Mr. Hall's Sunshine: A Cheeky Novelette

Chapter 3

I startle when I feel his hands slip under my arms. He hauls me up to stand—he’s that strong, lifting my brick house-sized ass off the floor—and says in a crooning manner, “Come here, baby.”

In another shocking twist to this bizarre morning, Mr. Hall backs me up carefully around his desk toward his oversized, burgundy leather sectional butting up in one corner of his expansive office. His huge, slick cock is still hanging out of his unzipped slacks, swinging like a baseball bat when he crosses the office in two steps to lock his door and then just one coming back to stand in front of me like he possesses the ability to levitate or something.

Concern and something…more… swirl in his dark eyes and expression where I thought I would see scorn or derision for what I’ve done. Why hasn’t he zipped himself up? Why isn’t he doing that hulking, asshole bit, and yelling at me? Sending me to pack up my desk and having me escorted out of the building?

I lose my breath when we lock eyes, and he cups my puffy cheeks, cradling my face gently. He softly traces my swollen bottom lip with his thumb, and the action is so tender that my heart skips a beat.

“My sunshine,” he whispers. “My beautiful sunshine. Mine…”

“Yours?” I question in a breathy whisper, not understanding what he means by that, especially when he’s looking at me like I’m…well, like I’m the sun to his moon.

He nods and has to bend himself nearly in half to place the sweetest, most sensual kiss on my lips. I’ve never had a kiss as lovely as this one, not with Barry or any of my ex-boyfriends in high school. I’d swoon if he weren’t holding me up by the arm he sweeps behind my back.

He lightly licks the seam of my lips until I part them, eagerly accepting a fuller kiss with budding excitement of what else he might do. He takes these little tastes of me before moaning and slipping his tongue deeper, tilting my head back with two fingers under my chin. I grip his shirt over his chest with both fists to keep myself steady as my pulse flutters wildly, feeling tingly and lightheaded.

He pulls me closer, and the only thing stopping me from sinking fully into him is my large belly between us as it, too, flutters, leaving me again to question why that is. We’re both panting by the time he breaks the world’s most perfect kiss to drag in air before slanting his full lips over mine again. I never knew a man’s lips could be so soft and plush, and now I’m the one deepening the kiss, wanting more of his taste, his tongue, his affection.

And then his hands are everywhere all at once, dipping down to caress the back of my thighs, then over my hips, and up my sides to palm my absurdly large, sensitive breasts before—most shockingly—resting his splayed palms over my huge rounded belly.

And I find myself suddenly with my hands all over him, too, spearing my fingers into his thick, messy black hair, scraping his scalp lightly before dragging my nails down his broad shoulders, his thick chest, over his slightly protruding belly that I find incredibly sexy, and finally coming to rest on his enormous, bare cock.

He moans for me from deep within his chest and fucks my fist twice, three times, four, alternating murmuring my name and baby and sunshine and mine, before crashing to the floor on his knees. His hands shake wildly as he fingers the bottom button of the only blouse that still fits me after dragging it out of my stretched maternity skirt.

“Let me see, baby,” he begs, his eyes blown wide and pleading. “Let me see what’s mine.”

I nod before I even realize what it is he’s asking of me, and his thick fingers fumble with the small button. He quickly gives up trying to work it free, fists both sides of my blouse, and rips it apart up the middle, sending the buttons flying across the room.

RIP orange blouse that clashes horribly with my hair. Thanks for all your hard work.

Before I can so much as blink, he does the same to my hideous nude bra, leaving my breasts to rest on top of my belly like it’s a shelf. He’s so gentle with me after tearing apart my clothes, though. So tender and soft with his lips as he skims across the widest part of my bare belly, back and forth and back and forth, then nuzzling his forehead between my breasts as he wraps his long, thick arms around my back, pulling me closer until there’s not an inch that separates us.

I moan and tip my head back in ecstasy when he twists his head to latch onto one of my large nipples, suctioning it deep within his mouth before switching to the other breast. I cradle the back of his head and arch as my eyes drift closed, silently encouraging him to suck it deeper and harder as the heat of his mouth sends zaps of electricity and need straight to my clit.

“Mary…”

And just like that, a bucket of freezing cold water douses the flames of my desire, and I gape at him in horror, eyes wide open now.

“Oh my god, you didn’t just…oh my god!” I use every ounce of my strength to shove against his expansive shoulders to try to break his hold on me. “I can’t believe you…let me go!” I shout when he refuses to back up, and I twist and squirm, trying to dislodge his arms. My weight shifts—stupid new center of gravity—and I scream as I lose my balance, scared that I’m going to fall and hurt the baby.

But he doesn’t let me go, his arms tightening to a vice around my back, supporting my weight and saving me from falling. His eyes snap to mine when I regain my balance and slap his cheek with one hand, then punch his shoulder with the other.

He takes it instead of dropping me like a hot potato but yells, “No!” in a broken, panicked voice, then buries his face between my breasts. “No, no, no! It’s not what you think, baby.”

“You called me Mary!” I scream like a betrayed lover. To add to my horror, I burst into tears and slap my hands over my face, crying into them as I regret every ludicrous choice I’ve made that’s led me up to this moment—blouse and bra torn, my asshole boss on his knees, anaconda dick hanging out of his pants while he practically motorboats my chest as his fingers dig into my back, clinging to me.

Stupid, stupid hormonesmaking me do stupid, stupid shit.

“I’m Sunny. I’m not your shitty ex-wife,” I whine as if he needs the reminder.

“You didn’t let me finish, Sunny.”

His eyes are glossy with tears when I drop my hands, on the verge of slapping him once more when I try and fail to wiggle out of his hold again, though I’m more careful about keeping my balance.

“I was going to say, ‘Mary was a mistake’. A monumental mistake, and I don’t care that her baby isn’t mine.” He kisses the top of my belly once, twice, then rolls his eyes up to meet mine, sending shivers up my spine. “I’m glad it’s not mine since it just sped up our long-overdue divorce.” He drops his voice low and shockingly confesses, “I started the process the day after your interview. But it took too long to get everything in order, and then you…” He loosens one binding arm from around my back to palm the underside of my belly. “You, sunshine…I made the ultimate mistake with you,” he whispers, despair written all over his face.

“What the fuck?” Cue the waterworks that leave me literally shaking in my foolish shoes, my chest heaving with the force of my cries. Fucking hormones! Why does it feel like my heart is breaking when not even two hours ago I all but hated the man? When I was counting down the days until I’d be free of him for six whole, blessed weeks?

“No, no, baby. Not like that. Whatever you’re thinking, that’s not what I meant. Please don’t cry, sunshine.” He scoots forward on his knees, using his impressive bulk to back me up farther until the back of my knees butt up against the edge of the couch. He peels down my maternity skirt, working it over my pregnancy-induced bubble-butt, then down my legs, along with my ugly-as-sin gray granny panties.

And Ilet him for some reason. I don’t even protest when he palms the back of my knees and forces me to shift my feet apart a few inches.

“My mistake”—he dips down and kisses the darkened line from my belly button to the top of my regrettably untrimmed, red-haired mound—“was not divorcing her long before I met you so that when you walked into my life, I’d be able to claim you, drag you down to the courthouse right after your interview, and give you my last name. To be the one who put this baby in your gorgeous belly.”

“Claim me?” I squeak out and fist my hair, disbelief coloring my tone. “You wanted to claim me, like some kind of obsessed book boyfriend?”

He nods and nuzzles his nose against my pubic mound, inhaling deeply like a predator scenting its prey, spiking my heart rate. “I should have had Barry taken out before he could be the one to impregnate you,” he says with a muffled voice, then dips lower to push his tongue between my pussy lips that are still inexplicably wet. He groans and says, “I thought about it. Christ, how I thought about it. Nearly every day. That’s how crazy you make me.” Then he laps at me, forcing me to spread my feet even wider apart so he can drive his tongue farther between my lips.

My jaw drops, and I grip his shoulders when he drags his tongue up to massage my neglected clit. My eyes threaten to roll back in my head at the sublime sensation, but I can’t help but gape at the man who has been nothing but a pig-headed jackass up to this point as he confesses to some kind of deranged fantasy he’s had of me.

What in the absolute fuck is going on?

I jolt when he trails a fingertip up the back of my thigh and between my legs, dipping it shallowly into the entrance of my pussy from behind. Oh, how I want to sink onto that finger, to rock my hips and take it deeper inside me, but I need to know…

“If you wanted to ‘claim’ me, then why did you treat me like absolute dog shit from day one? What kind of man does that?”

“The kind of man who wanted you to quit so you wouldn’t have to endure what a miserable bastard I am any longer,” he says, voice laden with regret, even as he starts pumping his fingertip in and out of me, teasing me. “To save you from me. To save me from having to look at your beautiful face every day, from having to choke on my monumental mistakes day after day. I told myself I could forget about you, at least for a little while. I could let you move on with your life until my divorce was finalized. Then I could finally claim you, marry you, treat you like the queen you are.”

“That’s…that’s bullshit,” I say, incensed, though I make no moves to stop him as he drags his hand around to my front and sinks two deliciously thick fingers as deep as they’ll go into my pussy. “Oh, sweet Jesus, that feels good,” I moan, then pick up where I left off. “And this ‘he picks on you because he likes you’ bullshit that adults tell little girls is just that—bullshit. If…if you wanted me so much, then you shouldn’t—wouldn’t—have treated me the way you have every time I had to do my job and talk to you.”

“I know. I know! Mistake after mistake after mistake that just compounded over time. I’m so sorry, baby. So fucking sorry for treating you like that.” And then the tears that had been threatening to fall from his eyes all this time finally do, wetting my skin as he rests the side of his head over my belly, even as he continues to fuck my pussy with his fingers. “I’m so sorry, sunshine. My beautiful, breathtaking, sunshine queen.”

Now we’re both crying. Sobbing, really. I’m feeling everything all at once—the pleasure of his fingers, anger at the way he’s treated me, anguish at hearing how desolate he’s been as his mistakes piled up. Then there’s also the swelling of my heart at knowing just how much this big and strong and smart and successful and beautiful bastard of a boss wants me, is obsessed with me, might even love me when no one else does.

I know I should ignore every bullshit justification for his behavior. Let it go in one ear and out the other, and then file an HR complaint of my own (fat lot of good that would do since he owns the company). I also know I would tell a girlfriend she should spit in a person’s face and leave them in the dust if someone did that to her. Hell, I’d help her with the spitting and the leaving.

And yet…I find myself having already forgiven him, and it has nothing to do with the way he’s holding me and touching me so intimately. It’s probably supremely stupid of me to forgive him for everything he’s done, but I can’t help it. I never wanted to hate him. Don’t even know that I really did, or else I would have found other employment long ago, back when I could have hidden my pregnancy and been hired somewhere else, right? Had I been holding out hope for some kind of explanation of change in him all this time?

“This baby,” he chokes out between tears, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts, “should have been mine.” And then he tips his head back, a fierce, determined look overtaking his handsome features, squaring his jaw, flaring his nostrils, and baring his teeth. “Fuck biology. This baby will be mine. Is mine.”

What the—