Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
I loop an arm around her waist so her hips will hit my arm instead of the counter and now I can fuck her as hard as I need to.
My vision goes blurry, my thighs are already shaking. I slam into her, lights exploding behind my eyes on every instroke.
I need her.
I need this.
So much.
I can’t stop. Can’t wait. I can’t even—-
I roar, cum shooting down my shaft. I slam in deep and stay there, my lips against the back of her head.
It feels so fucking good, I forget completely about satisfying her.
Fortunately, she found it on her own, because her pussy starts squeezing my cock, the muscles contracting in short bursts of perfection.
I could die right then and be happy.
I’m a man who has every material thing, and not an ounce of pleasure in his life. Not a fucking drop of happiness.
But right now, in this moment, I’m buoyant. Flying, even.
I close my eyes and listen to my own heartbeat pounding against her back. It slows with her breath.
And then I’m grateful. I kiss her neck, her shoulder, her ear. I find her temple and press my lips there. “Thank you,” I murmur. It’s not like me to thank anybody. I’m not that guy.
I’m the asshole who takes what he wants.
And I just did.
But now I’m thanking her. I would do anything she asked of me at this point.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“You want some food, baby?”
“I don’t have time before work,” she murmurs.
Something closes off in my solar plexus. I can’t stand sending her off to work after what we just did. Especially not to work for me. Especially not cleaning. My girl shouldn’t be cleaning rooms for a living. She’s a fucking professor.
I may have had a minor fetish for her prancing around my suite in that tight little pink dress, but it feels dead wrong.
Still, I can’t offer her money for sex, instead. I’m not going to make a whore out of her.
“You’re not working today,” I growl.
She stiffens, whether it’s from my bossy tone or what I said, I can’t be sure. Her hair falls over her face, curtaining it from my view. “I just called in sick three days in a row. I think I’d better show up.” She lifts her head and meets my eyes in the mirror. “And you’re not calling in for me. I don’t want people knowing I’m sleeping with the boss.”
My jaw tightens and I pull out to dispose of the condom. The fist in my solar plexus squeezes harder. Everything’s wrong about this, but I can’t quite figure out how to make it right. And I’ve even had a decent night’s sleep. Fuck, this girl has me ass over heels for her.
I want to say you’re fired. I really do. But I know she needs the money. And also, I’m a terrible, selfish bastard and the worst part of me wants to keep her here, under my thumb. Under my watch. I like her calling me her boss, as wrong as it is.
I button my pants and take my phone out of my pocket. I call Samuel, the head of housekeeping, while Sondra skirts around behind me and gets dressed.
“Listen, I need to talk to you about Sondra Simonson, the housekeeper who cleans the penthouse suites.”
“Yes, Mr. Tacone.”
How am I going to make this work in a way that doesn’t piss Sondra off or embarrass her? It may not be possible. Samuel is going to have to know I’m fucking her.
I sit on the edge of her bed to watch her dressing. “I’m trying her out for a new position.” I wince when Sondra whirls around and glares at me. “She won’t have time to clean the other two penthouse suites. Only mine. I have some additional personal assistant and errand work for her to do when she’s in my suite.”
Sondra puts her hands on her hips. Her lips press into a thin line.
I put the phone on speaker so she can hear how calmly Samuel takes this. “Of course, Mr. Tacone. Starting today?”
“Yes. I’ve already spoken to her about it, but you can tell her to report directly to my suite when she begins.”
“Any change in her hourly?”
“Yes, double it.”
Samuel clears his throat. “Absolutely. I’ll let HR know, unless you already have.”
“I haven’t. Tell them to make it effective today, but this new position is on a trial basis.”
“Understood. How long is the probationary period?”
I flick my gaze back to Sondra. How long can I keep her? How long before she smartens up and leaves? Before she finds the kind of job she deserves? Before I stop ruining her life?
“Four weeks.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tacone.”
I hang up without thanking him back, because I’m that kind of asshole.
Sondra looks torn between being pissed off and crying. Tragically, it’s a look I’ve put on her face before. Several times.