”

  Oh no. “I’m sorry. Maybe Mr. Thompson will understand. He’s harsh but fair.” I had slowly learned what Christy meant by that, watching Mr. Thompson in action. He was a lot of bark, but he only bit when it was really warranted.

  Noah shook his head. “He won’t understand this. Someone’s going to take the fall, and it’s going to be me.”

  The way he said it was full of conviction, as if he was determined to be the one. As if there might be someone else to do it.

  Mr. Thompson’s message appeared on my screen. Send him in.

  “He’s ready to see you now.” I tried for a supportive expression—but I was pretty sure I failed. I’d seen exactly how the boss could be when he was pissed, and apparently he was pissed at Noah Waters. I had a feeling we were going to see the Big Bad Billionaire very soon, as if the white-winter sun outside was a moon, ready to turn the man into a monster. He would howl, and he would snap. I just hoped Noah would still be standing when Mr. Thompson turned back.

  As Noah walked to the office and opened the door, another message popped up in the IM console. Do the other assholes that work for me flirt with you?

  I stared at the message, shocked more by the tone of intimacy than the actual question. The tone of possession. It almost sounded like he was jealous. Which was ridiculous considering he’d touched me, he’d kissed my skin. He’d made me come, and then discarded me like it was all a big mistake.

  It had been a mistake, I reminded myself. So where did he get off acting jealous?

  I typed into the IM console. Noah was just being nice.

  I glanced at the office, where the door was cracked open. I couldn’t see inside, but I imagined Noah sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk, waiting nervously for Mr. Thompson to acknowledge him. But Mr. Thompson must have been typing because a new message appeared.

  Like I was nice to you?

  I rolled my eyes. Sometimes smart people could be very stupid. Have a good meeting, I typed and shut the window.

  Except it wasn’t a good meeting. Over the next twenty minutes I listened through the opening in the door as Mr. Thompson blasted Noah for some mistake that had cost the company a lot of money. Based on the way Noah was defending himself—or rather, wasn’t defending himself—it was a valid criticism. Still, I winced as Mr. Thompson’s anger seemed to grow stronger with every passing minute.

  And I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d somehow made it worse by talking to Noah while we waited. Even though I knew I’d done nothing wrong.

  “Pack your shit,” I heard Mr. Thompson say. “And get out of my building.”

  My eyes widened. Without thinking out a plan, I was up from my seat. I crossed the short space and pushed the door open in time to see a defeated Noah standing up, his shoulders slumped and smile long gone.

  “I’m sorry for disappointing you, sir,” Noah said stiffly.

  “Wait,” I said. “You can’t fire him.”

  Mr. Thompson sent me an icy glare. “What are you doing?”

  Noah’s eyes widened. Concern creased his forehead. “Yeah, Angel. What are you doing?”

  Of course Mr. Thompson didn’t miss the use of my first name. His eyes narrowed. And the truth was, I didn’t know what I was doing. This was how I got myself into trouble, doing things without thinking them through. Leaving home because I knew I couldn’t stay. Holding my boyfriend’s boxes even though I knew they held illegal stuff, because he’d protected me on the streets. Lying on the job application because it was the only way I could work.

  And now here I was, standing in front of the Big Bad Billionaire, probably about to lose my job for an entirely different reason. I licked my lips, fighting with myself. How the hell was I going to get out of this? But I was already neck-deep and sinking fast. “I’m just suggesting you rethink your position. Maybe he could find a way to fix his mistake at the beginning of th
e New Year.”

  “He lost the company over a million dollars.”

  My eyes widened. That was a lot of money. Still… “It’s a week before Christmas,” I said weakly. “You can’t fire someone right before Christmas.”

  “Can,” Mr. Thompson said. “Just did. It’s called making a point. In fact, I can do it again if you want another demonstration?”

  Oh shit, I couldn’t be fired. Not when I’d done everything right. Except for keeping my mouth shut.

  “Angel,” Noah said. “Don’t get yourself in trouble over me. It’s not worth it.”

  “Listen to him,” Mr. Thompson said. “He’s really not.”

  I narrowed my eyes. I may not be the brightest person in the room—definitely wasn’t—but I knew how to stand up for myself. In fact, getting picked on my whole life had taught me not to back down. “Is that supposed to impress me? The Big Bad Billionaire is going to blow my house down?”

  Noah sucked in a breath. “Angel.”

  Challenge sparked in Mr. Thompson’s eyes, and I almost thought… he liked when I talked to him this way. Either that or he hated it, and he’d ruin my life and get me thrown back in prison.

  “No, I’ve got this,” I said. “I’m not scared of him. All my life people have tried to tell me to sit down and shut up, but guess what? I’m not going to. You’re firing someone who doesn’t deserve it, who’s taking the fall, and if I’m the only one with enough balls to say it to your face, then so be it.”

  Both men looked shocked. The tension was as thick as the snowstorm I could see through the window.

  “Taking the fall,” Mr. Thompson said quietly.

  I took a deep breath—and a gamble. “Are you telling me that Noah was responsible for over a million dollars without a single safeguard in place? Without one other person checking his work? So where are they?”

  “Mr. Waters?” Our boss drew out the name in a way that was somehow scarier than when he was yelling.

  Noah shifted. “I told you I’m taking responsibility for this, and I am.”