Oh hell.
The sound of my wet body sucking him in echoes around his office.
“What if someone walks in?” I whimper.
“Then they’ll have to wait their turn.” He grabs a handful of my hair and drags my face to him. “You’re going to bend over my desk. You’re going to open up that pretty little pussy for me.” He jerks me hard, his grip on my hair is almost painful. “And you’re going to take my cock and then get on your knees and drink me down.”
He grabs my face in his hands. “Do you understand me?” he commands.
I nod, arousal screaming through my body like never before.
He drags me to his desk and pushes me over it; he tears my dress up and I hear the zip of his fly. Gone is the sensitive lover I’ve had of late.
Elliot Miles is here in all his glory.
Fuck . . . I’ve missed him.
With one hand gripping a handful of my hair, he slams in hard.
The burn of his possession stretches me, burns like never before.
My mouth falls open as I try to deal with him, my face mangled into his desk.
Up close and personal.
His hands go to my shoulders as he rides me hard, the sound of our skin-slapping echoing.
They’ll know.
He moans, and from the guttural sound he makes, I know he’s close.
He pulls out and in one movement, pulls me up and pushes me down to my knees, slides his cock down my throat and with his two hands gripping my hair, he comes in a rush.
I nearly choke; he’s a lot of man to take like this.
His dark eyes hold mine as he slowly pumps my mouth, completely emptying himself into me.
His chest rises and falls as he gasps for air, his grip on my hair loosens.
I lick my lips. “Happy birthday, sir.”
A trace of a smile crosses his face as he realizes we’re still in role play, and he zips up his trousers. “Stand up, Miss Landon.”
I stand and he pulls my dress down and straightens it, pulls his fingers through my hair to neaten it.
I lick my lips again, excited that he called me here to get a blow job at work. “Will that be all, sir?” I whisper.
His dark eyes hold mine. “For now.”
He walks around and sits behind his desk, leans back in his chair.
Arrogance personified.
“I’ll . . . get back to work, Mr. Miles.”
He nods as he picks up his pen.
I pick up my bag and walk toward the door.
“Miss Landon.”
I turn back toward him. “Yes sir.”
“Well done.” He tilts his chin to the sky. “Excellent reporting skills.”
I smirk. Bastard.
“I try my best, sir.”
I leave and walk down the corridor and out into the reception area, and with their boss literally on my tongue, I bid his secretaries goodbye.
The car pulls up in front of a huge house and I peer out. Elliot squeezes my hand on my lap. “Ready?’
I fake a smile. “After the day I’ve had today, who knows?”
“Did I tell you, I love my present,” he whispers as he kisses me.
“About a million times already.”
I took a photo of Elliot outside near his lake the other morning. It’s from behind, he’s in a suit, and staring out over his enchanted estate. The ducks are gathered around his feet and the mist is rolling over the hills. It’s a beautiful shot and I had it framed for him.
What do you get the man who has everything? Now I know.
Sentiment.
He loves it because it’s sentimental. It means something to him, just like he means something to me.
Being here in New York with his family has given me a little more insight into the mercurial man. He’s not just difficult with me, he’s difficult with everyone.
And I can’t tell you how good that feels to know.
It’s not me, it was never me, it’s him.
We park the car and walk up to the front door; Elliot knocks as I hold my breath.
Tristan opens the door in a rush. “Hello.” He smiles as he looks at us in turn, bends and kisses me on the cheek. “Come in.”
Elliot takes my hand and we walk into a large living area, a hive of activity.
“This is Emily,” Tristan introduces me, “Jameson’s wife, and this is their son, James.”
“Hello.” The little boy looks to be about three. He has dark hair and blue eyes like his father.
“Hi.” Emily smiles, leans in, and kisses my cheek. “Lovely to meet you.” She’s heavily pregnant. “Our daughter Imogen is around here somewhere.” She smiles. “She’s twenty-three months old.”
“Oh, you have your hands full.”
“As if dealing with Jim isn’t enough.” Tristan smiles. “And this is my wife, Claire.”
“Hi.” Claire smiles; she isn’t at all what I expected. Naturally pretty, with dark hair.
He takes a baby dressed in pink from her. “This is Poppy and we have a two-year-old daughter around here somewhere, her name is Summer.”