Cherishing Her: A Protector Office Romance Page 8

  Everything from awkward post-labor sex scenes to cheap copies of expensive strollers.

  I was content to just sit here with her as she chuckled away. We were making progress, that I knew. She was here in my arms without complaint. We were tucked up together on the sofa, her body curved into mine and mine into hers. Like some kind of perfect yin and yang. She was resting against me, her hands on my lap—not where I’d have liked them even more to be, but still, I was happy for the huge step forward.

  I was even happier when she’d tensed at the sex on the scene. At first, I’d been concerned, then I’d seen the slow rasp of her breathing and had realized it wasn’t because she was scared or stressed at seeing that while I was there, but because—the totally unsexy sex scene—had, for whatever reason, done something for her.

  Had she avoided anything with sex in it for all these years?

  I could easily envisage it.

  She was stubborn enough to do just that, and the show didn’t exactly scream that there’d be sex scenes in it. It had come as a surprise and she’d sailed through it wonderfully.

  I closed my eyes as I rested my head back against the sofa. Not because I was sleepy but because I wanted to think about something that was bothering me at work. A recent acquisition had been giving us some troubles thanks to the board of directors being a bunch of dicks.

  It was an HR nightmare, and no mistake.

  How long I zoned out, I wasn’t sure, but then, I felt her hand tighten on my thigh. My eyes popped open and I saw she’d turned in my hold and was staring at me.

  “You slept.” The statement wasn’t accusatory but amused.

  “No. I rested my eyes.”

  “That’s bull. You slept. You were snoring.” She grinned. “You should have said you didn’t like the show.”

  I shrugged. “Didn’t like or dislike it, was thinking about other things.”

  “Oh? What other things?”

  “Work, I suppose,” I admitted sheepishly, wondering if she’d get mad that my attention hadn’t been on her.

  She sighed, surprising me by admitting, “That brain of yours. You need to rest it more.”

  I laughed. “If I rested it, it wouldn’t know what to do with itself.”

  She snorted. “All the more reason to get it used to you having a break. We all need some downtime, love.”

  That was a new nickname. I loved it!

  “I try. Mostly when I’m with you,” I prompted her, hoping to score some points for that.

  “I know.” She leaned up and pressed her lips to mine. My eyes flared in surprise at that. I usually was the one to instigate these things; anything from holding hands to linking arms or hugging, always started from me.

  And the light kisses we’d shared were no different.

  This was the first time and it made my heart pound—that she had this amount of power over me should have concerned me. With another woman, my heart only pounded during sex. But this was Jessica’s right over me. It was exactly how it should be, I reasoned.

  Her lips were soft at first, hesitant. I could tell she was trying to figure out the mechanics of kissing, like she’d been out of the game so long that she’d forgotten how to do it. I didn’t push her or pressure her. I just stayed exactly where I was and let her acclimate to the fact she could and should do with me whatever she wanted.

  She shifted at my side and disappointment flooded me as I thought she may have been pulling away. But I was wrong. She swiped her knees under her and knelt, using her new position to loom over me slightly. The move changed the pressure she could exert on my mouth. Her breath brushed over my lips and I could feel the moistness but also, the hard bursts—she was pushing herself to do this.

  Uncertain if I should slow things down, I decided to let her have her head.

  She knew what she was doing. Knew it better than I did.

  If she wanted to use me as a guinea pig, then she could.

  She tilted her head as we supped from one another, and I found myself in the unusual position of being submissive. I was a dominant lover normally. I took charge of both my pleasure and the woman I was with. It was unusual to just rest here, not resisting or actively doing anything to improve things for us.

  I wanted to show her, to teach her how we should kiss, but I wanted her to admit that she needed my help. Not because I was a bastard, or because I wanted to hold something over her with my superiority—ha!—but because the admission would help her relax, and would show her that she was giving herself to me.

  I was under no illusion that she was ready for sex. She wasn’t. At all. But I was okay with that. My right hand was getting sore, but I could deal with that while she came to terms with the fact that with me, she would always be safe.

  I shuddered as she slipped her tongue along the seam of my lips. With a moan, I parted my mouth and loved that she pushed in. The minute she did, she darted back out again.

  I juddered underneath her, the muscles in my body responding to the delicate touch that somehow packed the power of a sledgehammer.

  My moan seemed to stir her confidence because I felt her push her body into mine. The pressure of her breasts against my chest had my cock hardening, and I wished like hell I could shape those delicious mounds with my fingers, cup them in my hands. I wanted to taste their tips; know if they were red like cherries or pink and plump.

  My brain whirred on ahead of me, charging my veins with an electricity that made me hard but also, made me soft, because this was Jessica.

  The only woman who touched me on a cerebral level. Who could get my imagination working, and who could make me feel these things without even putting a hand near my cock.

  A small guttural moan sounded deep in her throat, and I recognized it as one that was founded in exasperation and frustration.

  Her tongue fluttered against mine and she pulled back, whispering, “I don’t know what to do.”

  My eyes were dazed as I looked deep into hers. “You were doing perfectly.”

  She shook her head, tilting down to avoid his gaze. “Hardly.”

  I reached up and cupped her jaw. When she still avoided me, I sighed. “You were. Carry on. There’s no rush, no pressure. Just pleasure. Just enjoy it.”

  Her bottom lip quivered and I saw that and wanted to groan. The need to nip that tender morsel, to tug it away from her teeth then sweep in and savor her was a strong urge that had me wanting to rear up and over her.

  “Will you help me?”

  The request was quiet; exactly what I’d hoped to hear even if the dejection in her tone wasn’t.

  Though I’d wanted to take charge, had hoped she’d extend that hand of trust, I didn’t like that. I didn’t want it this way.

  I wondered how I could help her, empower her enough to make her realize she was doing perfectly well on her own without my getting involved at all.

  The notion came to me and I realized she wouldn’t like it but it was the one sure fire way to make her understand.

  In a smooth move, I rolled us so that she was on top of me and I underneath her; flat out against the cushions. Though she squeaked, she made no move to jump off me. Quickly, while her nerves were on my side, I grabbed her legs and murmured, “Straddle me.”

  She hesitated but complied, slowly. So slowly it made me grit my teeth. When she settled low on my thighs, I dragged her up until her core was rocking against my hardness. She went white as a sheet, enough to make me fear I’d done the wrong thing, then, before she could scare, I whispered, “Feel what you do to me with your beautiful kisses?”

  The question had her head tilting to the side. “Really?”

  “My body can’t lie, sweetheart.”

  She let out a shuddery breath and, stunning the shit out of me, rocked her hips once, twice, three times. When she felt my hardness again, she smiled at me. It beamed out of her, made me feel like I’d just been bathed in the sun’s rays.

  “I did that.”

  “You did,” I told her, amuse
d. “Now, come here.” I beckoned her with my arms. Again, she hesitated, but I remained patient. She moved against me, her head angled so that she could kiss me once more. But I shook my head and tucked her so that her silky hair brushed my chin. “This is perfect,” I told her.

  “No, I want to kiss you,” she argued, and the heat in her words made me grin because moments before, she’d been unsure of herself. There was no uncertainty now.

  “I want to kiss you too, but I also want you in my arms.”

  I knew she wanted to argue and then, she breathed long and low, the move settling her deeper against me. She wriggled a little, finding a good spot, and then I felt her relax. Suddenly, I knew what it felt to be handed a gold medal at the Olympics—because nothing could feel as exhilarating as this. This. I’d earned her trust enough for her to relax in my embrace, all while she felt my cock and could feel my body’s heat against her own.

  It might not have seemed like a huge step to some, but to me? Well, it felt like we’d climbed Everest together.

  We were getting there, slowly, and the trek would be more than worth the wait.

  I knew that like I knew my face in the mirror.

  Chapter 8

  Jessica

  Three Months Later

  I cut a glance at Max who, amusingly enough, was trying to look innocent.

  “Who told you?”

  He snorted. “I looked at your file. I’m the boss. Human Resources can’t complain if I want to find out when your birthday is.”

  I stared down at the tickets in my hand and let out a shuddery breath—I wasn’t sure what astonished me more. That he’d gone to the effort to look up my birthday when he could have just asked me, or the Cirque de Soleil tickets in my hands. How the hell had he known I wanted to go see them?

  That it was one of my dreams?

  A dream I constantly had to put on the backburner because I could never afford the tickets.

  “Will you go?”

  “Of course I will,” I said on a huff, peering up at him. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  He shrugged. “I never know with you.”

  My lips curved in a wry smile.

  These past three months had been…

  Was perfect too stupid a word to use?

  He’d courted me. Like a gentleman of old. He’d taken me to places I’d never have imagined going; the best restaurants, the worst dives with the most delicious dishes. We’d flown in his private plane to Toronto to go to a concert of one of his favorite singers. Had ice-skated together where he’d laughed at me for spending more time on my ass than on my skates—he, of course, had whizzed around the ice like a pro. How a Florida native could do that and I couldn’t? Yeah, it didn’t make sense but I was finding he didn’t make sense.

  Not once, in all that time, had he pushed me into anything. No pressure on any score.

  And the truth was, while a part of me liked it, another part was so beyond ready to take this to the next level, I was going crazy.

  While I wondered if he was being this way because he wanted to be friends, and I was concerned I’d wreck it by coming onto him, deep down, I knew that this was, in his eyes, a courtship. He was gentling me, and it had worked.

  I needed, with a desperation that bewildered me, to take this to the next level.

  How was that even possible?

  How could I have gone from being terrified of anything with a penis to wanting to touch this man’s dick?

  It shouldn’t have been possible. It shouldn’t be happening. Yet it was. Because he was just too damn lovable.

  Yeah. Lovable.

  I loved him.

  I wondered if I’d fallen for him that day in his apartment, where his family were trying avidly not to listen in to the conversation we had while I chopped tomatoes and revealed the truth of my past.

  Or maybe it was when he’d taken me horse-riding and we’d watched the sunset in the distance together. Or, or, or… There were dozens of occurrences, dozens of moments that he’d given me.

  Those moments were a gift I’d cherish forever.

  “Tickets from Cirque and an emerald bracelet are two separate things entirely.”

  He scowled at me. “What kind of logic is that?”

  “A very sensible logic,” I retorted. “I don’t want the bracelet.” Even though, staring at it, I’d thought immediately about selling it and using the money to pay off my debts—another reason why I’d refused to accept the gift. No way could I do that. Not when he’d bought something special for me and all I saw were the dollar signs—that was the exact opposite of unfair. “That bracelet was for my wrist. This is for me, yeah, but it’s for us too. We’re going together, right?” I asked, suddenly unsure.

  He snorted. “Of course. Unless you want to go with a friend.”

  “No, don’t be nuts. Of course I want to go with you.”

  He beamed at me, and that smile hit me right in my core. This man was just so potent. And powerful, and sexy, and a thousand other adjectives that all involved some kind of nuclear meltdown below the waistline.

  Before Martin Nida, I’d had sex. I’d even experienced the wonder of an orgasm. But my response to this man? It was a thousand times better than the orgasms. Just the feelings he engendered in me, the anticipation, it made me know that when we finally got together, we’d be electric.

  “Well, it’s next week. I wanted it for today but they refused to reschedule,” he told me, his tone suddenly mulish.

  I gaped at him. “You tried to make them reschedule for my birthday?”

  He sniffed. “Of course.”

  Of course.

  What world was I living in now?

  A world where a man could expect a circus act to reschedule everything, to drop everything, on his whim.

  That it hadn’t worked pleased me. Even though I knew he’d wanted it for me, I was amused by his reaction and that was worth having to wait a week.

  “You’re getting spoiled,” I told him, my tone chiding. But my voice was gravelly as I tried to hide how funny I found this situation.

  “There’s no ‘getting’ about it,” Derek grumbled from his corner of the office. “He is spoiled.”

  Max perched his ass on my desk—one of his favorite spots even though, a week after our second date, two chairs had magically appeared in front of my workspace. “I’m not spoiled. I just wanted to make Jessica’s birthday special.”

  My throat choked at his words and I reached over to grab his knee. Squeezing, I whispered, “Thank you. It will be special though.”

  “It would have been even more special if it was tonight.” He grunted. “They wouldn’t though, so we’ll just have to go somewhere else this evening.”

  I licked my lips, and suddenly felt guilty for not having told him it was my birthday.

  It was something so simple, yet I hadn’t shared it with him.

  Why hadn’t I?

  And he was so open with me. Anything I wanted to know, he’d tell me. I knew all about his father’s passing, his brother’s scare in Iraq. I knew his niece suffered with alopecia and that he had an uncle in jail.

  I felt like he’d told me so much about himself, so much when I expected him to share nothing with me because he was Max Greene and therefore, should be the cold, supercilious and secretive CEO. Even with his girlfriend. But he wasn’t like that. He was open and caring, generous with himself and with his money; willing to lavish it on me in ways I hadn’t realized, with my middle class background, that money could be frittered away.

  “I have plans tonight,” I told him, my voice shaky. I immediately caught the flash of a frown on his face before he studiously ironed out his features.

  “Oh.”

  The one vocalization had my hand tightening on his knee. I could hear the faint hurt there and hated that I’d put it there. For some reason, I glanced over at Derek and saw he was scowling.

  At me.

  Shit.

  I sucked in a shaky breath. “W-Would you c
ome with me?”

  He tilted his head to the side. “You’d want me to?”

  “Y-Yes.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me before?”

  I winced. “Because I don’t want to go, so why should you?”

  He blew out a breath. “Okay, you’re making this sound terrible. Where are we even going?”

  I loved that he was going to come with me even though he didn’t have a clue where it even was.

  “My parents’ place.”

  The words dropped into the silence that had suddenly taken over the office. I realized I’d been staring at his throat, not really wanting to see his expression of horror at my words. Then, he moved and my gaze moved with it and I saw he was, once again, beaming at me.

  Stunned by that reaction, I blinked.

  “You want to introduce me to your parents?”

  “Not really,” I said on a sigh, then, when his shoulders dropped again, I quickly blurted out, “Only because I don’t get on with them. I only see them on special occasions.”

  That had some of the tension flooding from him, but again, the notion that I could hurt him, both floored me and filled me with a kind of warmth only he’d ever been able to engender in me.

  I knew I was starting to mean something to him. The very fact he always wanted to take me out with no expectation had told me that! But seeing it, in the flesh? Yeah, that made it hit home in a way I couldn’t even begin to describe.

  “We don’t get on.” Not anymore. But I don’t say that.

  He frowned. “Then why do you go spend your birthday with them?”

  “Tradition, I guess.”

  “And you weren’t going to tell me?”

  Again, more hurt. I sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “Time was pretty much running out.”

  “There’s still lunch yet.” And we always ate lunch together. Always. Unless he had a business meeting, which to be fair, happened three days out of five. Any other time, though, his lunch was mine.

  Yeah, mine.

  I blew out a breath when I realized how possessive that sounded, but that was another emotion this man inspired in me. Possessiveness. It was mutual though. I knew that. From the way he clamped his hand on my hip wherever we went, or nestled it on the small of my back or on my shoulder.