Good Girl

Chapter 1

ONE

Tristan

Christmas music is driving me insane. Why is it that we hear the same few songs played on an endless loop until my ears feel like they’re about to bleed? Doesn’t anyone ever make new holiday music?

“Good morning, sir,” Mike says, and I greet him with a forced smile as I pass by his office heading to my own.

Walking past Linda’s desk, I snatch the jar of candy canes she keeps on there then push into my office.

As soon as my door clicks shut, I collapse into my chair and loosen my tie, feeling the weight of the holiday season pressing down on me.

Setting the jar on my desk, I unscrew the lid, pop a candy out, rip the wrapper off, then shove the offensive sweet into my mouth, hook end first.

I have a deep-seated aversion to Christmas.

I can’t understand why it has to stretch on for weeks.

Year after year, there’s a massive buildup of excitement, followed by a disappointing anticlimax.

And no one wants to work. Instead, they engage in endless gatherings, seizing every opportunity to drink and overeat.

Jesus Christ, I’m a fucking Grinch, but when you grow up in poverty, without a family to celebrate with, Christmas can feel like a cruel reminder of everything you lack.

A light knock at my door momentarily draws me from my negative thoughts. “Come in.”

The door opens, and Poppy pokes her head through, a curtain of silky caramel waves falling over her shoulder.

“I brought you cocoa.” She smiles, entering.

Delight mixed with a heavy dose of lust barrels through me when her large green eyes soak me in.

She bites her plump bottom lip, presumably to hide her amusement when I balk at the cocoa offer.

“I’m playing, it’s a black americano with an extra shot. ”

I like the way she’s teasing me. And my dick likes the sight of her teeth marks dented in that bottom lip.

I want them to be mine.

Poppy has been working here for three months while Robert, my very male, very not fuckable assistant, recovers from knee surgery.

To keep from becoming a cliché asshole who fucks his staff, I always made a point not to hire female assistants.

With a loan from my best friend and dream to make something of myself, I built this company from the ground up.

CZH holdings is now a unicorn company, still self-owned and valued at over $1 billion.

I won’t let anything tarnish my business, I worked too hard for it.

So any in house fucking is forbidden. Even though I want to spread Poppy out on my desk and eat her pussy until she drips down my chin, I won’t.

Because sweet, pretty Poppy, with those large green eyes, small button nose, and luscious, juicy lips, is way off limits.

No matter how much her creamy skin beckons for me to turn it red with my handprints.

I bet she’s never been spanked before. I once bumped into her while she was out with her fiancé. He looks like the preppy type who would recoil at anything not vanilla. I wonder if he fucks her slow, whispering sweet words into her ear until her breath hitches and she comes on a soft moan.

“You’re stress sucking again.” She taps the end of the cane protruding past my lips with her bright-red fingernail. The red is new, she usually has a pale color on her nails. Not that I’m a stalker or anything.

Stress sucking. Vance would get a real laugh out of that terminology. Standing so close, her scent encompasses me, and I bask in it. She smells sweeter than the candy, like cherries and vanilla.

I want to lick her all over.

“Do you need anything else?” she asks as I shift my lap under the desk so she doesn’t see the semi-hard cock wanting to break free and dive down her throat.

She’d look good with tears on her cheeks.

There would be no softness with me, just hard, punishing, raw screams. “Sir?” She folds her arms over her ample chest.

And there’s one of my favorite words.

Christ.

Clearing my throat, I grit my teeth. “No, nothing else. Thank you, Poppy.” Unless I break my rule and you want to stress suck on something. I wave a hand to the door for her to leave, watching her curvy ass sway in a silk skirt as she does and berating myself internally for my thoughts.

She wears appropriate office attire but always pairs her outfits with ridiculously high stilettos, which don’t match her innocent demeanor and drives me fucking nuts.

Poppy is the damn reason I’ve taken a liking to these holiday candies.

They stop me from saying and doing something I may not regret.

Dammit, I was stress sucking, and I’m pretty sure Poppy wouldn’t be a sucking type of woman.

I did my research on Poppy Clark. She’s from a small town and has had the same boyfriend since her junior year of high school. Her folks are good, hard-working, churchgoing people. I would spontaneously combust if I ever set foot in a church.

No, Poppy Clark is not the type to choke by my hand or my cock.

She’s a missionary position, bored housewife in the making.

And that’s a damn shame. When my phone begins ringing I’m grateful for the distraction until I see my best friend Vance’s name on the screen.

“What do you want?” I bark, sipping my coffee.

She does know how I like my coffee.

“Why are you so moody? Still pining after your temporary assistant?” His dark chuckle makes my stomach tighten.

The asshole has some kind of sixth sense. “Fuck off.” I snap, adjusting myself because I’m getting blue balls.

Pressing the button to alter the glass that makes up the walls of my office, they shift slightly in color. No one has ever asked why they do it, but they must have noticed they can no longer see inside this room.“So that’s a yes.” He snorts. “And you should watch your tone with me,” he warns.

I rise to my feet and walk over to the now one-way glass, looking out across the work force floor. No one knows I can see them, and they can’t see me, giving me a sick kind of thrill. It’s not becoming to spy on your staff, but I like to edge myself, and not just in the bedroom.

From what I’m told, I’m well-liked by my staff. I wonder if it’s because they see the version of me I allow them to see. If they dug a little deeper, would they be so relaxed around me? “Are you watching her right now, Tristan?”

Forgetting he’s on loudspeaker, I jolt at his question, not missing the amusement in his tone. “No.”

“Liar,” he growls, causing the hairs to raise on my arms. Good thing he can’t see how accurate he is. “What is she wearing?”

Linda approaches Poppy’s desk, complaining about something, judging by her pinched expression.

Linda has a sense of entitlement and tends to boss around the younger staff members.

I’ve encountered many women like her, and the mere thought of their arrogance sends a shudder down my spine.

She’s set to retire soon, otherwise, I would consider firing her.

If Poppy requested it, I would do it immediately.

“Tristan.” My attention returns to Vance when I hear the tone he usually reserves for the bedroom.

“What?” I grunt, captivated by Poppy, the thick strands of her hair spilling around her face and resting over her tits, hidden beneath a cute little sweater that has tiny flowers embroidered on it.

Christ, she’s a good girl, and I’m desperate to break my restraints, dirty all that primness right out of her.

A grin tips my lips when Linda turns away from Poppy, and Poppy sticks her tongue out to her back.

A rebellious streak.

I like it.

“Let’s go out tonight.” Vance breathes down the line, and I can picture him pacing the apartment. Vance is an investor, which means that he puts money up for people like me, then he waits for us to make him rich. Which we do, leaving him with a lot of free time, and he often gets bored.

“No,” I grumble. The office party is tomorrow before we close up for the holidays, and that’s about as much cheer as I can take.

I close my eyes at his heavy exhale. “I need some relief. My folks are pestering me about Christmas again.” The asshole should be grateful he has folks to complain about.

I understand his annoyance, though. Vance’s parents are your typical blue-blood, rich, old money, and old values.

They think Vance should be married with two point five kids by now, but he keeps refusing the wives they pick for him.

Though our reasons are different, like me, Vance, shies away from commitment.

For me, I can’t be used and abandoned if there’s no one I truly care about.

I think for him it’s more about maintaining control and not giving any of it up to his family.

Whatever the reasoning, we only date. And I use the term date loosely, with a certain type and only for a specified period with a contract in place to uncomplicate things.

One-night stands are fine, but we don’t bring them back to the apartment.

“I know you’re brooding.” He adds when I remain silent.

“I don’t brood.” I rub my temples.

“There’re those lies again.” He tsks, clucking his tongue and I can imagine the darkening of his eyes. “Let’s go out. Women get frisky around the holidays.” Vance has no problem finding women, no matter the season. He’s a good looking, thirty-three-year-old millionaire, for fuck’s sake.

Blowing out a breath, I turn from the window and move back to my chair. “Call Miranda. She’s been begging for some action.” I click through some emails while he grouses down the line.

“She prefers you to me. She called out your name last time I was balls deep, which does something to my ego when you’re not even in the building.” Amusement laces his tone. “And she uses her safe word whenever I try to ball gag her.”

And that’s precisely why I can’t fuck her again. Not the ball gag part—although it is better with one in—but so I don’t have to listen to her over-the-top wailing. “Just call her.”

I turn my view back to the window. Poppy’s a fucking magnet, and I’m a shitty man who can’t stop the pull she possesses over me.

My eyes lock on the rise and fall of her chest, obsessed with the expressions that flitter and change while she works at her computer.

She bites her lip and drums her fingers on her chest when she concentrates, a sight I often think about when I’m alone at night.

I unwrap another candy, crunching it into pieces this time.

“You’ll get a cavity,” Vance sniggers.

“Call Miranda,” I say, dumping the wrapper in the trashcan.

“You call her, and stop brooding. You know how you get when you let yourself get too pent up.” He reminds me, a warning in his tone.

“I’m fine,” I assure him, a growl leaving my throat. I hate it when he’s right. I click the button under my desk, which locks the door to my office, then unzip my slacks.

“On a separate note,” his voice lightens, “what should we have for Christmas dinner?”

I lurch up in my seat. “You’re not going back home?” There’s a tightening in my chest I haven’t felt for a long time. The feeling is foreign, unfamiliar… Hope, maybe?

“Fuck no, I’m staying with you.” My heart flips at his words. “Speak later.” He ends the call before I can say anything, leaving my ribs aching. He’s not staying for himself, he’s staying for me.

Poppy’s on her feet when I look over to her through the glass. She’s standing right by my window, talking animatedly to Mike, our tech guy. From here, with the light filtering through the building, I can make out the shape of her toned thighs through the silk of her skirt.

I wonder how they’d feel wrapped around my waist, my cock deep inside her pussy, Vance at her back, filling her ass.

I bet her cunt is pretty, just like her mouth.

Dammit. I shouldn’t allow myself to indulge in these fantasies.

Getting to my feet, I go to the window and place a hand right above her head on the opposite side.

She has no idea what a fucking creepy bastard her boss is.

She blinks, her lips lifting at the corners at something Mike tells her, making my chest feel full.

I stroke my hard cock in my fist, my thumb brushing up my Jacob’s Ladder piercing while watching her lips move as she talks.

When she throws her head back and laughs at something he says, my seed rushes out of me, spilling from my cock and painting the window, dripping down where her hip meets her thighs.

I’ve fucked a lot of women—big, small, fat, thin, young, old. None of that matters, as long as I get to come. I’m red blooded, after all. But I’ve never craved anyone the way I crave Poppy fucking Clark.

And I’m losing the threads of my control.