Chapter 1 #2
I accept her quick squeeze of a hug and wave when she looks over her shoulder halfway down the hall. She returns my wave and disappears around the corner.
With my rescue mission complete, the cold, wet fabric plastered to my chest steals my attention. I spin on my ridiculous heels and rush toward the suite.
My skin crawls as I recall Mr. Beaumonte’s eyes roaming over me, and taking off the dress becomes my main priority. I scan my keycard, shoulder my way through the door, reach over my head and grab my elbow, and undo the fastener covering the zipper on the back of my dress.
The door shuts behind me.
As I stride deeper into the suite, I manage to pull the zipper down less than half an inch before my shoulder seizes. With an annoyed huff, I switch arms and reach further down my back as I turn the corner.
I run into a living wall.
An embarrassing squeak escapes my throat. With my hands cramped around my zipper, I lose my balance.
Hard hands pull me against a masculine body. Panic seizes my muscles, and for a horrible moment, I can’t move.
Connor Pen’s annoyingly handsome face fills my vision. With his intense green eyes peering into my soul and his sinful lips closer to mine than they have been in eight years, he plasters our fronts together, lifts me off my feet, and pins me against the wall.
Liquid desire pools in my core and scorches my insides.
My senses heighten and my nipples pebble.
Every cell in my body flares to life, and I fight the urge to writhe against the hard planes of his masculine body.
I yearn to revisit the carnal sensations from eight years ago.
To dive deeper into the pleasure I found in his arms. To give him what I’ve given no other man before or since.
He leans closer and braces a forearm across the back of my upper arms, trapping my elbows to the wall and my hands behind me.
The position arches my back and destroys any chance of regaining my balance.
My breath hitches as he wraps long fingers around my hip, releasing the cascade of sensual memories I’ve fought so hard to forget. With one domineering movement, he demolishes almost a decade’s worth of work, and by the smug tilt of his lips, he knows how much his touch affects me.
God, the things those fingers have done to me… he’s driven me mad for years without even touching me.
“Get off me,” I snarl before I melt into a puddle of needy goo on the floor.
He tilts his head and quirks a brow. Fury roars through me.
I jerk my knee up, aiming for his crotch, but he blocks me with his thigh and presses his hips to mine.
I bite back a moan as he slips his hand to the small of my back and grinds his thick, hard cock against me.
The friction on my clit zings straight to my core, and I tip perilously close to an orgasm.
Desperate for control, I twist and buck, but my fight for freedom only increases the pressure between my legs.
I squeeze my eyes closed, grit my teeth, and force myself to breathe in as I will my body to relax.
Seconds tick by, but every time I think I’m calm enough to open my eyes, he moves just enough to stoke the fire in my blood.
The flexing of his fingers. A tilt of his hips. His spicy cologne teasing my nostrils.
When he leans harder against me, my patience snaps. I open my eyes to his diabolical, all-knowing smirk before lifting my glare into his cold emerald eyes and speaking through gritted teeth.
“Mr. Pen, we have an agreement. This isn’t—”
“You broke the rules first, Hilary.” My given name on his sexy lips scrambles my brain. After eight years of Ms. Winthrop spoken in curt demands and rigid respect, the intimacy transports me back to the most thrilling night of my life.
He leans down until his breath warms the side of my face.
“You can’t blame me for what happens next,” he growls.
Electricity zaps through me as he flicks the tip of his tongue over the shell of my ear. All the oxygen disappears from the room. I can’t breathe.
He chuckles and slips his hand down until his long fingers rest along the upper swell of my ass.
Instinctual panic rips through me. I’ve held back for too long.
Between secretly lusting over my boss for eight years and fending off every low-life with money who thinks he can cop a feel, the suggestive hand placement yanks me out of my passion-fueled haze.
My sister’s face flashes through my mind’s eye.
I’m a piece of shit for not always keeping her in the forefront of my thoughts.
With a defiant twist of my head, I hide my ear behind my arm and glare into his eyes.
He’s too close. Too ruggedly handsome. Too striking. I pour all my anger into my stare, but speak in the cold, calculated manner he taught me.
“I can and will blame you, Mr. Pen. This is not consensual. Get off me.”
His weight disappears before I finish. I miss his warmth before it fully dissipates, but I use the agony in my shoulders to distract myself.
He grabs my chin.
I shove his chest. He doesn’t budge. My brain scrambles.
I know he visits the gym daily, but beyond organizing his schedule, I’ve purposefully avoided him during those times. Seeing him all sweaty with his muscles primed and his features twisted in glorious effort would be too much. Creaming myself on a gym bench would mortify me into an early grave.
I nearly do just that while standing in the hallway when he leans close enough his body heat seeps into my soaked front, reaches behind me, and slowly drags my zipper down my back, all while holding my chin and staring deep into my eyes.
Afraid I’ll spontaneously combust if I move, I stand like a mindless ditz with my hands on his chest and my gaze locked on his dazzling green eyes.
This close, the vibrant shade shimmers with endless depth and shines as though lit from within.
Such ethereal orbs don’t belong on such a heartless beast, but his crystal-clear irises somehow complete his sharp features and sleekly rugged appearance.
Between his trimmed scruff, meticulous hairstyle, and the gold jewelry dripping from his ears, neck, wrists, and fingers, he’s too handsome and menacing to look away from.
If this were a movie, he’d be the perfect villain. Everyone would know what role he plays in the film the moment the camera panned to him.
“Who else saw you like this?” he asks.
For a moment, my brain refuses to process his words, but then I realize he means my wet dress plastered to my curves. My mouth dries and my pussy floods as the anger and jealousy in his tone seeps into my bones.
Goosebumps rise on my flesh. The sardonic tilt of his brow makes the fury shining in his intense emerald orbs all the more terrifying. I shake my head, but his grip on my chin limits the movement.
He leans impossibly closer and whispers in my ear.
“Who got you all wet, Hilary?”
My breath stutters. I bite back the word you before it escapes my mouth and instead breathe a lame, “I did.”
His lips tilt in the dirtiest smirk I’ve ever seen.
“I spilled my drink. It was an accident,” I insist.
He scoffs and gives his head a tiny shake.
“You spilled two drinks. Neither were accidents. Who were you saving this time?”
I struggle to follow along until he dips his hand and begins inching my skirt up against my thigh. A glance down reveals splatters of red on the fabric, but the sight of his long, knowledgeable fingers amidst the silky fabric is too much.
He’s too close.
I drop, twist, and leverage my ass against the wall to bury my shoulder in his ribs and push my way past him. He grunts and rubs his side as I stop at the end of the hall with my hand on the doorknob to the master bedroom where I had the concierge stash the extra clothes.
Needing him as off kilter as I feel, I angle my body so his view of my profile includes both my drenched bosom and my exposed back. Even before I say my next words, I regret letting them pass my lips, but the darkening of his expression proves worth it.
“The entire party saw me. Just. Like. This.”
I pivot and gesture to my front as I step into the bedroom, offering him an unimpeded line of sight to my breasts. The wet fabric clearly shows my hard nipples through my bra and bodice.
His hands close into fists at his sides. He steps forward.
I slam and lock the door between us. My breaths saw in and out of my lungs as though I ran a hundred miles.
In a rare moment of cowardice, I rush deeper into the room and lock myself in the posh bathroom, unable to ignore my instincts as they scream for me to put as many obstacles between us as possible.
Leaning against the ornate wood, I drop my head back, close my eyes, and will my breathing to slow as I strain my ears for sound of movement on the other side.
My legs threaten to buckle. When nothing but the soft ticking of a wall clock filters through, I swallow an unexpected surge of disappointment and lift my head.
I stare into my reflection and marvel at my sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. For eight years I’ve fought against growing numbness and despair, but in one risqué interaction, Connor Pen wiped it all away. The world shimmers. My skin tingles.
When I dip my gaze to my chest, my soul chills as I recall Mr. Beaumonte’s disgusting stare. Dozens of other lecherous faces from my memories join his. I shiver and take a deep breath before pushing off the door.
I took too big of a risk tonight. Not by saving Destiny—I’ll never regret standing up for a young girl in need—but by letting my guard down near Connor Pen.
The man took my virginity during a wild one-night stand, became my boss less than twenty-four hours later, then swore I was his worst mistake and demanded nothing less than perfection every second of every day for eight years.
Eight years.
I’ll never forgive him for the humiliation, but I need this job too much to walk away.
My sister relies on me. So do all the girls I vowed to protect. They’re my only family. Without them, I’d have no reason to live.
I shiver as the cold, wet fabric clings to my throbbing nipples. Magma pulses in my core as I recall Connor’s skilled hand bunching my skirt higher on my thigh.
With a curse, I push off the door and strip on my way to the shower.
Not Connor. Mr. Pen.
No matter how much I want to walk away, there’s no escape for me.
I can’t quit. I signed an NDA and very strict non-compete agreements when I started working as Mr. Pen’s personal assistant, and with my lack of education, I’ll never find a better paying job than the one I have now.
I don’t have the time or skills to start over in a new field.
I’m trapped with the most egotistical bosshole in the world. Trapped with the only man who has ever made my heart race and break at the same time. Trapped between lust and hate.
With annoyance in every move, I turn on the cold water and step into the shower. When even the shock doesn’t cool the need pulsing within me, I adjust the temperature, yank the detachable showerhead off its post, and lean my shoulders back on the wall.
The showerhead is a poor excuse for my boss’s fingers, but with fresh fodder in my mind, my body leaps over the edge in seconds.
All because Connor Pen pinned me to the wall.
My life is so fucked up. Always had been. Always will be.
I tuck the growing cloud of despair deep into my chest and blank my mind.
The only way to survive this is to continue working as Mr. Pen’s personal assistant, so no matter what happens next, I must convince him to bury the last few minutes the same way we swept our one-night stand under the rug.
I wince at the thought. It’s going to hurt like hell when he reverts to treating me like a mistake, but it’s worth it to ensure my sister has the care she deserves.
For her, I can do anything, even if it means setting aside my pride and working for the biggest, sexiest jerk in history.
Connor Pen.