41. Hugo
Chapter 41
Hugo
Our first stop is my house for the police file. Mallory makes a stop at the bathroom. Just this week her gait has evolved to include a side to side sway as her center of gravity shifts with every step.
I never saw myself in love. I never saw myself with a pregnant woman. I never saw myself in love with a woman pregnant with a baby we did not create. But here I am. Atypical and impossibly perfect.
Mallory comes to me where I stand next to the dining room table. Her arms wind around my waist. "Just because we had this little epiphany doesn't mean we have to roll with it. We can stand here and decide not to look into the employee records."
I appreciate how kind she has been every step of the way. How accommodating. She needs this story for the future of her podcast, but she's willing to let it go if it becomes too much for me.
Knowing she cares that deeply makes me want to give it to her more. So I touch her face, cup her cheek the way I know she likes. Capture her mouth in a kiss because I won't miss the opportunity.
Pulling back, I look deeply into her beautiful eyes. "Let's go see if we can find something the police missed."
It's the middle of the day, and every Summerhill employee is hard at work. Claudette, the mill manager, emerges from her small office when we walk in. She's a stout woman with lips that turn down at the corners, which is really too bad because she's nice as can be. Claudette knows how she looks, and, in accordance with her good-natured personality, jokes it keeps the riffraff away.
"This is Claudette, my right hand at Summerhill. Claudette, this is my girlfriend, Mallory."
Mallory's eyes widen, cheeks tugging with a suppressed smile. She weaves her hand in mine, squeezes hard.
"I've always known Hugo keeps a tight lid on his personal life." Claudette's grappling with the metaphorical fastball I've thrown her, but she recovers well. "It's nice to meet you, Mallory."
"You as well," Mallory responds. Tucked under her arm is the folder holding every piece of known information relating to my father's murder .
Claudette retreats into her office, and I take Mallory into mine. I close my door with my foot, because I don't want interruptions or curious glances while we're digging through records. Or the police report.
Mallory stands in the middle of the small room, looking around. There's a desk with an ancient computer, a small bookshelf, and a chair.
"I've been so busy updating the website and expanding what the mill offers, I've neglected my office," I explain, going to stand behind my desk. Beside it is a small metal filing cabinet. Knowing my dad, that is our best bet for finding old records.
"Except the mini-fridge." Mallory points at the black rectangle in the corner, humming along.
"That's usually where I keep my lunch."
Mallory stands at the bookshelf, poking through titles. "But you've been coming home for lunch every day since the day you brought me there." Confusion crosses her face. "That's not what you always do?"
"Sandwiches were suddenly my favorite lunch, and they're better fresh."
"You know what?" Mallory selects a book on olive oil extraction techniques, turning it over in her hands. "As your girlfriend , I am not surprised."
I wince. "Was that ok? We didn't talk about it."
Mallory crosses the small space, sets the book on my desk as she rounds it. Her hands start at my chest, slide up my neck and into my hair. "I'm still wrapping my brain around why you want to take on me and Peanut."
I run a hand through her hair, and she tilts into my touch. "I'm still hacking away at what's inside you that makes you think it should be a problem for me."
"You're too good to me, Hugo."
"No, Mallory. For you, I am just right."
Mallory lifts on her tiptoes. Angles her face up for a kiss. We're here in my office for a specific reason, but we seem to have momentarily set it aside.
"This is so confusing," she whispers as I brush my lips over hers. "I came here with all this adrenaline, ready to pore over old papers, but now..." Her hand trails down, finds the front of my pants.
"I'm equally confused," I confess, growing into her hand. I'm starved for this woman, always. It doesn't matter when I've had her last, I'm in a perpetual state of wanting her.
A mischievous twinkle enters her gaze. "Our questions won't go anywhere if we spend five minutes engaged otherwise."
Mallory sinks to her knees. Pulls me from my jeans.
"I swear I didn't plan this," I mutter as she swallows me down.
Her cheeks lift into a smile. "Mm hmm," she says, the sound vibrating.
My hands find her hair, fingers flexing. "Hold still."
She listens.
"Put your hands on my thighs. Squeeze them if this becomes too much."
She listens again.
Hands on her head, I feed her slowly, inch by inch. Careful with her. Because I love her .
Mallory whimpers, but she doesn't give the signal. "You like it?" I ask.
She nods slightly.
"More?" I ask.
Another slight nod.
I listen. I give her what she wants. And then when the sensation builds to a crescendo, and I move to pluck a tissue off my desk, Mallory's hands travel to my backside, holding me in place.
My back teeth grind together, jaw flexed, and silently I fall apart.
Mallory pulls back, stands. Smiles at me as she grabs a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.
"You," I point at her after I get myself situated.
"I swear I didn't plan that," she says playfully, drinking the water.
I stride to the office door, turn the lock. Nobody would've barged in, but still. I need the door locked for what I'm about to do.
"Get on my desk," I instruct.
Mallory blinks at me, doesn't move. "We have work to do, Hugo."
"I know," I answer, stalking toward her. "I need you sated."
Mallory doesn't move. So I move her. Even twenty-eight weeks pregnant, I lift her. Put her on the desk, haul her forward. "Pull my hair," I tell her. "And give me those soft little moans of yours."
I could stay with my lips on Mallory's thighs until the end of time, but she's so ready, so turned on from being on her knees for me. It doesn't take long before she's threading her fingers through my hair, doing her best to quiet those moans.
"Attagirl," I tell her, coaching her through it as she squirms on my desk, back arching while I lap at her.
I don't stop until her legs are shaking, until she's begging me to give her a break. Pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, I pull her panties up, and her dress down. Help her into my desk chair, because her muscles are too weak.
Pulling the second chair from around the front of my desk, I settle in beside Mallory. She leans over to kiss me, and I more than happily oblige. We taste salty and indecent. I love it. I love her.
"Now I feel ready to dig," I say when we separate. "How about you?"
Mallory smiles at me. She's so gorgeous, it's almost painful. "I feel ready for a nap, to be honest. But I'll work, instead."