His Good Girl

Except, I wasn’t grateful. I was pissed, and so horny I’d started masturbating every night before bed to take the edge off.

His distance was driving me insane. Every time he looked at me with his emotionless, icy gaze, or spoke to me in that goddamn monotone, I wanted to scream. He couldn’t give me the greatest pleasure of my life, then withdraw from me as though it didn’t matter.

It did matter! It mattered a whole fucking lot!

Slamming my pen onto my desk, I shoved to my feet with a growl.

Enough! He can’t just pretend I don’t matter. He can’t just pretend nothing happened between us!

He couldn’t just keep ignoring me.

Fueled by my burning rage, I stormed to his office door, shoving it open without knocking. He glanced up at me as I marched to his desk, but he didn’t appear fazed by my sudden intrusion.

“Ms. Rivers. What can I help you with?”

I came to a stop and crossed my arms over my chest, glaring down at him.

“Mr. Maslow, I need to make an official complaint.”

He sat back in his chair and arched a dark eyebrow, but his expression was almost bored. “Oh? What kind of complaint?”

I clenched my fists at his calm tone. “I’d like to file a complaint about my asshole boss,” I spat.

Had he tensed ever so slightly at my words?

“Ms. Rivers, if you have an issue with me, you are free to go to HR with your concerns.”

I gnashed my teeth. “I’d rather just deal with you directly.”

His nostrils flared. “Indeed?”

The note of warning in his voice sent a thrill rushing through me.

Finally! A reaction!

Moving so I could place my hands flat on his desk, I leaned over to glare at him.

“You’ve been acting like a pompous dick ever since the meeting with the McAllister reps. Pretending like I don’t exist unless you need me for some stupid, menial task. Pretending as if … as if …”

I couldn’t force the words out, and my cheeks heated with embarrassment.

Damn it, Winter. Now isn’t the time for modesty!

“As if, what, Ms. Rivers?” His voice was low and dangerous, and his beautiful eyes flashed with fury.

My heart hammered in her chest, and I suddenly regretted my rashness. I’d wanted to provoke him into showing some kind of emotion other than disinterest.

I really should be more careful what I wished for.

Still, I’d started down this path willingly. There was no turning back now.

Gulping, I managed to choke out, “As if you didn’t spank my ass so hard, I couldn’t sit right for days. As if you didn’t give me the most mind-numbing orgasm of my life. As if you didn’t cum all over my thighs like a beast marking his territory and call me beautiful in Russian and look at me like you wanted to rip all my clothes off.”

Mr. Maslow stared at me with an unreadable expression. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or aroused. Perhaps both? The possibility frightened and excited me all at once. Would he punish me for my tirade?

Dear God, why did that thought make me so wet?

After what felt like hours, but was in truth a mere handful of minutes, Mr. Maslow pushed from his chair and stalked around his desk without a word. His jaw was clenched. His eyes dark as he glared down at me. But his gait? It was … relaxed. He slid one hand into his pants pocket and let his other swing loose at his side. My heart hammered as he neared, and I couldn’t break my gaze from his, no matter how much his scrutiny and sheer size unnerved me.