RELEASE

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SUZANNE CLAY

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Copyright © 2022 by Suzanne Clay
Cover Copyright © 2022 by Skyla Dawn Cameron/Indigo Chick Designs
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author,
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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 BLURB

It was supposed to be a stranger, not her boss...

On paper, Danielle Higgs is a quiet, reserved, unremarkable homebody. As

the devoted personal assistant for Victor Hughes, owner and master
craftsman behind V.W. Hughes Furniture, Danielle has little time for
anything else—or so she's happy to let everyone believe.

At least once a week, Danielle sneaks down to the mysterious Cherry Street
glory hole, where she can indulge her wildest anonymous fantasies. Here,
no one can see her. They can't judge her for how eager she is to be used. It
may not provide much intimacy, but given that Danielle has been unable to
overcome her immense respect and adoration for Mr. Hughes over the past
three years, she isn't looking for a relationship anyway.

One fateful night, Danielle has an electric encounter on Cherry Street with a
stranger. He brings her to exciting heights, fulfills her every need, and after
he's gone, she can't get him off her mind.

When she discovers that this mysterious stranger and Mr. Hughes are one
and the same, a new workplace temptation will threaten to overwhelm them
both.

Release is an 73,000-word erotic romance novel with high heat, low

conflict, and no bleak moment. It features a bi M/F main pairing with a
20+ year age gap and a single POV.

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 C O NT E NT N O T E S

This book contains sexual activity between two consenting characters above
18 years of age. This book is intended only for adult audiences.

The sexual content in this book includes:

Anonymous glory holes, PIV sex, sexting, masturbation with a dildo, praise
kink, no-strings-attached sex pact, blindfolding, office sex with others in the
building, consensual masturbation in a car while someone is driving, sex on
the hood of a car, blowjob, deep throating, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering,
biting/marking.

Other content in this book includes:

Boss/Employee relationship, 20+ year age gap, accidental panty exposure,

negative self-talk, rejection sensitive dysphoria experiences, ethically
nonmonogamous side characters, anxiety about sexual performance, broken
relationship with parents, past emotional abuse by a partner, alcohol use,
hints of codependency, flashbacks to verbal abuse, previous divorce,
pregnancy through surrogacy for side characters, ADHD diagnosis.

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 A U T H O R’ S N O T E

As I wrote RELEASE, I found myself structuring it more like my favorite

comfort fanfictions.
This means it might not read exactly like the typical romance novel that
all of us adore—including me. For example:

There is no meet cute. You’re thrown into a space where the love
interests have known each other for years.
There is some personal angst and deep healing, but no high
conflict.
There is no third-act breakup or bleak moment.

While this novel fits all of my personal reading preferences, it might not
suit other readers who find comfort in the traditional story beats of the
romance genre.
I want to give all of my readers a chance to feel out if they’ll enjoy this
structure before they get started, as opposed to waiting for specific beats
and feeling frustrated if they don’t happen.
I can guarantee, however, that in these pages you’ll find:

A love story
A happy ending

And I do hope that you’ll enjoy it very much.

—Suzanne

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 For me.

It took years of pain and healing, but we rediscovered our passion for
writing after all.

Let’s keep going.

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 C O NT E NT S

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Want more?
Available Now

Also by Suzanne Clay

About the Author

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 CHAPTER 1

T wo minutes before Danielle’s day at the V.W. Hughes Furniture

office was scheduled to end, the phone at her desk rang, and
Danielle fought the urge to throw the whole blasted thing in the trash.
Instead she forced a smile—customers could always tell when she wasn't
grinning like an empty-headed fool—and answered the call. "V.W. Hughes
Furniture. How may I help you today?"
"Hey Danielle, this is Lucy Gast from Renfield,” a familiar voice
replied.
Danielle relaxed a little more. "Good evening, Lucy." When she was
dealing with stuffy associates and CEOs, maintaining a perfect persona was
important. But an exchange with a fellow personal assistant was grounds
for letting down her guard. If anyone understood the annoyance of dealing
with someone so close to the end of the day, it was Lucy, assistant to the
CEO of Renfield, a distributer who had recently begun to court V.W.
Hughes Furniture.
“Apologies for the late call." Lucy sounded just as exhausted as
Danielle, the poor thing. "I'm afraid Mr. Renfield needs to reschedule
tomorrow's meeting."
Danielle fought the urge to heave a giant sigh. Every muscle in her body
tensed. "Oh, I see." She clicked with too much force to open Mr. Hughes's
calendar.
"Literally any time you have available next week will work. I'm sorry
about the sudden change."
"No, it's perfectly all right. Things come up all the time." Easier to lie
rather than fantasize about ripping Gregory Renfield's head off his body.
She knew Lucy could hear the facade of her tone, knew just as much that
there was no point in shooting the poor messenger who was just trying to
deal with a wealthy businessman's whims. "Okay. It looks like we could do
Monday. Does a lunch meeting at noon work for you?"
"That's perfect. Thank you so much." Equally loud clacking came
through the line as Lucy punched her own revisions into the calendar. "If
something else changes, I'll let you know right away. But for now, I hope
you have a great rest of the night."
"You too." Danielle confirmed the appointment and leaned back in her
chair. Everyone else in the office and design space had gone home for the
day, except for Mr. Hughes, and he'd be tucked in his private office that
neighbored hers until the moment he was ready to leave. She could look
like a petulant child all she wanted. "Go eat something delicious and binge
a series or two."
Lucy laughed. "Already planned on it. I hope you get a chance to
decompress as well.”
Visions of a quiet building off the beaten path came to mind—private,
silent, only occupied by people with one explicit purpose in mind.
Goosebumps peaked over every inch of her. You have no idea.
After Danielle hung up, she glared at the treacherous calendar. The
rescheduled appointment wouldn't be such a big deal if Renfield hadn't
already changed their meeting date once already. Danielle knew as well as
anyone in the office that having Renfield's catalogues, website, and physical
stores selling pieces of V.W. Hughes furniture would be the biggest boon
the company had ever had, but being at the mercy of one massive
distributer was exhausting.
Danielle knew it perhaps better than anyone. She'd been working as Mr.
Hughes's assistant for three years now, and she'd swear that the past two
months of email exchanges, phone calls, and planned meetings with
Renfield had streaked his hair with more gray than Victor Hughes had
accumulated in ten years.
Better deliver the news quickly, then. Danielle steeled herself with a
deep breath before she stood and walked to the office attached to her own.
She knocked quietly on the door.
"Come in," Mr. Hughes stated.
Accustomed to ignoring the effect that her boss's low, rough voice had
on her, Danielle let herself into the room.
 Ever since she'd started working for Mr. Hughes, she'd politely waited
for him to finish whatever he was working on when she came to speak with
him. She knew she didn't have to—the man had the memory of an elephant,
and anything she said would stay locked in his mind until he needed it. But
she couldn't help it. His very presence demanded a level of respect that she
was eager to give.
Even now, at the end of a long day, Victor Hughes was an impenetrable
wall. He might have the faint scruff of a five o'clock shadow painting his
angular cheeks, but his dark suit was still crisp against his pale skin, and
every lock of his salt-and-pepper hair stayed perfectly in place. His reading
glasses gleamed in the light of his desk lamp as he frowned at his computer
screen, startlingly ice blue eyes narrowed in concentration.
Danielle could say that, yes, giving him silence and respecting his time
was important to her—or she could be more honest and confess that having
these secret moments to drink in his handsomeness was intoxicating. The
fact that she could study him so closely without him acknowledging her
only made his presence more potent.
Her heart skipped a beat and heat pulsed in her gut. Yes. A visit to
Cherry Street tonight was exactly what the doctor ordered.
After a few more seconds of typing, Mr. Hughes folded his hands on his
desk and turned his attention her way. "My apologies for keeping you
waiting."
It was a common refrain, though one she didn't consider warranted. She
was paid to make life easier for him. If that meant standing in one place for
a full minute while he completed the task she'd interrupted, then so be it.
Danielle had long ago mastered the art of looking at someone's forehead
when she had to make face-to-face conversation with them. It was better
that way. Less spontaneous blushing, less squirming. "I wanted to let you
know that Mr. Renfield needed to reschedule your meeting for tomorrow.
I've moved it to next week instead."
Mr. Hughes was a calm and collected man, but that didn't stop him from
closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. "Yes, of course.” He removed his
glasses and rubbed the bridge of his aquiline nose with rough fingers.
"You had an open spot over Monday's lunch. That was the soonest I
could make it." Danielle shifted her weight between her high heels. Though
she knew whatever displeasure he felt right now wasn't her fault, she itched
to make things up to him all the same.
 Mr. Hughes nodded, but not an inch of his smoothly neutral expression
changed. "We'll close this deal on Monday, then."
God, the man was clearly exhausted. When he picked up his mug of
coffee and drank it down in three long gulps, Danielle took a step forward.
"Do you want me to make you a fresh cup?”
"Better not." He tipped the sea foam green mug and looked inside it
with a clear longing. "Even with an extra hour tomorrow, I shouldn't risk
being up all night."
"I'll wash it for you, at least." It was the least she could do. Danielle
moved across the room and held her hands out to take the dish.
But Mr. Hughes didn't offer it at first. He stared at her for a long few
moments, frowning, heavy brow drawn deep down his forehead. As the
quiet stretched out, Danielle instinctively met his gaze to see if she'd erred.
She couldn't read his expression—but she did feel her cheeks heating.
Shit.
"It's past 6," Mr. Hughes pointed out. "You should head home. I can
take care of a single mug myself."
"Oh, no, it would be my pleasure." Being useful suited her. It gave her a
purpose whenever her mind grew too busy and her body too antsy.
But when his frown deepened at her words, Danielle's outstretched
hands trembled, and she began to withdraw them.
"I appreciate your time." Mr. Hughes finally pushed the mug into her
grasp. "But make that your final duty of the day."
As their fingers brushed, lightning shot up her arms all the way into her
tingling scalp. "Yes, absolutely." She took a few steps backward in an effort
to recenter herself. It wasn't fair that someone could electrify her just by
existing. "I hope you'll head home soon too?"
Mr. Hughes had a remarkably full pair of lips for such an angular, sharp
frame. He pursed them in thought now as he pulled a lens cloth from his
suit jacket, then began cleaning his glasses. "I'll see you in the morning,
Miss Higgs."
You're his assistant, not his nanny. Christ. "Until then. Have a good
night, Mr. Hughes." Danielle hurried from his office before she could
embarrass herself any further.
Washing his preferred coffee mug was a slow, methodical process, and
the cold water helped to recenter her thoughts. She was more of a wreck
than she thought. She needed someone to wipe her mind clean. Then she
could follow up with a long bubble bath so she melted into bed. If the gods
smiled on her, she'd fall asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.
Danielle took care with drying every inch of the mug. Without thinking,
she checked the stock of coffee beans, creamer, and sweetener, then
assessed the rest of the dishes to make sure they'd been cleaned properly by
those who used them earlier.
Only when she realized another ten minutes had passed did she force
herself to leave the kitchen and grab her purse. Everything remaining would
wait until tomorrow.
He’d said so.
As Danielle moved through the furniture showroom, she allowed only
one more minute to study how all of the pieces had been arranged. One part
gave her pause. An elegant rose sofa had been placed next to a light brown
end table that strongly contrasted against it in an unpleasing way. Danielle
stepped toward it, then stopped herself.
She was a personal assistant. Not an interior designer. Just because
some feckless intern had put two pieces of furniture together that didn't
match up didn't mean she should step in and pretend she knew better.
Even though her palms were itching, she forced herself to head to the
parking lot. With one last glance toward the light radiating from Mr.
Hughes's office, Danielle got in the car and pulled into the street.
She was too tightly wound—and there was one place she could go to
take care of that.

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 CHAPTER 2

T here was a building just down Cherry Street where those looking
for a quick, anonymous moment of release came. It was the sort of
nook that people pretended they didn't know about—if you brought it up to
their face, they’d feign shock and disgust at it existing in the first place. But
those who complained about it the most were often those who frequented it
every week.
Danielle Higgs wasn't one of those individuals who whined about it.
Mostly she pretended it didn't exist. After all, why would someone bring it
up to her in the first place? She did her best to avoid being perceived by
anyone.
Maybe that was why the Cherry Street glory hole appealed to her so
much. Having the opportunity to be an anonymous object for the taking
suited her quite well. No strings attached. No names or phone numbers
exchanged. Just a rapid, primal encounter between two strangers who
would never meet again.
Her first experience at the glory hole had been a whim after a rotten
breakup only a week prior. She'd gotten so used to the frequency of sex, and
suddenly having it snatched from her on account of her ex-boyfriend being
a scumbag hadn't gone so well. Oddly, her body hadn't responded to logical
reasoning about why it couldn't have a cock in her as often as had been
previously demanded, and while her toys satisfied her, she experienced a
lovely thrill at being used by someone else instead.
That first stolen fifteen minutes tucked inside the small booth with her
pussy exposed had been electric. She didn't know what strange woman had
come by and fingerblasted Danielle into oblivion, but her husky dirty talk
had been more than enough to leave Danielle with jelly legs long after she
had departed.
After that, it had become a weekly treat. When the stress of work
became a touch too overwhelming, Danielle would sneak away to that quiet
corner of Cherry Street. At first, she was good, only tucking herself in the
booth after her work had been completed, but once or twice, the pressure on
her shoulders drove her there on her lunch breaks. She'd rather have sex
than her containers of pasta salad or sandwiches any day of the week.
On nights like this, Danielle knew she wasn't going to get through the
rest of the week unfucked.
Cherry Street was a bit out of her way—but, then again, it was out of
everyone's way. People came here for one reason and one reason only. It
was as though a mythical fucking center had popped up out of nowhere in
the middle of the night, and no one in the city had enough decency to have
it removed.
No complaints here.
During the drive, her body sang in anticipation. Beneath the gray
pinstripe skirt hugging her thick thighs, Danielle felt her pussy slicking her
panties in hunger. She didn't care who found her tonight. She didn't care if
they wanted to use her with a cock, a toy, their hands, or their mouth. They
could bruise her or bite her if they wanted. She just needed to leave the
booth on shaky legs.
The small building had the trappings of an abandoned roadside visitor's
building tucked right past the state line. In the dim lights above the cracked
and abandoned parking lot, nothing else could be seen but the expanse of
vacant, overgrown fields stretching into the distance. The small structure
had a glass door leading in—easier to be certain that it wasn't occupied that
way.
For now, there were no other cars around, and no one in the building.
Danielle pulled into her regular spot behind the building, out of sight of
the road, and began the long walk inside. With each click of her heels
against the broken pavement, her heart pounded a hint faster.
The structure had the air of a place that was never attended to. The
lighting flickered overhead, as if the lightbulb was struggling to work,
though it had never gone out nor been brighter since Danielle first visited.
But the floors were always impeccable, without a hint of litter to be seen—
no abandoned condom wrappers, no sticky semen, no forgotten containers
of lubricant.
A few constantly stocked vending machines sat against the wall beside
the doors leading to the available bathrooms. One was filled with condoms,
flavored lube, small sex toys, battery replacements, and fresh pairs of
underwear as needed. The other was filled with nonalcoholic beverages.
Danielle always wondered who decided to bring in the second machine.
But she supposed it was better to be hydrated after anonymous sexcapades
than not.
Though the air inside was always at a comfortable temperature, as
Danielle crossed the tiles, her nipples hardened under her blouse. Her body
knew what it was time for, and it was fucking eager.
At the far end of the building was the small booth she knew so
intimately well. It was empty. Ready. Waiting. Danielle studied the wide
hole for those who wanted to be fucked, and the smaller and lower one for
those who wanted to suck.
She'd had her fair share of time spent with them both, but with the way
her pussy clenched under her clothes, she knew which one needed her
participation tonight.
Danielle opened the door that led into the booth, where a few hangers
waited on strong poles, ready to keep whatever clothes she chose to shed
neat and tidy. Truly, whoever was responsible for this place had thought of
everything.
For now, Danielle put her panties and skirt aside. She'd keep her lacy
thigh bands on—a teasing hint of fabric for whoever might come for her
tonight. They were her favorites, after all, black and painted with vivacious
roses, and she knew full well how beautifully they played against her pale
skin.
As Danielle approached the lifted counter that served as a comfortable
resting place for whoever took it, she instinctively brushed off the cushion
atop it, and as always, she found it clean. She lay down and shifted herself,
letting her legs rest against the wall overhead.
Now, she waited. The anticipation was both the best and the worst part.
With her hot pussy exposed to the cool air outside of the compartment and
her legs slowly falling asleep, there was no telling how long she would be
here before someone else arrived.
 Maybe for the first time, no one would show up. Maybe she'd go unused
and unsatisfied for the rest of the night, fitful and frustrated as she brought
herself off to a much less satisfying conclusion at home. Or maybe she'd
stay here for hours until she found a partner just as hungry as she was.
But it was also possible that all the waiting would be so incredibly
worth it. Whether someone came here to use her and walk away, or whether
they actively did their best to get her off, she'd be happy.
Gods, she just wanted to be fucking useful tonight—to know she'd been
good.
Danielle shifted and squirmed for what could've been ten minutes or ten
years, but she froze when she heard the establishment's door swinging open.
The sounds from outside swelled, then went quiet again, followed by the
slow approach of smart shoes against the tile.
One step. Two steps. Closer, closer.
Danielle licked her lips and gulped. She pressed her ass firmly against
the boundaries of the hole, desperate to know she'd been seen.
Silence. Then the soft sound of money being fed into one of the
machines.
Embarrassingly, her breathing was already kicking up as she tried to
imagine who might be on the other side of the wall. Man? Woman? Both,
neither, somewhere else on the gender spectrum? Would they be silent as
they took her, or would she hear the echoing noise of their pleasure through
the chamber?
Something was dispensed at the vending machine, and the shoes clicked
closer once more. They weren't heels, she could tell that much, but the
sound made her think of someone who dressed neatly for a business—
someone sleek and well-kept, who knew the importance of charming the
eyes before anything else.
Maybe they were in sales. Maybe they were desperately accumulating
overtime as they tried to get a business off the ground. Maybe they spent
half their nights on the road, driving to distant conferences, and needed to
steal a few minutes of animalistic release before they went back on their
way.
Danielle was more than eager to provide.
The light peeking through the hole disappeared as the stranger stood in
front of the wall. Danielle's senses heightened. A zipper eased down,
followed by the shuffling of fabric. A familiar rip told her a condom had
been purchased.
Danielle sat up and slid her hand out through the opening right above
her pussy. There was hesitation, and then a firm, thick cock slid against her
palm.
With a careful examination, she assured herself that the condom was
fully in place. She pumped her hand slowly up and down the person's shaft.
As the cock pulsed in her grip, the individual let out a low, raw groan.
Danielle let herself think of the person as him. With such anonymity
craved in these situations, she didn't feel comfortable exchanging any words
or pronouns, and she only hoped they'd forgive her if she was wrong.
Gods, the sound of his pleasure lit her up from head to toe. Danielle's
hole clenched. As delightful as it might be to sit here and tease this man
until he couldn't take the handjob for a second longer, she wasn't willing to
wait.
Danielle guided his shaft to her entrance, and she hungrily suckled just
his head inside of her.
The stranger hummed. His hands found her ass, massaging the ample
flesh within their grasp.
As Danielle leaned back, she closed her eyes and waited to be taken.
Fucked. Owned. He wouldn't wait long. They never did.
But, shockingly, for a moment he didn't seem in a rush. While her hole
tightened around the tip of his cock, he let out a shaking breath and basked
in that tiny bit of stimulation.
Unexpectedly, he moved his hand, and his thumb found her bare clit.
"Oh..." Danielle covered her mouth to muffle any other sounds before
they could slip out. She didn't know why she was surprised by this. Plenty
of people got their rocks off on driving her to orgasm. But in her personal
experience, once most people got their dicks inside of her, any thoughts of
her pleasure flew out the window. She was a faceless fucktoy for them—
why should they care about getting her off when her sole purpose was to be
pounded?
As wet as she was, the man's thumb ran easily over the sensitive nub,
and he briefly dipped through her slick labia to gather even more of her
arousal. Though the pad of his thumb was rough—a working hand, she
observed with a shiver of delight—he was careful not to rub her raw.
"Yes?" The gruff voice shook her from her meditation.
 Shit, she loved a dark timbre like that. Danielle melted into the cushion
beneath her. "Fuck, yes..."
Another low moan from the stranger colored the air, sweet and rich as
caramel dripping onto her bare skin. He kept a slow, rhythmic tease over
her clitoris, finding a pattern that had her internal muscles squeezing—then
just as suddenly shifted to something new, leaving her unbalanced by her
own pleasure.
His other hand wandered as well. He tucked a finger under her thigh
band and pulled it taut, as though examining it. When he suddenly released
it, it snapped against her skin.
The sting of pain made her arch with a moan as endorphins burrowed
into her brain. "Fuck!"
His low chuckle crept into her hot blood and left her whole body
churning with desire. She felt the fresh wave of arousal drip out of her, and
she whined.
"Fuck me?" Danielle murmured, hoping that the man heard her.
“You’re ready for me?” That voice did terrible things to her. Even just a
handful of rough words were enough to leave her desperate.
She wanted his mouth right against her ear, calling her filthy things as
he pounded her, hard and raw. She wanted that tone to tease her, to make
her beg breathlessly for more.
But she'd only take what he gave her tonight, this stranger who needed
to lose himself in someone else. In this humid, starry night, they'd drink
from each other until they were satisfied, and then they'd never cross paths
again.
It was a shame. But there was also something beautiful about it.
The man made a soft sound of disappointment. "Answer me, or you
don't get my cock."
Despite herself, one face swam before her mind's eye. A handsome,
distant, cool businessman, who lived his life making sure that no one was
overly bothered by him. A man with graying hair and a sharp jaw and a
large nose and soft lips.
Danielle tried not to let Mr. Hughes’s image come to mind at the glory
hole. But tonight it was impossible. Their voices sounded so similar. So
while Victor Hughes was working himself ragged at the office, Danielle
thought it might be permissible for her to get off, imagining him fucking her
just this once.
 She'd chide him for overworking tomorrow, and he'd send her a firm
glare, and that look would be punishing enough for both transgresses:
picturing his cock deep inside her and letting herself care far too much
about a man who did his damndest to keep her at arm's length.
"I'm ready," Danielle said breathlessly. "I need your cock, sir, please?"
For a second, time stilled. The man didn't move a muscle. Even his
questing thumb came to a stop. Then he sucked in another ragged breath,
and as he let it out he sank his cock deep inside her in one smooth motion.
"Mmm!" Danielle tipped her head back and let herself bask in the
moment of being so well-filled. This stranger had a long, thick cock, it
seemed, one of those that were just a tad intimidating at first glance. As his
balls pressed against her pelvis, her dripping labia kissed them in greeting,
and the man let out another rough moan before he began to draw back.
He was thorough. He slid every inch out, all the way to the tip, before
easing back into place.
There were different ways for Danielle to know she was being properly
used. One was simple: someone pounded her hole like a jackhammer,
driving toward their finish. They didn't care if they bruised her, if she got
sticky, or if she could walk steadily afterward.
But the second way was different. It was when someone fucked her so
slowly and intently that she knew she was just a sleeve for them—
something they were using to get every inch of their dick soaked and
massaged better than any toy could manage. They took their time with these
thrusts, making sure each vein was coated in her arousal.
It was rare, being taken with such focus, and Danielle let herself go limp
with a happy sigh. Tiny microshivers broke across her body as she fixated
on the sensation of being filled, emptied, and filled again.
What could she say? She was a simple woman and incredibly easy to
please, just as long as she had this wall of anonymity between herself and
her partner for the evening.
As the man found his rhythm, his thumb returned to its massage over
her clit, and Danielle pressed both hands over her face. Her groan was
muffled.
If she could trick herself into believing she couldn't be heard, it was far
less embarrassing. Normal women didn't like being used like an object,
after all. It was shameful. Sometimes Danielle dryly thought that she alone
would set feminism back a few decades, if she admitted how exquisite this
felt.
"Good?" the man asked.
His tone reminded her of midnight skies and crackling fireplaces.
Danielle bit the edge of her palm and trembled through the rush of pain.
Another frustrated sigh. "Yes or no?"
Right, right, he actually wants to hear me. Not one of those people who
preferred to hear themselves speak and didn't care if they got an answer in
return. Danielle dropped her hands back to the counter. "Yes, fuck, yes..."
"Is this what you need?"
Why the man kept asking her questions that required thought to answer,
she had no idea. "What?"
"Is this what you need to come on my cock?" the stranger purred.
Another clench from her pussy, desperately trying to milk him. Danielle
whined and tried to lift her hips to get a better angle, to know for a fact that
his dick would find her g-spot. Now that he'd put the idea of her orgasm in
her mind, she couldn't think of anything she needed more than to come with
him inside her.
"I-I need..." Another shift. Her body ached below the waist. With how
her legs had lost almost all feeling, they'd be useless to hold her where she
wanted to be. "A better angle. A little higher?"
Seamlessly, the man's hand eased under her ass and lifted her just
enough that she could find purchase. His next stroke inside her sent tidal
waves crashing through her veins.
"Like that?" The man rubbed over her clitoris one more time, and
Danielle went boneless with a gasp. "Ah...there we are."
This fucking man. The more he spoke, the more she saw Mr. Hughes’s
blue eyes peering into her own as he fucked her deep. Her mind tried its
hardest to separate Mr. Hughes from the stranger fucking her, but no matter
what method she tried, it didn't work. She couldn't even dismiss how easily
he kept her hips aloft on the grounds of her boss being some pencil pusher.
He'd been a master carpenter for years, as well as the namesake designer
and builder at V.W. Hughes Furniture, before he'd stepped behind a desk to
support the growth of his business.
The man was halfway through his fifties, but plenty strong all the same,
ready and able to strip his button-down shirt off and heave a particularly
troublesome load of lumber into the workspace.
 Fine. Fuck it. Fuck it all. Danielle squeezed her eyes shut and
succumbed to the fantasy of her gorgeous boss handling her as meticulously
as he ran an entire, thriving business.
Her face bloomed in a hot, vivid red. Gods, it was so humiliating to feel
seen by someone when she was at this brink, even in only a fantasy. She
curled her toes against the cold wall between the two of them to anchor
herself in reality for only a moment.
No one could see her. No one could mock her for how easy it was for
her to lose herself. No one could see how eager she was to give her body
away, then use it to take advantage of her later down the line.
There was only fucking. Sweat making her blouse stick to her skin. The
rolling undulations of the stranger's hips taking control of her body.
Better. So, so much better.
In her fantasy, Mr. Hughes had blindfolded her, leaving every sense
heightened as he rocked inside of her again and again. His rough fingers
scraped against the small of her back, grounding her through the lightning
that coursed through her with each thrust.
"Can I..." She'd spoken without thought. Danielle bit her bottom lip to
keep quiet.
The heavy breaths settled as he buried his cock in her hole and stilled.
"Can you what?"
It's so much like him. The fantasy twisted and turned, taking on life,
wrapping a haze around her mind.
He gently slapped her clit—less a punishment than a way to grab her
attention, but it made her jolt with a gasp all the same. "If you don't tell me
what you need, then you don't get to play," he murmured.
As flushed as Danielle was with shame, the words poured out of her
anyway. "C-Can I play with my tits?"
The sound he let out was almost a growl. "Does it feel good when you
do that?"
"Yes." She didn't hesitate that time. "Yes, fuck, it's so good..."
"Then do it." His voice dropped into a primal tone, rasping and raw.
"Right fucking now."
Danielle rushed into action. She shoved her blouse high around her ribs,
then pulled the cups of her bra down. Her soft breasts shook with how she
panted, free from their confines. The moment Danielle pinched her hard
nipples between her fingers, thunder broke right under her skin. "Fuck!"
 He'd been a patient man, staying still, not moving an inch while she got
comfortable. But she swore she felt him twitch inside her the moment her
loudest moan escaped her lips.
With the stage set, the symphony resumed. He fucked her in long,
smooth strokes, like dragging a bow across her cello strings. Each time he
grazed over her g-spot with his thick cock, music vibrated in her veins. His
thumb rubbed her clit, pizzicato motions that plucked staccato pleasure
deep through her core.
Danielle was enraptured. It was a peculiar blend of knowing she was
being a good girl like he needed, while also recognizing that her own
ecstasy was paramount in this moment. It wouldn't be right if she wasn't
soaring just as high as he was.
What she'd become accustomed to as an exercise in pleasurable
disassociation had shifted completely. It may be a fantasy that she was
drowning in, but she was so present within it that there was no escape.
Not until she broke.
His sharp sounds of pleasure began to grow, and she met him in the
middle with her own cries. They echoed through the space together. And
when she thought she could take no more, she breathlessly met her peak in
a white-hot, shining moment.
He took her through it, extending the throes, stoking the flames higher
and higher until she believed she was at her limit. And at that moment, she
heard him break as well—felt it rattle through her in the random bucking of
his hips and the way his short nails bit into her back.
The very air trembled around them for a few long seconds. Danielle fell
from the sky. She slipped back inside her skin, awash with tingling
endorphins. On instinct, she reached toward the hole where they met.
But before her fingers could peek through to touch him, the man
withdrew, and she was empty once more.
Danielle's eyes flew open. Right. There was no Victor Hughes, who'd
seen how much she admired him for all these years, who'd admired her in
turn, who couldn't keep his hands off her for a second longer. She was at the
Cherry Street glory hole, and she'd just gotten exactly what she needed: an
anonymous fuck with a stranger willing to use her as a sleeve for his cock.
She blew out the rest of the fog in her head.
As she listened, the stranger discarded his condom and closed his pants.
 The moment had passed. Danielle forced herself to focus on the ceiling
tiles overhead, to try and count all the dots scattered across the one in the
corner.
But her recentering was interrupted the moment that one sole finger ran
over her thigh band, from edge to edge.
Bastard. Danielle almost laughed. Doesn't he get it? It's over. We're
finished.
As if he heard her thoughts, the stranger broke contact, and his shoes
clicked against the floor.
Danielle always needed a few minutes to get back on her feet. For her
own safety, she would wait until she heard the door shut and a car depart
from the parking lot before she even left the booth. Tonight, she let the
familiar sounds of the person operating the vending machine wash over her.
Twice, he used the drinks machine. She heard the heavy thud of the
bottles as they fell into place. After half a minute more, the sounds of the
outside world swelled, and then fell again as the door shut.
There were fifty-two tiny dots on the corner ceiling tile. She finished
counting them just as she heard the car leave the lot.
Danielle swung her numb legs over the edge of the counter and let the
blood rush uncomfortably back into them while she put her bra and blouse
back to rights. It was wrinkled all to hell, but what did that matter? Who
was she going home to? Who was going to see her and think anything about
her at all? She liked it that way.
It didn't take long for her to get redressed. Her underwear was ruined
from her own arousal. She desperately needed a bath. After Danielle
gathered her purse, she let herself out of the booth.
And paused.
A water bottle sat outside the booth's door, with a small note written in
messy handwriting and tucked under it.
Be safe getting home.
Danielle frowned as she studied the pen's strokes. Never once had
someone left her something like this after a tryst. She studied the bottle
suspiciously, but it was perfectly intact and sealed—no signs of tampering
from someone who intended danger toward her.
Her heart fluttered. And, because that was dangerous in and of itself,
she dumped the bottle in the trash as she left.
But she did keep the note.
OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 3

A s Danielle walked into work the next day, she was refreshed and
ready to conquer the remainder of the week. Her chin was high. Her
eyeliner was impeccable. She was wearing her favorite skirt. Nothing could
go wrong.
Though making Mr. Hughes his first cup of coffee had never been
requested of her, it was the first thing she did every morning. The
enjoyment she took from each meticulous step, knowing she'd have a
perfect product that would boost him through the rough edges of the day,
filled her with delight.
When Danielle began to pour the perfectly heated water over the coffee
grounds with care, she took notice of exactly how light she felt. She even
considered humming a delightful ditty.
As she'd suspected, that fuck had been exactly what she needed.
"Danielle?" The familiar light voice of Sherry, one of the managers of
the showroom, rang through the air.
"Morning, Sherry!" Danielle didn't risk looking away from the scale. It
was vital that she get an exact amount of water into the grounds first to
make them bloom. "You're here early. How are you?"
"I-I'm fine. Danielle?" More urgency in Sherry's tone now.
"Is everything okay?" She needed one more gram of water. Danielle bit
her bottom lip in concentration and hoped she didn't ruin her lipstick. Just a
little more. Just a splash.
"Danielle. Your skirt."
Danielle jolted. One gram over. She swore under her breath as she put
the electric kettle down. "My skirt?"
 Danielle looked down at her front. Her skirt was fine. But a glance over
her shoulder revealed the source of Sherry’s panic. The flowy garment was
tucked under her panties, exposing not only her underwear, but the entire
length of her leg, navy-and-white-rose thigh band and all.
It would've been fine if Sherry was the only one who was privy to this
information, but an anxious scan of the break room showed her the worst
scenario possible.
Mr. Hughes was apparently a little early to the office as well. And he
was staring straight at her leg with an impenetrable scowl.
Danielle whipped around and pressed her back against the counter, eyes
flicking to the carpet. Oh God, oh God. Being looked at with such a firm
expression was bad enough. But being seen in such a vulnerable position
was far worse. She wouldn't be surprised if her entire body was as red as a
tomato now.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Hughes depart the doorway. It
was just her and Sherry.
She still wanted to throw up.
"Oh, Jesus.” Danielle choked out the words.
"Hey, hey." Sherry had a background as a preschool teacher, and it
showed in her tone. Her soft voice conjured up the comforting presence of a
mother. "It could've been a lot worse. You could've been wearing the ugliest
underwear known to man."
"Mr. Hughes is running a business. He doesn't want to see anyone's
underwear, cute or not. I wish I could throw myself in the dumpster." The
fragrant aroma of coffee cut Danielle's words off, and she turned back
around. "Shit, his coffee." She hadn't ruined it yet, but she'd come close.
She grabbed the kettle with a shaking hand.
Sherry leaned into the counter beside her. Her blonde pixie cut gleamed
like sunshine, just as bright as her apologetic smile. "I wouldn't worry about
it. He's probably just as embarrassed as you are. Where'd you get those
thigh bands, by the way? Super cute."
"I'll send you a link," Danielle murmured numbly. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She
was a professional. She'd never had something that humiliating happen in
her entire career.
"Hey. It's okay. Deep breath?"
Danielle obeyed. The earthy, rich scent of the coffee reached deep
inside her. It chased away some of the tension in her body that had returned
from the night before. As she set the kettle aside to let the coffee finish
steeping, she forced herself to try and focus on the day ahead.
Their meeting with Mr. Renfield might be canceled, but that didn't mean
there was an easy few hours ahead of them. And as Mr. Hughes's personal
assistant, she had no way to avoid face-to-face time with him. Whatever he
needed, she would provide.
But that didn't mean she couldn't do any of the out-of-office errands she
had on her docket extremely early.
"Do me a favor, Sherry?"
"Anything." Sherry rubbed her arm, and the contact settled her even
further.
Danielle forced her shoulders to lower back into their original position.
"Once this is ready, can you take Mr. Hughes his coffee?"
"Me?" Sherry's voice peaked, startled and tinny. "Danielle, you can't
just—"
"I have to go pick up his dry cleaning. It's always an early pick-up time
to beat the rush. You know that."
Sherry spluttered, then gave up with a sigh. "Sure. Whatever you need."
"Thank you."
The moment the coffee was sweetened to perfection, Danielle pushed
the mug toward Sherry, then hurried toward her desk.
Just as she grabbed her purse, she heard Mr. Hughes's office door open
behind her. Without a single glance over her shoulder, Danielle slipped
away.

S he'd done everything she could do. The dry cleaning was assembled.
Mr. Hughes's car's gas tank was full. She had the stack of fabric
samples that he'd requested she pick up for their new line of sofas and
chairs. From the parking lot, on her phone, she'd confirmed the arrival time
of the next load of lumber from the pesky company that often showed up
too late in the day.
Now, as she made her way through the showroom, Danielle gathered
herself. There was no reason for her to be so anxious. She hadn't actually
done anything intentionally to mar her professional reputation. It wasn't as
though the entire world had seen her panties and immediately sent out a
news bulletin that V.W. Hughes Furniture only hired messy employees who
didn't pay attention to their appearance.
Mr. Hughes had no reason to be angry with her. She knew that logically.
But deep in her soul, she hated being even a momentary
disappointment, and with each heartbeat as she climbed the long flight of
stairs, the poisonous anxiety continued to spread inky black through her
veins.
Danielle nodded at Andrew, the front desk worker who was currently
maneuvering his way through what sounded like a stressful phone call, and
made her way back to her own desk. Once she tucked her purse away,
Danielle slid into her chair and folded her hands in her lap.
Normally she'd be offering to make Mr. Hughes his second cup of
coffee of the day. He'd decline, then make it himself. They'd fall into a
comfortable rhythm, where she brought him things he needed before he
even asked. And he might not look at her when he thanked her, but she'd
bloom under his quiet regard all the same.
But once she was in her seat, she couldn't move. There was a glacial
wall all around her, and she didn't know where to start with tunneling
through.
Her phone rang. A quick glance told her that the call was coming
through the line solely used between her and Mr. Hughes.
Her heart bounced into her throat, and it stayed there as she answered.
"Yes, Mr. Hughes?"
"Miss Higgs, come into my office at your earliest convenience."
Time slowed to a grinding halt. The first encounter after an awkward
moment with someone was the worst, one that caused her physical pain.
Rejection sensitive dysphoria, she believed it was called.
But she just had to buckle up and get through it. "I'll be right there, sir."
A pause. "Thank you." And then he hung up.
She couldn't make him wait. She just couldn't. Even though her skin
wanted to melt off her body in mortification, Danielle made her way
promptly toward Mr. Hughes's office.
When she let herself in, she froze in the doorway. Mr. Hughes was
typing again, his gaze fixed on the computer. He was squinting, with his
reading glasses nowhere to be seen. With a quick scan, Danielle spotted
them perched on the edge of his desk, and her palms itched. Fingers
twitched, wanting to pass them over.
Not your job.
"If you would please close the door, Miss Higgs?"
She complied, only stepping in far enough to shut them off from the rest
of the office. She smoothed down her skirt, hands feeling all around her
waist just in case she hadn't yet noticed another wardrobe mishap.
Stop fidgeting! You look like an intern waiting to be scolded.
Against all odds, Danielle finally managed to hold still.
It only took a few more seconds of typing before Mr. Hughes sent off
whatever he'd been working on. He turned his attention to his desk. After a
pause, he began to move a few objects here and there—but not enough to be
significantly rearranging his space. A pen was moved an inch to the right.
His glasses went back in their holder, which was tucked inside his black
jacket. When he nudged his keyboard, it shifted only a centimeter before he
left it alone.
The silence was driving her mad. If she stood here for another moment
without being punished for her wardrobe slip, she'd claw her eyes out.
"I'm sorry," Danielle blurted.
Finally he looked at her, his cool stare piercing through her as he
frowned. "Oh?"
"For...for earlier." Danielle gestured vaguely behind her. "In the kitchen.
I-I'm normally careful about making sure I'm presentable at all times. I
know m-my job is only done well if people don't even notice me doing it,
but I just... I-I take a lot of care with my appearance just in case I'm seen.
And I'm absolutely humiliated that I let something like that slip."
"Miss Higgs." Mr. Hughes held his hand up. He had such large, lovely
hands, with calloused fingertips that whispered of all those years he devoted
simply to craftsmanship. It didn't seem possible that they could be so
massive and yet so gentle at the same time. "Please. Let me speak."
She took the gentle chiding for what it was. She focused her gaze on the
floor under her navy heels. "I'm sorry.”
Mr. Hughes’s office chair creaked as he sat forward, as though he was
steeling himself for something.
This is it. My first disciplinary action. In all honesty, she was shocked
that it took this long. As much as Danielle longed to be good in all ways, it
didn't always seem like something she deserved to be.
 It was interesting. If it had been someone like Sherry who'd accidentally
flashed her panties for the whole world to see, then Danielle would've been
furious if she'd received any recorded infraction. But this was different.
This was Danielle. If she wasn't useful, then she wasn't good.
Mr. Hughes heaved a sigh. "It has come to my attention that something
potentially inappropriate has occurred."
Oh, God. She closed her eyes.
"Actually, potentially isn't the right word for this situation. If it's
happened as I believe it has, then it is inappropriate, open and shut, and
something needs to be done about it. And if it hasn't, then I hope you'll
forgive me bringing this up.”
If he was talking about any other subject, Danielle would love to stand
here and listen to his voice for hours—the rise and fall of his tone, the way
his mouth cradled every word that he spoke. Right now, however, she was
prepared to cry at any moment. There was no pleasure in this.
Mr. Hughes tapped one finger on his desk three times before he spoke
once more. "May I ask how your night went yesterday?"
Just like that, Danielle became a statue. No. Oh, no, no, no… It was far
worse than she suspected.
He knows.
Danielle stammered wordlessly for a few seconds, flimsy sounds that
served no purpose. She hated lying. She especially despised it when she had
to tell a falsehood to someone she was so fond of—someone whose regard
was vital to her.
But she had to. There was no other option.
"It went well." Every word came slowly, like teeth yanked out of her
mouth, one by one. "Very relaxing. Plenty of quality time to rest before I
came to work today." She rubbed the tip of her shoe over the back of her
bare calf and tried not to think about how wantonly she'd pictured him
taking control of her pussy.
"Did you go by Cherry Street, by any chance?"
Danielle exhaled shakily. No, she knew exactly what he was asking.
She'd been seen and she would be damned for it. There was no place in a
respectable company for someone who represented herself so...so foully in
her personal time. Tears flooded her eyes, and she fought to hold them at
bay until he could fire her properly.
"I want you to answer me." His tone was patient—for now.
 But as Danielle opened her mouth, the words froze on her tongue. Wait.
Her mind's eye traveled down the long, quiet road that represented
Cherry Street. It was a less developed area in the city. Vacant lots. Closed
buildings that hadn't been purchased in quite some time. It stopped in a
dead end. There wasn't even a housing development anywhere near it.
She wrinkled her brow and, forgetting herself, looked him right in the
eye. "How would you know if I did?"
In a flash, his gaze shot downward, lingering for three silent seconds on
her thighs, then back again. His stare was so potent that she couldn't hold it.
She sought the safety of studying his well-groomed beard instead.
"It's rude to answer a question with a question." Mr. Hughes sat more
forward. In an instant, he wasn't the quiet, methodical owner of a
flourishing business. He was the boardroom executive that would shoot it
straight to the top. He had all the power in his hands, and he wasn't afraid to
show it. "I believe you have more manners than that, Miss Higgs."
My personal time is my own, she wanted to say. But it wasn't as though
she used her time out of the office usefully anyway. She barely left her
damn apartment anymore. Danielle let out a frustrated huff, then regathered
herself. "Yes. I spent some time on Cherry Street last night."
Mr. Hughes closed his eyes. Like yesterday, he rubbed the bridge of his
nose, but this time the exhaustion bleeding off of him had nothing to do
with work or unruly clients or rapidly approaching deadlines. He seemed to
sag, all fifty-five years of his life weighing on him at once. "I see.”
"I'd still like to know why you asked me in the first place." Danielle
laced her hands in front of her full waist, though she was aware she'd begun
to tremble. "How you knew. There's nothing there, except..."
"Except there is," he acknowledged, finishing the sentence for her. "And
I know, because I was there."
Her heart pounded against her ribs, desperate to escape. Somewhere
deep inside of her, she wasn't surprised by these words. They seemed a
natural conclusion to the farce that represented her life as it was today. But
it didn't make her body stop aching in misery over what he was about to
disclose.
Mr. Hughes waved in her direction. "I don't know what they're called.
I've never known any one who wore them. But those rose-covered bands
you have on are…extremely similar to something I saw last night."
"Really?" Danielle barely gave the word sound.
 "Were you wearing something similar yesterday? Black, rather than
navy?"
Her lips quivered. Danielle sniffled loudly and kept her vision clear of
blurry tears. "Yes, sir."
Mr. Hughes abruptly came to his feet and turned his back to her, facing
the massive window that looked over the city block behind him. They
rented the showroom on the lowest floor of the downtown building, as well
as a few offices on the fifth. From here, they were just high enough that the
world was a bit distant. Reality seemed less potent.
Until now.
Danielle couldn't take the quiet disappointment. "Mr. Hughes. Sir. Will
you please...say what you need to say?"
He put his hands on his hips and seemed to gather himself. "Miss Higgs,
I'm afraid I've made a terrible error in judgment."
"Sir?" The word burst from her like a sob.
"Yes, it was me. I was there on Cherry Street last night. I had...an
encounter with someone who I believed to be a stranger." He spoke faster
and faster now, as though he couldn't hold himself back for another instant.
"I knew your voice sounded similar. Your face even came to mind. But even
believing that there was a possibility, I chose to overlook it, and I let myself
selfishly indulge in a moment of temptation."
Danielle took three stumbling steps forward. "You didn't know. I know
you didn't know. I don't blame you for anything—"
He held up a hand once again to silence her. "Nevertheless. I made a
mistake. And if you feel humiliated, believe me, I feel ten times worse."
"Because it was me?" It was hard enough that she suspected he was
going to fire her from the best job she'd had in her entire life. If he was
suggesting that fucking someone at a glory hole was only a mistake because
it was her, and he wasn't attracted to her, she wasn't sure what she'd do with
that information.
"Because I knew it could be you, and I let it happen anyway." Finally
Mr. Hughes turned to face her, his expression grim. "I'm your superior, Miss
Higgs. You only answer to me. There's no one else above you. I'm required
to give you a safe, ethical workspace where you never feel like we have an
inappropriate power balance. And I steamrolled over that yesterday with
one mistake." He clenched his jaw. "I'm disgusting."
"I knew it was you," Danielle blurted.
 Mr. Hughes's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
"I-I... Maybe I didn't know, but..." Danielle came closer still, so only the
desk was between them. "You have one of the most distinct voices I've ever
heard, Mr. Hughes. The moment you said more than three words to me, I
knew it couldn't be anyone else. I-I called you a stranger in my head, but the
entire time, I was imagining it was you."
He stiffened. Danielle was quite a tall woman, but he had a few inches
on her all the same, and when he drew himself up like this, he seemed to be
a giant in comparison. It was his power, his air, everything about him that
had earned her respect over the course of three years.
Respect and lust, constantly intertwined. She couldn't separate them.
She might've been able to pretend they weren't there for all this time, but
there was no going back. Not after this conversation.
When Mr. Hughes spoke again, his voice was dull. "So you understand
why what happened was a mistake?"
Danielle blinked. She didn't respond.
"You understand why what happened last night was inappropriate?" he
prompted. "Why measures must be taken to ensure it never happens again?"
If Danielle was a good girl down to her bones, she'd say exactly what he
wanted to hear. But she knew she wasn't good—or at least not as good as
she wanted to be. There was still a line of selfishness that ran through her
veins. It was that very part of her that made her speak up. "Did you enjoy
it? When you thought it might be me?" Her cheeks flushed. "Did you like
fucking me?"
For a man who was so withdrawn and guarded, the sudden shift in Mr.
Hughes's eyes was remarkable. That icy blue turned hot as lightning. They
bloomed with crackling power, all focused completely on her. His full lips
parted as he weighed his thoughts.
Goddammit, she wished he wasn't so deliberate and careful with his
words.
"I don't believe any answer I could give to that question would be
appropriate," he finally said.
"Why not?" Danielle lifted her chin. "You're planning on firing me no
matter what, aren't you?"
He furrowed his brow with a dangerous frown. "I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?" She couldn't handle another moment of
anticipation.
 "I'm saying that your position as my personal assistant, again, relies on
you being safe. Not on you thinking you have to sleep with the man who
pays you just to keep your damn job!" His last few words broke free with
shaking power, as though Mr. Hughes was barely holding himself at bay.
"When have you ever once made me feel that way?" Danielle pressed
her hands into his desk and leaned forward, her dark hair falling in loose
waves around her shoulders. "I've worked here for three years, and you've
barely even looked at me. When has your behavior been out of line? When
have you made a comment that made me feel disrespected? Every day, I've
been happy to come here because I know I'm safe—and that I do a damn
good job working under you. Half the time, you don't even tell me what you
need. I just know."
Mr. Hughes crossed his arms, but he didn't interrupt her.
Danielle dropped her volume to a murmur. "If the two of us knew
exactly how to communicate what we needed when we fucked, too, why
would that be so surprising?"
"Then what exactly are you suggesting will come next?"
Do I dare? Whatever bravery she'd found was rapidly shriveling up. She
couldn't ride the wave of frustration forever.
Mr. Hughes placed his hands on the desk as well, leaning down.
She knew what those hands felt like now—knew how strong they were,
knew how delectable those callouses felt against her most sensitive skin.
Her eyelashes fluttered.
He waited until he was eye-to-eye with her before his lips parted once
again. "You're going to answer me, Miss Higgs, or you're going to sit at
your desk until you're ready to say what's on your mind."
He was a bastard. Surely he had some idea by now of how easily he
affected her. She couldn't resist. "I'm saying..." She forced himself to look
him in the eye again, no matter how flushed and squirmy it made her. "...I'm
saying that if our sexual chemistry is just a natural evolution of how well
we already work together..."
He wasn't interrupting her or finishing her sentences. By all that was
holy, he wasn't going to make it easy, was he?
Danielle curved her hands into fists. Only when she felt the bite of her
nails into her palms did she finish. "I'm saying that I don't feel unsafe,
knowing that we had sex. I'm saying it felt right."
Mr. Hughes breathed a soft, unamused chuckle. "Did it, now?"
 She couldn't stand the chiding cadence of his voice. She flinched.
"If anyone discovered what happened last night, we would be
laughingstocks.” He didn't look away—didn't even blink. "I've worked my
entire life to establish a respectable business. No scandals. Nothing that
would get in the way of this company growing into what it deserves to be. I
built this damn place from the ground up without a single bit of help. And if
someone found out that I was sleeping with my personal assistant, in this
day and age? Do you know what would happen?"
“Nobody needs to know,” she pointed out, though her words wobbled as
they emerged.
"If Victor Hughes is sleeping with his assistant, what's to stop him from
sexually harassing every person on his payroll?"
Danielle slammed one of her hands on his desk. "You're not like that!"
"And how does the rest of the world know that? The press? The
thousands of people sitting behind their keyboards, looking for a new
scapegoat?" His face was flushed with fervor, eyes sparking. "For all they
would know, I chose to take advantage of a sweet, trusting woman who
thought I hung the damn moon."
Danielle jabbed a finger at her chest. "I am a grown woman, Mr.
Hughes. I'm thirty-two years old. I've spent three years working under you,
admiring you, respecting you, and never once thinking you noticed me.
Believe me when I say that you've done everything necessary to make this a
safe workspace for all of your employees."
She dropped her tone, as though someone was standing just outside his
office with a microphone. "And, as a grown fucking woman, I can decide
who I want to sleep with. And, if they're a grown adult, they can choose if
they want to do the same thing."
For one instant, Mr. Hughes lurched forward until they were nose-to-
nose, and then he froze. Those beautiful, mysterious eyes ran over every
inch of her face, as though she was a mystery he had yet to solve.
She couldn't breathe. Her heart was going to shatter from how fast it
was beating. All the blood had rushed from her head, straight downward,
and if she wasn't careful, she thought she might teeter on her heels and
collapse.
But he held firm. Whatever he'd almost allowed himself to do, he'd
thrown the emergency brake, and Danielle knew better than anyone that he
wouldn't release it.
 "So we're never going to talk about it again?" Danielle whispered.
Mr. Hughes let out a deep sigh, warm air brushing over her lips. "That is
the only feasible course we can take, if we're going to continue working
together."
I'll quit, she wanted to say. If I can see you, touch you, kiss you, fuck
you, then I don't need to work here. I'll take whatever you're willing to give
me.
But before her thoughts could become known, he went on. "You're truly
the finest assistant I've ever known, Miss Higgs. If it wasn't for you, V.W.
Hughes Furniture would've taken far longer to come where it has in these
past few years."
He frowned, and the wrinkle between his thick eyebrows deepened.
"You're right. When you say that you read me and what I need before I can
say it, you're completely correct. As long as you're nearby, my days run like
a well-oiled machine. And it would be an incredible mistake to sacrifice
something that works so well between us, just for..."
She waited. She wanted to hear him speak last night into reality one
more time. She wanted every experience they'd had to drip from his mouth
in filthy, erotic glory.
But he simply withdrew. As he stood at his full height, he smoothed
down his jacket and made sure his tie was impeccably in place. Calm and in
control.
Danielle blinked rapidly to keep her vision clear. "Then before this
ends, can I ask you one question, and you answer it honestly?"
As Mr. Hughes checked how the length of his sleeves rested along his
arms, he nodded. "I'll do that much, yes."
"When you imagined you might be fucking me, did that make it better?"
His long fingers clenched suddenly. He sucked in an audible breath
through his nose, and his eyelashes fluttered. His remarkable mouth pursed,
as though to hold his response in.
Danielle gulped. "Please, sir."
Mr. Hughes closed his eyes, and his lips parted to release the air he'd
been holding. And, just as quickly, the reaction was gone. "Yes."
"Yes?" she prompted.
He turned away again. As he absently ran a hand over the windowsill,
he went on. "Yes, it did make the experience much better."
 It wasn't fair. This momentary beat of validation shouldn't be so cruel to
receive.
"Miss Higgs, if you would go and confirm my appointments for the
remainder of the week, I would appreciate it."
The dismissal was worse—a slap in the face after the most excruciating
tease she'd ever experienced. But what choice did she have? Mr. Hughes
had drawn his boundaries clearly in the sand, and Danielle wanted nothing
more than to honor his decisions. No matter how much she ached. No
matter how he must hunger in return.
"Yes, Mr. Hughes."

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 4

T he next two days left Danielle off-balance, as though she'd spent

half a year on a ship and now had to accustom herself to walking
on solid ground. She could safely say that her performance at work for the
remainder of that Wednesday was the worst of her life. She called clients by
the wrong name as she greeted them. She forgot to take a lunch break. She
overbooked Mr. Hughes for the following Tuesday, and had to call back and
right the wrong.
And through it all, she knew for a fact that Mr. Hughes was avoiding
being alone with her.
All Thursday and Friday, he sent her on the rarest errands, ones that
would keep her out of the building. By the time Danielle returned at the end
of the day, following a long drop-in oil change that seemed to take years,
Andrew at the front desk had been exhausted, trying to keep up with not
only his own duties, but the ones she hadn't been able to fulfill while she
was away.
For once, Mr. Hughes had been ready to leave before her. He'd held his
hand out silently for his keys, took them, and walked out of the building
without looking back.
When Danielle got home on Friday night, she felt adrift. No shows were
streaming that caught her attention. Though she scrolled through food
delivery for a thousand years, nothing sounded appetizing.
Her life had come to a screeching halt, and it made her sick.
Danielle would be the first to say she'd never had a particularly
adventurous life. She grew up in a traditional, conservative home, with
parents who had a precise path in life they demanded that she walk. She'd
been part of several leadership clubs throughout her years at school, not
because she particularly loved them, but because extracurriculars looked
nice on college applications. After the last meeting during her senior year of
high school, she'd moved on and never looked back.
She'd gone on to college. She got a perfectly respectable English
Literature degree, because her mother had reminded her that teaching was
always a good career to have and fall back on. Danielle had read every
single book, poem, and play assigned, first word to the last, and promptly
discarded all of that information once her diploma was in her hands.
Possibly the first time she'd actually exerted effort to divert from the
path she'd been on was when she realized she had absolutely no joy at the
thought of teaching for the rest of her life. The day of her interview with a
local school, she'd cancelled it and never gave the career another thought.
Her parents still rarely spoke to her now, but she found she actually
didn't mind. They'd been a constant, blasting supply of noise directly in her
ear for over two decades. The silence for the past ten years had been lovely.
As Danielle put her phone aside, eschewing the thought of ordering
dinner for now, she pouted.
There's not really anything particularly interesting about me, is there?
She traced a senseless pattern over her couch cushion. Do I even have
passions?
Sherry, for example, could talk for hours about unique wines, especially
the ones that were surging in recent popularity and how they compared to
old classics. Danielle had caught wind of Andrew sharing his spicy
opinions about musicals with the other office workers around the water
cooler. She knew for a fact that one of the girls working in the showroom
kept her schedule clear on Wednesdays and Thursdays so she could
volunteer at a horse ranch an hour and a half outside of town. She dreamed
of owning her own pony one day.
And Danielle? Danielle liked...
She...
Her favorite things were...
She huffed as she stood up and walked around her living room. As was
instinctive, she found her dusting wipes, then went around the room making
sure every object was clean of dust.
Danielle Higgs liked pleasing people.
No. Not people. One person.
 Danielle Higgs's favorite thing was to please whoever her favorite
person was at that moment in time. And for three years now, that had been
Victor Hughes.
If Danielle was a dull, unremarkable woman, it didn't carry over to her
hours spent at the office. Every time she found the perfect, least stressful
arrangement for daily meetings for Mr. Hughes, a lightbulb glowed inside
her.
Occasionally, Danielle would find a new piece of furniture in the
showroom that she knew would perfectly set off Mr. Hughes's office and
meeting area. She would bring it up, angle it precisely right, and when Mr.
Hughes noticed it—he always, always did—he'd nod, or hum, or, best yet,
tell her how lovely it looked.
On those days, she drifted through the remainder of her work on a
cloud.
Danielle let her attention zero in on making sure each individual ruffle
of her lampshade was perfectly clean. Doing this, her mind went silent. No
more chiding herself for being boring. No negative self-talk.
It didn't quite warm the parts inside of her that needed it. But she valued
the quiet all the same.
She was so accustomed to the lack of noise that her phone vibrating on
the couch was as loud as a jackhammer. She stared at it with a frown. No
one texted her anymore. Since her last relationship ended, there wasn't
anyone interested in contacting her.
Though she was confident it was nothing but a spam message, she
checked it all the same.
"Did you confirm my appointment with Mr. Renfield on Monday?" A
message from Victor Hughes.
Lava rushed through her blood, and Danielle dropped her phone back to
the couch like it had burned her. Mr. Hughes never texted her nor called her
outside of work hours. He'd given her his number once he hired her as his
personal assistant, but he was meticulous about contacting her only if she
was on an errand for him.
After the distance he'd kept for forty-eight hours, this text was
suspicious. Maybe his phone had been stolen. Or perhaps he was being held
for ransom and could only send out normal, standard messages without
arousing suspicion.
Or maybe you've watched too many shows about private detectives.
 Danielle sat down and reread the message five times before she
hesitantly replied. "Yes, sir." She was sure she'd discussed this with him
several hours earlier, in fact.
Did I make that up?
A reply bubble popped up. Then it disappeared.
Odd. Danielle forced herself to set her phone down on the furthest
cushion, then dragged herself back to cleaning. The silence in her head was
gone. The yearning had returned. But that didn't mean she had to let it
control her. Her coffee table still needed to—
Another incoming message. Danielle practically threw her dusting
wipes as she hurried back to read the text.
"Thank you."
That was it. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek.
Mr. Hughes would be home now. She'd never seen his neighborhood,
but she imagined he had a large, beautiful house, filled with both furniture
he'd built himself over the years as well as complementary pieces that had
caught his masterful eye.
She'd wondered sometimes whether Mr. Hughes was a wine or a
whiskey man, and which he might be indulging in this evening to celebrate
the end of a long week.
In this moment, she imagined him having shrugged off his jacket. He'd
have loosened his tie, perhaps removed it and hung it up. Thick, long
fingers would stray down the buttons of the gray shirt he'd worn that day,
opening one by one. Her mind's eye skimmed down like a camera,
following how the progress slowed, little by little, until it hovered just over
his belt as he flicked the last button open.
Fuck. Danielle dragged herself back to the surface. She couldn't let
herself go any deeper. If she did, she'd be cursing herself for not getting a
look at his cock, slick and glistening from her wet pussy. It would've been
such potent fantasy material while she continued to journey through this dry
spell of not having a regular sexual partner.
Not that she'd be particularly inclined at the moment as it was. She
couldn't believe how bold she'd been in his office during their previous
discussion. What would I have done if he did want to start a sexual
relationship? He would've seen me. He would've known exactly how hungry
I was for him to use me. He would've heard every sound I made. No hiding.
No pretending.
 Danielle had no fantasies about actually having a romantic
entanglement with Mr. Hughes. That much was anathema. No, she'd simply
thought that their bodies worked well together. She would've been delighted
to have him pound her pussy any time he wanted.
Through a wall. Or maybe with her wearing a mask. Or possibly with a
gag in her mouth, so he didn't have to hear her.
That would've been the worst offer I ever made. She was lucky he hadn't
taken it. She was too...strange now. Too damaged.
No. That last thought made her pause. Stop.
She wasn't going down that rabbit hole tonight. Nick was gone. He'd
been gone for four years, and she was happy about it.
She'd wasted eight years of her life with him. No more.
Her phone vibrated. Danielle took a deep breath and reached for it
again.
"If that meeting goes well, it will be incredibly long. A lot of things will
move very quickly afterward. Do what you can to get the rest you might
need this weekend."
Her eyes widened. Before she could think too hard, she sent a reply
back. "I promise I'll take care of myself this weekend. I wouldn't do
anything to jeopardize an offering from someone like Mr. Renfield."
"I know you wouldn't. You always do exactly what we need."
This sudden exchange was so puzzling. If he hadn't been reaching out to
scold her or imply that she wasn't doing what the company needed, then she
didn't understand why he'd initiated the messages at all.
Unless, perhaps, he was thinking about her—and lonely.
As far as Danielle knew, Mr. Hughes had been single ever since she
began working for him. There was never a wedding ring nor were there
requests for her to make him dinner reservations for two at any point. No
photos graced his desk. No personal items.
And a satisfied, monogamous man would never make his way to a glory
hole, that much she was certain of.
If she was sitting at home alone tonight, unable to find ways to fill the
hours, maybe he was doing the same. And perhaps he had even been
thinking about her.
He'd been the one to send the last text. The ball was in her court. She
could close her messages, order food, and pull up some reality show about
interior design or fashion—those were always a delightful way to floss her
brain.
Or she could do something else instead.
Danielle nibbled on her bottom lip before she let her thumbs go flying
across the screen once more. "Make sure you have a good dinner tonight
and get some decent sleep."
There was just long enough of a pause for her to regret her words before
the reply bubble popped up. "I don't think you need to be worrying about
what I eat."
Her cheeks flushed. Quick as a knife, pain rang through her chest, the
familiar discomfort of realizing she'd done something awkward. "I'm sorry,
I didn't mean to overstep."
"No." That one word came through first, almost as soon as her message
had been sent. Then more followed. "That wasn't how I meant it. I'm well
aware that you never take care of your own needs in the office before you
know mine are fulfilled."
Instantly two reactions rocked through her, and she put her phone down.
She pulled her knees to her chest. That's not true at all, one internal voice
complained. But the second voice was louder: How am I supposed to know
I did my job well unless I have moments where I'm no longer needed?
It was true. It was. She didn't go on her own lunch breaks until she knew
Mr. Hughes was either on his way to a reservation or eating at his desk. She
had a habit of making sure he didn't need anything before she stepped away
to use the restroom. She made his coffee before brewing her own.
He'd read her for filth in one single message.
Another text came through, and Danielle stared at her phone, willing for
the entire conversation to have been a hallucination. She'd prefer the spam
at this point.
But no. Mr. Hughes had continued his thoughts. "What I meant to say
was, rest assured that I'm as well as I can be tonight. And if you haven't
eaten already, you should."
What was she going to say to that? No? It was true that nothing she'd
seen on her delivery app sounded good—but if Mr. Hughes himself was
insisting that she eat, then she couldn't lie and say that she had.
Danielle leaned back flat on the couch and held her phone overhead,
skimming through the food options. Though she knew she'd looked through
every restaurant she frequented already, she was surprised to see that,
actually, a really juicy burger did sound excellent now, and sweet potato
fries would polish off a meal perfectly.
Before her stomach found reason to complain, she placed the order.
There. She'd done as he'd asked.
Danielle gave the message history one more longing look before she
forced herself to put her phone down. She said she'd rest as well. So fine.
No more cleaning already spotless surfaces in her home.
There were still three new episodes of her favorite interior design show
to watch. She pulled up the first one, hugged a pillow to her chest, and let
her restless mind go quiet while she sank into the lovely colors and striking
shapes of the furniture and decorations utilized.

O nce Danielle finished eating, she took the time to hand wash the
dishes that had accumulated in her sink. After that, there was very
little she could do besides relax.
Why is it so difficult to do?
She had to practically force herself to run a bubble bath and soak in it
for a set amount of time. She knew it would feel wonderful. By the end of
it, as she was sliding on her most comfortable pajamas, she found herself
wondering why she needed to drag herself into one of her favorite activities
time and time again.
Though she'd accepted it long ago, she was forced to reckon with the
fact that everything became easier after she'd been fucked senseless at the
glory hole.
Her mind always went silent. She knew she'd done a good job, being
useful for someone else. She'd brought someone a measure of relief they
wouldn't otherwise have had, and that seemed to convince her brain that she
could have some time for herself now.
Typically her weekends included a trip to Cherry Street. It was the best
way to wipe away the stress of the prior week. But when she thought about
going tomorrow, she felt instant revulsion.
She didn't want the glory hole. She wanted Mr. Hughes's cock.
Fuck. Danielle scrubbed her face and let out a frustrated squeal.
 She knew it would pass. Maybe next weekend, she'd be ready to return
into anonymity and brush paths with strangers. Mr. Hughes had a great
cock, yes, and he'd been fantastic at discovering what her body needed to
come, but that didn't mean he was the only person capable of getting her
off.
Even still, she found herself stewing. The lights may be out and her
head might be on the pillow, but that didn't mean she was ready to sleep.
If we happened to be there at the same time once, who's to say we
wouldn't be again?
It was inappropriate, according to Mr. Hughes, for them to fuck when
they knew who the other person was. But if they were just strangers, then
surely...
You're out of your goddamn mind, Danielle Higgs. There was nothing
logical about that thought process. But now that the idea was in her head,
her brain took the thread and wrapped it around its lobes, over and over
again, until nothing else existed.
She'd heard it referred to as hyperfocus before, the inability to take her
mind off a specific thing. It created dangerous impulses. Even the
hyperfixation that caused nothing but pain was impossible to escape from,
leading to endless doomscrolling and trauma loops.
But there was no trauma in this fixation. There was a thick, heavy cock
filling every inch of her. There was a hand powerfully supporting her hips
to make sure she got as good as she gave. And there was a single offering
left at the end in the form of a water bottle, a moment of acknowledging
that she was a human and not just an object.
Not to mention the note that she still had stored away in her purse.
This is a mistake.
She reached for her phone.
Do you want to get fired?
She opened her messages.
Don't you want to be a good girl?
That last, pleading voice almost did her in. She froze with the phone
overhead, staring at his last message sent to her several hours before.
She did. She did want to be a good girl. His good girl. Even if it was
just for a stolen encounter or two with a wall between them.
"Have you been by Cherry Street again?" She sent the message, then
slammed the phone back down on her pillow.
 Regret. Instant regret. That was the painful part of hyperfocus. Once she
enabled it, she inevitably ended up tripping over herself into a mistake. And
even though she knew it was a mistake, she also knew she'd repeat it all
over again unless she was stopped.
If she was fortunate, Mr. Hughes would shut her down instantly, and
she'd be so humiliated that she'd never speak to him outside of the office
again.
When the new message alert came through, she gathered herself to be
disciplined. But there was only one word: "Yes."
Somehow, that was worse. Knowing that she felt no pleasure at the
thought of returning, but that Mr. Hughes was able to go back immediately?
She let the screen rest on her chest for a moment as she fought through the
complicated, tight emotions, then lifted it back up. "Did you enjoy yourself
enough to get some good rest this weekend?" Perhaps that was how she
should couch it to herself. He might not be willing to have sex with her, but
if he found relief through another stranger, then he'd be ready for the week
ahead.
"I didn't stay. I drove there and I went inside, but I didn't take part."
She wrinkled her brow. No matter how many times she reread the reply,
she couldn't gather any further context from it. "Was it already occupied?"
The reply bubble came up, then disappeared again. But this time she
stared at the bright screen until the message came through.
"I wasn't interested. That's all."
When it came to the availability of the glory hole, all that mattered to
Danielle, up until now, was that there was a warm body ready and willing to
indulge in her. She didn't care how big or small their cocks were, how long
or short their fingers were, how attentive or fleeting their tongues were. She
needed to be used. And, as far as she knew, the people who came there were
simply seeking to be the user.
Maybe Mr. Hughes was different. Maybe, unlike her, he was
heterosexual, or only aroused by certain body shapes. Perhaps there was
something about her that had appealed to him.
But all he'd seen through that hole was a pussy, an ass, and a cute pair of
thigh bands. It wasn't as though he had much to be repulsed by. That was
the beauty of such a place. It was more than likely that anything he found
there would be enough to get him off.
 If he'd chosen to drive all the way there, he'd been interested. So what
changed?
Fully aware that she was playing with fire, her curiosity was still too
strong to shut herself down. "Just not your type tonight?"
"No." Quick and to the point.
She stuck the tip of her tongue out from between her lips. "But I was?"
Nothing but a read receipt popped up. She waited for long minutes,
staring, barely blinking, but it seemed he was not going to reply.
The silence, quite frankly, was good enough for her.
If he didn't want to talk about this, he wouldn't have allowed it. If he
preferred to pretend that they never fucked there, or that he didn't still want
to go back, then he could have. But he'd let her ask, and he'd replied, and
though his messages were short, so were most of their conversations that
didn't have to do with work.
Honestly, their conversation a few days beforehand had been the most
words he'd put together in one personal monologue since he'd interviewed
her. And it had been because he was talking about shame, his disgust with
himself, how inappropriate his behavior had been…
It was miserable, thinking that such a quiet man had plenty of words
ready to tear himself and his desires down.
Danielle knew a thing or two about that.
She'd give him one more chance to stop this conversation—but not
without a reminder that it was okay for it to happen.
As she typed a second text, her thumbs went slower now, considering
every word before it arrived on the screen. "I thought about going back to
Cherry Street tomorrow. But when I think about how perfectly your cock
filled my pussy, I can't imagine anyone else that would make me that wet."
The read receipt was instantaneous. He hadn't replied before, no, but
he'd been staring at his screen just like she had. It gave her confidence.
Power.
When he began to type a message in return, she held her breath until it
came through.
“There are plenty of people who could make you feel so full. I have
nothing particularly remarkable to offer."
That wasn't a rejection—but it made her heart hurt all the same.
Danielle sat up in bed and frowned. "Clearly you haven't looked for too
long at your cock. Or your hands. Or listened to your voice. You could read
me the phone book, and I'd still come if you told me to."
"Only if I told you to? Is there anyone out there who enjoys having
someone come only when commanded, rather than because they can't hold
back?"
Conflicting emotions rushed through her—primarily frustration,
because Mr. Hughes didn't seem to understand that he was a desirable, sexy
man worth bending over for. But beneath it, there was a hint of excitement.
He hadn't cut this conversation off either.
Despite how she tried to hold it back, heat stoked between her thighs.
It appeared to be time to put her cards on the table. Danielle made her
confession as quickly and painlessly as she could manage. "Sir, with all due
respect, if I'd known for a fact that it was you fucking me at Cherry Street, I
would've come on your cock in sixty seconds or less, even if you told me I
wasn't allowed to yet."
The anticipation was brutal. The message was read, but he didn't
respond.
Danielle wondered if he liked making her wait. If she was spread out for
him in his bed, blindfolded, bound, unable to hide an inch of her bare body,
would he enjoy taking his time? She'd squirm. Whine. If too many minutes
ticked by, she might even beg. And Mr. Hughes would stand there at the
end of the bed, cock in hand, stroking himself with a smirk, not making a
move until he was ready.
She jolted out of the fantasy when her phone buzzed.
"We shouldn't do this."
No. It wasn't him making her wait for pleasure after all. Her heart sank.
"Could you tell me why?" she replied.
"I believe I've already stated the reasons."
Danielle threw herself back on the bed with a huff. She hated this. She
despised not knowing if Mr. Hughes wasn't attracted enough to her, but
didn't know how to turn her down gently. Could it really, truly be that he
was noble and ethical enough to hold his urges at bay?
Sourness spread through her gut. Being jerked around like this was
going to give her vertigo.
She didn't want to return to those age old days of not knowing why she
wasn't enough for someone who purportedly wanted her.
 She had two choices: sink back into those painful memories or go
further, until she had been completely rejected.
She flung herself into the deep end. "We're both consenting adults. I was
the one who initiated this, not you. And I think we're both completely
capable of maintaining a sexual relationship and a working relationship at
the same time."
Before he could reply, Danielle pressed on. She had too many thoughts,
and if she didn't get them all out now, she'd never forgive herself. "I'm not
proposing a romance, sir. I think we're two busy, working people whose only
chance for release has been to go to a glory hole. So if we're both attracted
to each other, I think it would be logical to save on gas and transport time
by seeking that satisfaction in another willing party."
She hesitated. As she nibbled on her bottom lip, her thumbs typed out
one more message. "But if you tell me right now that you're not interested in
me, I swear to you that I'll never bring it up again, and everything will go
back to how it was."
Danielle slapped the phone down on her other pillow. She might be a
little bit of a masochist, but that didn't mean she had to sit here and torture
herself when there might be no pleasure at the end.
Danielle had spent a long time telling herself that the reason why she
enjoyed her time at Cherry Street was the endorphins sparked by the
anonymity. No one knew that the sweet but isolated Danielle Higgs adored
her time of being a slutty hole. But that wasn't quite it.
She knew she enjoyed being useful. She wanted to be good, pleasurable,
and satisfactory.
But she hadn't always been that way. The memories of her long
relationship with Nick always crept around the corners of her mind, casting
long shadows.
Her phone hadn't vibrated. She'd lurched toward one outcome for her
evening and so far she'd been left wanting.
She sat up, curled into a ball, and rested her chin on her knees with a
sigh. She'd let the other outcome arrive, then. She'd let the shadows
approach.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 5

T here was a special place in hell for someone who took an

impressionable, sheltered, repressed person under their wing and
sculpted them with their personal preferences in mind.
Nick was already a particular kind of man, when she met him in college.
He'd been loud and edgy. He was always reading complicated philosophy
and filling her ears with it, even though after each recitation he'd wave her
off and point out that she couldn’t understand, really. He never ran out of
things to talk about, which meant she didn’t have to worry about saying
something awkward, because she rarely spoke at all.
Her parents also hated him. That was a powerful bonus.
He took her virginity, and then he made it perfectly clear that she was
his. They weren't dating. No, of course not. He was too much of a free spirit
to truly be tied down. But any time that Nick spent with her was a powerful
boon, after she'd spent so long not being seen.
He was a complicated mire of thorns in her mind. He'd given her the
gumption to tell her parents off and step out of their control, yes, but also
he'd kept her on a choke chain. Nick was the source of how she discovered
her own bisexuality, but it was only because he would bring other girls to
bed and ask her to mess around with them for his pleasure.
Every woman had been so kind to her. Danielle wondered in hindsight if
they looked at her and saw a fawn. She had a particularly fond memory of
one woman, Skye, with cascading scarlet hair and breathtaking green eyes
who'd been the first person ever to go down on Danielle. She'd coaxed her
first orgasm out of her, and after, when Danielle was recovering in shocked
gasps, Skye had gotten a certain expression that hadn't been easy to figure
out.
Danielle understood it now. It was the look of a woman who knew
exactly what sort of scumbag had picked her up at the bar.
Bless that glorious, beautiful woman. Skye had dominated Nick into
sitting in a chair in the corner, tied there with scarves, while she took
Danielle through orgasm after orgasm. Then she'd left Nick with blue balls
and nothing but a kiss on the cheek.
Danielle rubbed her eyes and tried her best to chase the memories away,
but she couldn't push them too far. Eight years. For eight years, Nick had
made it perfectly clear that she was a hole for him and nothing else, and that
it was all she'd ever be. And then, in the end, he'd been just as vocal about
how she wasn't his primary pussy. She was the backup. His tenth-string
cunt, when nothing else was available.
If Danielle looked deep inside herself now, she knew for a fact that she
loved sex. She loved feeling well-fucked and used. These were things that
her ex-boyfriend had taught her well, and she wouldn't give her sex drive
away for the world. But she was also forced to reckon with the fact that
she'd only discovered this part of herself because someone had tried her
best to teach her that was all she would ever be.
Her chest burned, tight with the urge to sob. But she'd already wasted so
many goddamn tears on him. It didn't seem fair to spend any more.
Her phone vibrated, and Danielle lurched in surprise. She stared at the
device as though it was a scorpion, then dove for it.
"Are you being honest when you tell me that you would be satisfied with
a sexual relationship and nothing more?"
Oh, God. Danielle's fingers tightened around the phone. If she was
answering him in person or through voice, he'd be able to tell instantly how
much she respected, admired, and adored him. It'd be written all over her
face. But at the end of the day, he was a business owner poised to create an
empire in the near future, and Danielle was a personal assistant with little to
offer him. She'd be a fool if she expected more in return.
It was so easy to lie through text. "I'm a simple woman who's easy to
please, Mr. Hughes. I don't need anything else in my life but an
uncomplicated way to satisfy my sexual needs."
When his reply came through, she could practically hear his drawling
sneer. "Miss Higgs, I believe we can both agree that this is going to be
anything but uncomplicated."
Her lips twitched. Bubbles rose inside her. It had been quite a while
since she tasted hope; she'd forgotten how clean and delicious it was on her
tongue.
Mr. Hughes continued to type. "I expect an agreement on a few terms.
One, your job is separate from anything sexual that occurs. You're always
allowed to tell me no, that the timing isn't right, or that you're not interested
in whatever I propose. I am able to do the same. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir." Danielle made a mental checklist in her head, ready to add to
it.
"Two, you are allowed to end the arrangement whenever it no longer
suits you. Your job will not be threatened by that decision. And, upon the
arrangement concluding, if I do anything that makes you feel as though I'm
targeting you or making the workplace unsafe, you will tell me so that I can
stop the behavior."
"Yes sir."
"Three, you will not neglect your own personal needs in an effort to see
to mine. If you see that I'm as hard as diamonds, but you haven't taken the
time to eat, rest, or care for yourself, then you are not obligated to put my
desire before your own necessities. And if I catch you doing so, I will be
strict with you."
Danielle wasn't sure she'd ever been so called out. She pouted at the
screen, as though he could see her. "Is it really such a bad thing that I want
to satisfy you? Sometimes I might not notice that I'm hungry. That doesn't
mean I should be punished for forgetting."
The words he sent her made her picture him glowering in response. "Let
me be frank with you, Miss Higgs. I'm only interested in how wet you are if
the rest of you has also been tended to."
Her face heated despite herself. He might as well have been speaking a
foreign language. She started several messages, but she couldn't find the
words to end any of them, and she settled for deleting everything before she
could send it.
For once, he didn't seem content with waiting. Another message from
him came through. "This is going to be messy enough. I refuse to drive you
to the hospital because you neglected yourself in favor of my needs. You are
more important than that."
 He was going to short circuit her brain. Danielle couldn't read the
messages too closely. It would be like staring at the sun.
In order to protect herself, she diverted the flow of the conversation as
quickly as she could. "I had a full dinner tonight. I left my apartment
spotless. I had a long bath. I'm well hydrated. So in the spirit of that, I think
you deserve a little attention, sir."
"You think so, do you?"
Danielle seized the momentum and pushed. "Are you having a beverage
to help you relax while we talk tonight?"
"There has been a glass of wine, yes."
She smiled. A little bit of courage. That didn't surprise her. Given how
prickly he'd been in his office during their previous discussion, a bit of wine
greasing the pipes was completely called for.
She settled back into her pillows and stretched her long legs out, getting
more relaxed. "Indulge me. I like thinking about you sitting in your office at
your home. I'm picturing a large, comfortable, dark brown leather chair,
where you can relax with a glass of wine. Tie loose around your neck. Shirt
unbuttoned. And me, on my knees between your legs, opening your belt.
Shall I go on, sir?"
He didn't make her wait. "I would like that."
Perfect. Her grin widened as she closed her eyes for only a moment to
conjure up a scene, then continued to type. "I wish I'd been able to get a
good look at your cock at Cherry Street. But I know how it felt. Long. Thick.
If I try, I can picture it in my hand, how it would grow as I teased my way
up and down your shaft. I'm salivating just thinking about it. I want to know
if it would twitch as I dragged my tongue along the tip and tasted your
precum."
A few moments after she sent that text, her phone rang. He was calling
her.
Danielle stiffened. No, that wasn't part of the plan. On instinct, she
pressed to ignore the call, knowing full well that it would abruptly take him
to voicemail.
He was texting her a second later. "I want to hear your voice."
Trepidation crept inside her. "I'm shy."
"You'll send me an entire paragraph just about imagining my cock, but
you're too shy to say it out loud?"
 It was difficult to explain. How could she make someone understand
how humiliating it was to be known when she was so turned on by
something like this? How could she open herself up to be mocked that way?
It was different if she was a faceless hole. But Mr. Hughes knew precisely
who she was. He could say her name and ruin her in an instant.
Admitting any of that would be worse. She'd have to try another
technique. "I get more time to think in text. I'm nervous about tripping over
my words if I try to say any of this over the phone."
She knew that was reasonable to say. But she also knew, even under the
lingering unease, that if he pushed her, she'd give him what he demanded.
How could she not?
He replied. "I understand. I only wanted to hear your voice to make sure
you're enjoying this as well. I don't want you to feel obligated, like sorting
files. But I’ll trust that you wouldn't choose to paint such a lovely picture if
you weren't also interested in the outcome."
He hadn't pushed—and Danielle hated that she was both surprised and
relieved. Those words earlier about her being allowed to say no?
Apparently they hadn't just been lip service.
She had another idea. Before she could put into into action, she typed
another message. "We're not going to see each other tonight, are we?"
Danielle went to her dresser after she sent it off. She opened a well-used
drawer and frowned as she inspected the contents before she selected a few
items and carried them back to the bed. One by one, she spread them across
her blanket, then tugged the bedspread so it wasn't wrinkled under her
display.
By the time she picked up her phone, he'd written back. "No. Not yet."
She'd expected that. She held up her phone, snapped a picture of her
selected dildos, then sent it to him. "Then if I can't have your cock tonight,
will you pick one out so I can fuck myself while we're texting?"
"Jesus."
One word was enough to make her smile like the cat that ate the canary.
Danielle smirked as she kicked off her pajama pants, then pulled out her
preferred brand of lubricant.
As she returned to her phone, another message awaited her. "Exactly
how much of the money that I pay you goes toward incredibly professional
sex toys?"
 Danielle laughed. "We're not allowed to talk about work, sir. Now,
unless you've changed your mind, I'd appreciate you selecting something I
can pound my pussy with."
She wondered if she'd broken a tender part of his brain with this new,
assertive assault. This was why she preferred anonymity—glory holes,
sexts, erotic chat rooms. Danielle could be bold through these mediums.
She could say whatever someone else wanted to hear and drink up their
approval.
When her phone vibrated again, Danielle leaned over the bed to check
it.
"The purple one. It seems quite unique."
And so it was. The long, curved shaft of that particular dildo had a
whole host of interesting qualities, from the thick swell near the center to
the textured bumps along the base to the ridges that kissed the sides. It was
certainly one of her more adventurous choices. "Can I ask why you picked
this one?" she replied.
"Purple looks quite nice when you wear it."
Here, she remembered, was the one flaw of text communication: she
couldn't read his tone. If he'd murmured that near her ear, Danielle would've
known immediately if he was being sweet and embarrassed as he shared
how he'd been watching her. Alternatively, she'd recognize if he was
gassing her up and hoping it would get her hand on his cock that much
faster.
It was an innocent statement, but it made her blush all the same. An
immediate articulate response didn't come to mind, so she relied on a
sudden diversion. "Are you dressed down for the night, sir? Comfortable in
your pajamas?"
"Yes."
"Are your pants pulled down, so you can touch yourself?" Fueled by her
desire, Danielle sent the text half-distracted while she grabbed a towel, then
returned to her bed.
"Yes." But Mr. Hughes sent a message right after. "I haven't been able to
resist this entire time."
Danielle got comfortable in bed, ready to do battle on the slick and
throbbing mess that awaited her attention. For a moment, she stared up at
the ceiling as she constructed her plan of attack.
 Is this really happening? Is everything going to be normal tomorrow?
We're both adults, right? We’re absolutely capable of that. But inevitably
something will move forward. Another step will be taken. Fuck.
She was thinking too hard, getting stuck in a future she couldn't control.
The present was all she had. It was her, Mr. Hughes, a cell phone, and a
dildo, and every moment she waited was a chance that he'd get bored and
move on.
She closed her eyes. Rapid images flew through her head: his hands, his
lips, his eyes. All fleeting glimpses of the parts that made up an incredible
whole.
She wanted them all over her body—even though it made her anxious
as hell.
She lifted her phone and began to set her scene.
"I think I'd bruise my knees for you anywhere at a moment's notice. Your
office. Your car. The alley behind our building. But right now I'm imagining
how your floor digs into my knees as I'm memorizing the shape of your cock
with my fingertips. Just a graze. A tease. I want to know if I can make it
twitch and leap for me with barely any contact."
Even while she was typing the next paragraph, a reply came through. "I
could give you a pillow to kneel on. I'm not a monster."
Danielle snorted and revised the beginning of her message before
continuing. "Maybe I want everything about this moment to be raw, Mr.
Hughes. Maybe I want to see the marks on my skin and remember how your
dick felt on my tongue as I eased it past my lips. Heavy, heady, delicious. I'd
have to savor it. I'd kneel there with my eyes closed, sucking, enjoying it like
my favorite lollipop that I might not get again for ages."
She needed a moment. Danielle picked up the purple dildo and slid just
the tip inside her mouth. As she wrapped her tongue around its sleek head,
she moaned, every muscle relaxing into her sheets. It was frankly
remarkable how calm she could become with a cock in her mouth.
Her phone vibrated, jolting her to the present. In her experiences with
most sexting, she expected a winking face, a laugh, an encouragement for
her to immediately paint the next part of the scene—or total silence until
she bruised her fingers, racing toward the end of the fantasy, where they
could finally get off.
But Mr. Hughes had said something much simpler and yet surprising.
"I'd like to run my hands through your hair while you have me in your
mouth. Would that be all right?"
Her scalp tingled, singing in response. How desperately she wanted
those long, rough fingers to tickle through her strands. He could handle
them as though they were spun gold or the cheapest handle. She wouldn't
care.
"That would be perfect," Danielle replied first, then went on. "While you
played with my hair, I wouldn't be able to hold back. Surrounded by the
smell and sound and feel of your body, I'd take you down slow and deep,
seeing just how much of your shaft I'm able to take. And I'm determined, sir.
There's no challenge I've met that I won't face to the utmost of my ability."
"I think I should warn you that every time you call me sir, my balls
tighten."
One message, as casual as it could be, and yet a targeted missile right
for her pussy. Suddenly all Danielle could think about was how she referred
to him as sir a million times a day. She wanted to show her admiration. She
had no idea that doing so might wreck him.
Power rushed through her again from head to toe, and Danielle let out a
shaky sigh. "I want to suck them into my mouth. While I pump my hand up
and down your cock, I want to tease the base of your shaft, your balls, any
part of you that you'll let me taste. The moment you give me access, I'll lose
myself. I crave nothing more than to have you arching and moaning for
more, more, more, until you can't wait another second."
"I'm there."
While Danielle had indulged herself in long paragraphs for him to read
over and over again while she completed the next, her heart pounded as she
read the rapid fire sentences that he suddenly returned.
"My shaft is coated with my need for you,” and "I wish it was from your
mouth," and "Thinking about the heat of your tongue," and "Wondering if
you'd let me spread you across my desk and feast on you."
She couldn't hold herself back anymore. Danielle's hands trembled as
she opened her lube, poured some into her palm, and stroked the massive
dildo from tip to base. Even while she was wiping her palm clean on the
towel, she was digging her feet into her mattress, getting leverage.
She kept her phone tipped on its side and eye level, and as Danielle
pushed her panties to her knees, she didn't take her eyes off the screen.
"I want my fingers buried in your folds as deep as they can go."
 "Fuck," she whispered. Danielle pressed the head of her toy against her
hole, then began the careful process of rocking it inside her. Her pussy
welcomed it. She was so turned on, so slick, so stretched already from her
arousal. Her body had no intention of fighting this much-needed invader.
"I want to find that sweet spot inside of you and brand it with my
touch."
Claiming, making her his. She arched her back a little higher and
whimpered. The fat tip of her cock disappeared fully within her, and the
thick ridges grazed along her sensitive skin with a teasing rhythm that had
her gasping every time another slid inside her.
"I want to taste and tease and ravish your clit until your legs are
shaking around my head."
Danielle's pussy tightened, trying to milk the thick cock it was hugging.
More. She needed more. Though she knew it might not be completely
advisable, Danielle pushed it deeper suddenly, and the sore ache of being
stretched made every cell in her body sing.
"And when I finally fuck you again with my cock, I want to take my time.
I don't just want you to come while I'm inside you. I want you to scream in
ecstasy."
That was it. She couldn't take any more teasing. Danielle rolled her head
back to the center of her pillow and closed her eyes. She withdrew the toy,
then fucked inside herself once more, stoking the flames higher and higher.
As she pounded her pussy, her wrist began to ache from the speed and
force, but she refused to acknowledge it. Her entire world in this moment
came down to the slick sounds, the tingles, and the fervent moans she could
no longer hold back.
She needed Mr. Hughes destroying her through pleasure, burning her
down, building her up again. She'd melt under a single graze of his hand.
Her legs would be boneless with one murmur against her ear. He'd color her
world more vibrantly with each thrust, each electric graze over her clit, her
g-spot.
Take me. Use me. Make me yours.
Only when she was hovering right at the edge did Danielle suck her first
two fingers between her lips, lave them with her tongue, and reach between
her legs. It took three strokes over her clit, paired with the firm thrusts
inside her, before she came in soundless, trembling relief.
 Danielle allowed herself a few seconds of slow, deep breathing to
recenter herself before she opened her eyes and frowned at the ceiling. She
hadn't expected him to be interested in getting her off as well.
Not for the first time, she wondered why someone showing her attention
always shocked her, first and foremost. And, just as casually, she shoved it
to the back of her mind.
I'll deal with that later. She'd only decided that a million times already.
This time was certainly the charm.
Danielle considered her dildo, wet with both her lube and her own
arousal. Without thinking too hard, she snapped a picture of it gleaming in
her low bedroom light and sent it to Mr. Hughes.
"I look forward to you making me scream, sir. Are you off to bed?" She'd
done what she was supposed to. She'd made him come, and as a lovely
bonus, she'd gotten off as well. Now it was late, and a busy individual such
as himself needed his rest.
Danielle took the time to thoroughly wash and dry her toy, then put all
of her dildos back where they'd safely wait until they were summoned. Her
sheets were dry, her body was sated, and after another few moments, her
teeth were brushed too.
There was the temptation to share with Mr. Hughes how she had done
exactly as he'd asked, self-caring to the end, but she held herself back. That
was ridiculous. A grown man wouldn't want an adult to check in with him
about something that came so easily to everyone else.
But when she looked at her phone, he hadn't replied while she was away
either. She frowned. Did I go too far with the picture?
Finally a quick message arrived. "I suppose I am, yes."
To go from him fervently wishing to devour her pussy, and back to the
messages of few words, almost unsettled her. Almost. But a quick reminder
that this was what she'd signed up for—what she wanted—had her
comfortable soon after.
"Then I hope you rest well," Danielle replied. She pulled her pajamas
back on, turned out the lights, and crawled in bed.
She couldn't keep herself from checking her phone one more time.
There was a last message.
"Sweet dreams."
Her chest warmed, filled with bubbles, and Danielle tucked her phone
under her pillow and fell asleep with a smile.
OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 6

D anielle slept harder than she had in years. She supposed it was her
satisfied triumph that left her snoozing Sunday morning away. It
was rare that Danielle wanted something so desperately, then watched it
become hers.
She never would've proposed such a shift to her relationship with Mr.
Hughes if Cherry Street hadn't brought them over that first uncomfortable
hurdle.
Fate had a funny way sometimes.
As she stretched like a lazy cat, Danielle squealed quietly. She felt so
beautifully well-fucked. She wanted to hop in the shower, scrub herself with
her sweetest-smelling body wash, and take on the week's errands. Once the
lunch with Mr. Renfield concluded, the rest of the week would be a
complicated mire. Mr. Hughes would be eager to close the deal; Mr.
Renfield had never done anything at a speedy pace.
It was up to Danielle to keep everything in Mr. Hughes's life running
seamlessly—which meant she wasn’t sure what to expect from him next.
Her mind was already parsing through the possibilities, both exciting
and disappointing, as she pulled out her phone. To her surprise, a message
from Mr. Hughes had come through a few hours beforehand.
"I'm not going to contact you for the rest of the day. I need to make sure
my head is on straight before the week begins. I trust you understand."
Oh.
The fact that she felt stung was frustrating. Danielle wasn’t a fool. She
knew full well that initiating this sexual shift right before a huge business
opportunity was poor timing. But having it drilled into her that, no, Mr.
Hughes wasn't going to be thinking of her today, twisted her calm
acceptance into something colder.
Obviously Mr. Hughes had no intention of wasting time on her when he
didn't need something to fuck. It'd be silly to think otherwise—
Stop. Danielle rubbed her eyes and forced herself out of bed. She went
straight to the shower, exactly as she'd planned.
If in the course of her errands she happened to buy herself an enormous
sweet treat to chase the remaining clouds away, then so be it.
And no, obviously she didn't think about checking in with Mr. Hughes
to let him know she was eating. That would be ridiculous.

H er oil was changed. Her pantry was stocked with groceries. Her
laundry was done. Even her floors were swept and mopped.
A perfectly productive day. These were Danielle's favorites, the ones
where every hour flowed seamlessly into the next, packed full of activity.
Normally she would get so lost in the lilting pace that she'd forget to eat.
But now, as she settled at her kitchen table with dinner, she was forced
to reflect on how deliberately she'd made time to care for herself. She didn't
have a bowl of canned soup in front of her. Instead, there was a richly
flavored plate of pasta, which served as a bed for the honey sriracha tofu
bites she'd put together. She'd even chopped a handful of green onions to
scatter across the type, a measure she only took if she was feeding someone
else in her home.
That had been a very long time ago.
It had been a quiet day. She caught herself checking her phone
frequently, but not due to her standard compulsions of checking her social
media. Just a peek. The quickest glance to see if she had any message alerts.
She knew why the urge was there, and she hated it.
Danielle preferred to live alone, work independently, and not be
bothered by anyone—but on nights like this, such a deep longing for
company rattled her bones. She wanted to know that she could reach out to
someone anytime that she needed to chat about what was on her mind.
She had no one with whom she could share this new tryst that she was
having with her boss. Maybe that was good, in some ways. Nobody could
force her to second guess her decision. But also there was no one to
celebrate Danielle's boldness in pursuing something she wanted.
She pouted as she twirled some of the angel hair pasta around her fork.
How do people even make friends when they're adults? Probably they went
out to fitness clubs or bars or random coffee shops and started up
conversation with strangers.
The mere thought made her skin crawl. No, she would not be taking part
in anything like that.
But how sad is it that the only person you really talk to on a daily basis
is Mr. Hughes? Danielle's gaze flitted to her black phone screen. And you
can't even ask him how he's doing tonight?
Her jaw tightened, and Danielle flipped the device over so all she could
see was her phone grip. It was cute. A sweet honeybee, resting on a bright
and happy flower.
Even the cheerful colors didn't lift her mood.
Giving up on ceremony, Danielle scooped up her plate and water glass
and carried them to the couch. She clicked on the remaining episodes of her
favorite interior design show and settled into the cushions for a good time.
She left her phone on the table, and she was happy about it. Truly.

T he next morning, Danielle was only on time for work rather than
early. When she hurried to the kitchen to prepare Mr. Hughes's
coffee, she skidded to an awkward stop just inside the doorframe.
Mr. Hughes stood at the counter, his broad shoulders cutting an
impressive line in his navy suit jacket. Danielle drank in the full effect of
his trim waist, round rear, and powerful thighs.
Stop that. Stop that! He's still your boss, and you're at work! Control
yourself.
Just as she settled her desire, he turned his head. As their eyes met, her
gut thrummed.
She forgot how to breathe—until she saw the steaming mug in his hand.
"I'm so sorry." Danielle all but threw her purse on the table as she
walked to the counter. "I-I didn't mean to be late."
 "You're not." Mr. Hughes watched calmly as she gathered everything
he'd used to make his own coffee.
She disposed of the coffee grounds. "I just lost track of time."
"On the contrary, you're on time."
"It just seemed important to—"
"Miss Higgs."
She turned to face him, pressing her lips together to keep any more
words in.
He made his way toward her. Though he stood a respectable distance
away, she swore she could still feel the heat of his body.
Mr. Hughes dropped his voice to a low, intimate volume. "This shade of
purple in your skirt highlights the copper in your eyes."
Danielle's face melted into dripping lava. It wasn't fair. A man shouldn’t
know the exact words to say that both unsettled and delighted her. If he'd
only said the color looked good, that would be one thing. But he'd taken a
slight shift at the end of the sentence, and now she wondered if he noticed
things like this all the time.
Danielle swallowed hard and forced herself to meet his gaze. "I thought
about this particular shade a lot yesterday. I figured it might be nice to wear
it."
It was so rare that she let herself truly look into his eyes. Even in a
professional setting, when it was paramount to show that she was listening
closely, she couldn't maintain eye contact. It was too humiliating. Too
embarrassing. She struggled enough to ape the facial expressions that
seemed easy for everyone else—and she always wondered if perhaps
whatever she emoted would be just slightly off.
But in this moment, whatever her face looked like, it didn't seem to
make Mr. Hughes uncomfortable. If anything, those cool blue eyes heated,
as though the lava in her red cheeks was thawing through his icy demeanor.
His shapely lips parted, and he drew in a faintly shaking breath before
he inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I think it was a wise choice, yes."
Danielle smiled. "Thank you, sir."
His gaze flitted over her face, then flicked downward once before he
turned away, as though a single glance at the shape of her breasts was out of
line. "I didn't mind making my own coffee. I already do that on the
weekends. You don't need to get here early every single day just to tend to
me."
 With a quick inhale for bravery, Danielle passed him as she made her
way to the sink, and she spoke in a murmur. "I was late because I wanted to
wear something to please you."
The trembling exhale was much more obvious this time. "We have
much to do today, Miss Higgs. Mr. Renfield will be here..."
"At 11:45," she finished for him. She was sure he could hear her grin,
even with her back to him. She washed the coffee-making implements. "I'll
verify that Andrew knows when to expect lunch being delivered. Or would
you rather me pick it up?"
"No, I..." Mr. Hughes cut himself off. He cleared his throat. "That is to
say... Whatever you believe is best."
When Danielle risked a glance over her shoulder, Mr. Hughes was
facing the perpendicular wall. But she swore she saw color in the apples of
his cheeks as well.
"I'll pick it up." She set the dishes to dry in the rack, then wiped her
hands on the nearby towel. "I believe Lucy has already sent me Mr.
Renfield's lunch order. I'll check as soon as I get to my desk."
"Of course."
Though Danielle expected Mr. Hughes to march into his office and
begin the day, he lingered. He seemed a bit like a man waiting outside a
lingerie shop while his wife perused the wares inside: skittish, unsettled,
constantly shifting his weight.
Danielle's smile slipped away. "Is everything all right, Mr. Hughes?"
He squared his shoulders, but the look he sent her was far less strong.
His brow was furrowed. His lips were pursed. It was as though he was
expecting to be scolded. "This is going to be an incredibly busy day. I'll be
spending most of it alone."
Danielle blinked. She nodded. "Most of your days are busy," she
pointed out.
He nodded as well. "But I don't want it to be that way." There was a
power in his voice, like lightning striking the ground and driving his words
home. "If I could, I'd...change today. Free myself from lunch plans."
Danielle felt right at the cusp of understanding something, but not quite
able to cross the threshold. Without thinking, she sought clarification in a
single word. "Sir?"
His nostrils flared. Mr. Hughes's hands tightened around his coffee mug,
knuckles going pale. "Miss Higgs."
 She realized what she had said, and she quickly looked away. She
wasn't used to a single word being enough to arouse a man, and especially
not someone as put together as Mr. Hughes. "I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean—"
"I mean to say that if you'd spend more time with me soon, I would
enjoy that."
A thousand flowers bloomed within her, petals spreading so wide that
they tickled her ribs. Danielle whipped her head around and gaped at him.
"Really?"
Mr. Hughes nodded.
"Oh." They'd spent time together before, of course, but they were
mostly lunches when Mr. Hughes's schedule needed to shift drastically.
Every minute was vital in getting things properly in place. They'd talk
around quick bites of food, gesturing with chopsticks or forks at their
planners or the various stacks of documents around the room.
Such meals were intimate in and of themselves, because Danielle never
felt the need to repress a single thought in them. Her honesty about the
demands Mr. Hughes put on his shoulders was vital. Otherwise, he'd end up
drastically overbooked by the end of the week.
But that was a very different experience than what she thought he might
be suggesting.
Just the two of them in a little restaurant somewhere, quietly sharing
their thoughts over the gentle background music. Perhaps they'd have a
single glass of wine each. Her work duties were to Mr. Hughes and him
alone. If they took an extra half hour to really drink each other in, who
would that harm?
And if another half hour led to them being tucked in the back of his car
together—
Focus!
"We don't have to, of course." Mr. Hughes's tight words drew her out of
her fantasies of what it would feel like to ride him in his vehicle. "I know
that you’re a busy woman."
Danielle took two quick steps toward him, heart lurching in her chest.
"No! No, I-I'd love that!"
He studied her face with deep intensity. "Yes?"
"Yes," she quickly replied. “Soon. But I’ll need to check your calendar.”
Quiet settled between them. Danielle was more familiar with these
contemplative silences than she was with his voice—but something was
different now. His eyelids lowered languidly as he watched her. When his
lips parted again, she became aware of the faint sounds of his stilted
inhalation. And as he lifted a hand from his mug, her body sparked in
anticipation.
But he didn't touch her. He let his fingers hang in the air between them
for a few seconds before the door to the office suite shut, and Mr. Hughes
quickly stepped back.
"Do it." The short but commanding words were familiar; they were the
only ones he could spare when his mind was rushing through clients,
deadlines, and designs. As Mr. Hughes left the kitchen, he transitioned back
into the last three years, and it was Danielle who needed to catch her breath.
She believed that working with Mr. Hughes with the new shift in their
relationship would be easy. Why wouldn't it be? She was experienced at
compartmentalizing. All she had to do was focus her energy on her job
during the day, then transition into something sensual at night.
But she'd been wrong about that. Because if he'd so much as grazed his
fingers along her cheek, she knew she wouldn't be able to stop herself from
dropping to her knees right then and there.
Fuck.
Danielle regathered herself. It was too early to be wet. She didn't have a
spare pair of panties. If she ruined these, she'd have to go the rest of the day
without any at all.
As delightful as her fantasies might be about that very topic, it wasn't
where her brain could wander. She had to get to work.
Today was the most important turning point for V.W. Hughes Furniture.
If a distributor like Renfield signed on with them, it would mean their
furniture would be in more places than just their little showroom or their
small website. They'd have pieces across the country in each of Renfield's
owned retailers.
And it all centered on making sure that this lunch went smoothly.
Let's make this happen.
When Danielle emerged from the kitchen, her thoughts were already
buzzing. She had a million things to do so the afternoon went off without a
hitch.
But as she passed Andrew's front desk, he spoke. "Oh, Danielle!"
He must've been the person who just came in. God, please tell me he
didn't see or hear anything. Danielle forced a beaming smile. "Good
morning, Andrew, how are you?"
"Excellent, thank you." The young, freckled man sent her a bright grin
in return. "Sherry and I are thinking about getting lunch today. You should
totally come."
This was not the first invitation she'd received from them. She’d turned
them down every time, then wondered with both hope and regret if it would
be the last invite she received. As was her instinct, she winced and made a
show of regret. "I'm really sorry. There's so much going on today. I'll
probably just eat at my desk so I can stay on top of things."
Andrew heaved a sigh. "I hear that. All right. Well, maybe next time."
"Absolutely." And before she could be dragged into further
conversation, Danielle made her way down the hall.
Mr. Hughes's office door was already closed, and she could hear the
faint warmth of his tone as he went through a phone call. Though she
couldn't pick out the words, she didn't need to. The sound of his voice was a
soothing lullaby all on its own.

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 CHAPTER 7

E verything was in place. Danielle double-checked that Mr. Renfield

did, in fact, want the meatloaf from Crystal's Cafe, of all things, and
she placed the order for him and Mr. Hughes's sirloin at the appropriate
time. She pored over traffic patterns to make sure that Mr. Renfield would
take the appropriate road to arrive on the dot. Though the custodians did a
fantastic job when they cleaned the building overnight, Danielle still found
herself in the conference room with a keen eye and dusting spray.
Something about the room felt dead and droll the longer she scrubbed
the surfaces. It was the fact that everything was so dark in tone, she thought.
Dark woods. Heavy curtains. Even the beaming fluorescent lights overhead
didn't do much to make the room feel friendlier.
No one commented when Danielle left the office, but she was aware of
Andrew's curious gaze when she returned with a lamp she'd pilfered from
the showroom. The curiosity turned to questioning when she came back
through with a rug she'd found in the storeroom, and he was downright
concerned as she began lugging in a large end table.
"Do you need help with that?" Andrew flew to his feet.
Danielle laughed. "I've got it, but thanks."
The pieces she'd stolen were beautiful on their own, but she found they
brought a breath of fresh air to the conference room. No more dull,
unexceptional, boring meeting space. Though the pieces only provided
small pops of color, she took care with where she set them, and suddenly
they harmonized.
It made her heart shimmer like sand under the sun. She soaked up the
sensation before getting back to work by opening all the curtains.
 When Danielle turned to analyze the effect from the bright sunlight, she
saw Mr. Hughes standing in the open door with a hand on his hip. Her
words dried on her tongue. Maybe he hated it. Maybe he'd want her to take
everything back.
But to her relief, he nodded a single time, lips quirking almost
imperceptibly at the edges, and walked away.
Possibly the highest praise he could give. Danielle touched her chest,
right over her beating heart, and gave herself a few breaths to center herself
before she checked the time.
"Shit," she whispered, and hurried to grab her purse. Lunch needed to
be picked up when it was at its most piping hot, and she wouldn't risk
letting it get cold while the restaurant waited for her.
Crystal's Cafe was a lovely, small space that didn't have a huge seating
area. Tucked near the center of urban activity, they did most of their
afternoon business in takeout. They had an incredible plate of rich chicken
alfredo, and Danielle always felt like a basic bitch when she ordered it, but
why fix what wasn't broken? Especially if she could polish off her meal with
a thick slice of their pecan pie?
Her stomach growled the second she stepped into the vibrant space,
colored with pops of teal and light shades of wood. Not now, she warned her
belly. Perhaps once she knew that Mr. Hughes and Mr. Renfield were
settled with their food, she could come back and buy herself something to
eat alone.
The ideal didn't have as much appeal as it usually did. Danielle often ate
in the office so that she could be available if Mr. Hughes needed her. But
he'd be tucked in his meeting for a long hour. He had to focus. Negotiate.
And all Danielle could do was facilitate that with good food, then leave
them alone.
If she was sitting at her desk, twiddling her thumbs, waiting anxiously
for the end of the meeting, that wouldn't do her any good. She drifted to the
counter with a contemplative frown.
"Picking up?"
Danielle jolted back to the present. "Yes! The order's under Danielle.
Thank you."
As the older employee disappeared into the kitchen to locate her order,
Danielle made herself sit with the regret from turning down Andrew's lunch
invitation. It might've been nice to spend time with him and Sherry. The two
of them were often out and about together, hanging out over weekends
outside of work as well. Even if she couldn't think of an interesting way to
fill the conversation, she knew for a fact that they'd cover for her.
She could've soaked up their energy. Maybe gotten to know them a little
better.
Next time.
The employee returned with a bag and a small stack of takeout boxes,
and before Danielle could even ask, they set them one by one on the counter
in a row. By now, the regular staff anticipated her need to check every order.
Danielle compared the contents of the salads and main courses to the notes
in her phone, then let out a relieved sigh.
"We've got a big meeting today," she chatted nervously as she packed
the bag so the employee didn't have to. "If we get a contract with this
distributer, everything could change. I'm so anxious about it."
The employee, bless them, was trying to catch a quick look at their
phone from behind the counter. "Best of luck."
Danielle chuckled. She really was the worst at conversation, wasn't she?
With pink cheeks, she paid for the meal, then scribbled down a large tip for
them on the receipt. She'd watched Mr. Hughes do the same when they had
food delivered to the office; he'd expect it.
Why have a successful business if you can't make sure everyone else is
successful around you?
As Danielle drove back to the office, her stomach tossed and turned.
Her timing had to be perfect. Not a moment out of place. She reclaimed her
preferred parking space, slipped in through the back door, and hurried up
the fire escape stairs—it would only save her a minute and a half, but it was
worth it.
When she reached their office suite, she took in the scene. Andrew was
opening the door to get ready to meet Sherry downstairs for their lunch
break, and he paused with a smile as he held the door wide for Danielle's
entrance. Just beyond it, Mr. Hughes was gesturing to the conference room,
and an eccentrically-dressed older man was stepping through.
"Look at that cheeky little table!" Mr. Renfield boomed. "Did you have
a hand in that, Victor?"
Mr. Hughes, as though he sensed her, directed a glance Danielle's way.
He quirked a brow, but spoke without hesitation. "I believe that piece was
made by Paolo, one of my finest craftsmen."
 "I'd love a chance to shake his hand. Look at how cleverly he sculpted
the legs! Such delicate feet for a piece like that. You can tell he gave this
table its very own soul."
Danielle fought back a giggle as she entered the conference room with
the bag of food. It didn't surprise her that a man who'd gone out of his way
to reschedule their meetings so many times might have a big personality—
one that would immediately be at odds with Mr. Hughes's more reserved
demeanor.
Well aware that her role was to be invisible, flitting through like a fairy,
Danielle withdrew each box from the bag and began to set them up
accordingly. Mr. Hughes always sat at the head of the table, and his food
went there. Danielle glanced upward, caught sight of Mr. Renfield
gesticulating primarily with a thick, red water bottle in his right hand, and
set his boxes to the right of the head of the table for his eating comfort.
"This rug is something else too, isn't it?" Mr. Renfield asked brightly.
Without warning, he grabbed the edge of it and dragged it around the table,
to the left-hand side of the head. "There. Now I can look at it, enjoy it all
the more." And he settled in the chair, opposite of where Danielle had put
his food.
She blinked. Silently, she gathered the boxes and moved them to his
chosen spot.
Next, she brought silverware and a pitcher of cold, filtered water from
the kitchen. Dealings went better if all parties were hydrated, in her opinion,
and since Mr. Renfield had brought his own bottle, it only seemed polite to
give him a convenient way to refill it.
As she returned, Mr. Renfield was back on his feet and looking out the
window, and Mr. Hughes was staring daggers into his back.
Mr. Renfield let out a deep, happy sigh. "It's a really amazing view
you've got here, you know that? Prime real estate. If I had an office like
this, I don't know if I'd ever get anything done."
Mr. Hughes's eyes slowly dragged their way to Danielle. He watched
her drolly, lips tugged into a neutral line.
The look said a thousand words, and she bit the inside of her cheek to
repress her snort.
"We are incredibly fortunate," Mr. Hughes agreed. "May I invite you to
the table? It would be a shame for your lunch to get cold."
 Danielle had just finished folding napkins and setting the silverware
neatly atop them by each place setting, and she stepped back quickly so she
wasn't in the way.
"Of course!" Mr. Renfield turned. Inexplicably, he sat in the right-hand
chair—the very one Danielle had originally put his food at.
She was at a loss. Unable to tell whether this businessman was
intentionally baiting her or if he had no idea what he was doing, Danielle
hesitated for only a moment before reaching for the boxes of food once
again.
Mr. Hughes's hand landed on the lid at the same time that hers did, and
Danielle froze.
"Miss Higgs," Mr. Hughes murmured in a low, rich tone that seemed
like it was made only for her. "I believe your lunch hour has already
begun."
A dismissal, then. When she met his gaze, he subtly rolled his eyes, and
she smiled. "Yes, sir." She dipped her head. "Let me know if you need
anything."
"Enjoy your lunch." His words were a code, telling her that she wouldn't
be needed.
Danielle nodded, then slipped out of the conference room and shut the
door silently behind her.
Soft conversation vibrated through the wall, both in Mr. Renfield's loud
and tinny voice and Mr. Hughes's quieter, velvety timbre. She let it wash
over her.
Mr. Hughes is a brave fucking warrior, trying to make sure I don't have
to deal with Renfield anymore today. She finally let herself have a giggle,
covering her mouth to muffle it. God, I adore him.
But the thought gave her pause. No, she had to be careful about the
language she used, even in her own head. It was fair for her to be attracted
to Mr. Hughes. She could respect him highly. But if she let her internal
dialogue slip into adoration, that was a step away from deeper feelings.
And she couldn't risk that. Not when this sexual experience, whatever it
was, was so damn new and uncertain.
Not when he was so utterly out of her league.
Suddenly she knew for a damn fact that this was all she was going to be
able to think about now. It didn't matter if she bought a piece of pecan pie or
not—nothing would distract her from the fluttering of her heart.
 Not if she was eating by herself.
It was a long shot, but Danielle quickly made her way back downstairs.
A glance in the showroom told her that Sherry was already gone on her
break, with her fellow manager Ebony warmly discussing a sale with a pair
of clients.
I missed them. She dug her nails into her palm and sighed as she stepped
back into the stairwell.
But there was one more chance. On a whim, she opened the door to
check the parking lot.
Andrew and Sherry were walking side-by-side to Andrew's car,
laughing together. They were so happy, so carefree. They had a friend to
lean on through thick and thin.
A black hole, made wider and more vast by weeks and months and
years of isolation, suddenly sucked her anxiety deep within it. That was the
only way she could make a fool of herself by rising up on her tiptoes and
calling out. "Hey! Andrew, Sherry!"
They stopped and looked over their shoulders. The second they saw her,
they both lit up.
"Change your mind?" Sherry shouted back.
Danielle nodded. She took a few steps closer, then paused. "Is that
okay?"
"Yes!" Both Sherry and Andrew burst out together in a lovely duet.
It was all the permission she needed. She heaved a sigh of relief as she
rushed to meet them.
"God, I'm so glad you changed your mind." Sherry gestured to the front
seat. "Please, please, take the seat of honor. You deserve it. It's the first time
we've had lunch in...ever?"
"Ever," Andrew agreed with a nod. He unlocked his car, and they all
slipped inside.
"What are you in the mood for?" Sherry leaned around the edge of the
seat to ask.
Immediately on the spot, Danielle flushed. "Ah...I'm good with
anything, honestly." Please don't push me to pick.
Andrew snapped his fingers. "Got it! There's this amazing Italian place
right around the corner. I can never remember the name."
Sherry laughed fondly and pushed his shoulder. "You never remember
any names, when you're not at your desk."
 Andrew kissed his teeth as he started the car. "I'm damn good at my job.
I never said I know how to use this brain outside of it."
Just like that, the two of them sank into a familiar push and pull of
conversation, one that didn't need Danielle to add to it. Once her seatbelt
was secure, she relaxed in her seat and let the voices wash over her.
She knew full well that she'd taken one step forward and one step back
at the same time. Yes, she'd pushed herself to go enjoy healthy social
interaction, but she'd done it as a means to escape from the yearning deep in
her soul.
She could chastise herself for that later. Tonight. Yes, tonight would be
good.
Alternatively, she'd order delivery again and not let a single thought go
through her head once her TV was on. She'd deal with the trouble of
feelings at another time.
Yes, that seems much more realistic.

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 CHAPTER 8

O ver piles of pasta and a basket of breadsticks, Danielle let herself

smile and laugh as Andrew and Sherry talked, all while trying to
remember how a human being would engage with in-person conversation.
"They're honestly amazing," Sherry was murmuring, letting out an
indulgent hum. "I didn't know how long it would take me to meet someone
new, after having Bex last year, but we barely even had her birthday party
before things started evolving. Everything moved so much faster than I
thought."
Andrew chuckled. "And I bet that's Takuya's influence. Y'all have been
married for, what, eight years now? He knows what you like in a partner. I
bet he took one look at Jamie and knew they'd be the one to get you back in
your dating rhythm."
"Stop." Sherry waved her fork at him. "God. Don't remind me. Takuya
was out there over my shoulder on every dating app, telling me which
person he thought was a tool, which one he thought was lying about being
consensually nonmonogamous. He knows me too well. He gets along with
Jamie like two peas in a pod too. They never run out of things to talk about.
You get them and Takuya in a room alone together with a model building
kit or something, and I might as well go take a nap," she said fondly.
Danielle relaxed, drinking in the lovely rhythm of someone in a new
relationship and her supportive friend teasing her about it. She liked how
Sherry and Andrew interacted. If there was a way for her to be a part of it
without embarrassing herself, Danielle knew she'd enjoy their company
more often.
 As though they heard her thinking about her, both of their heads turned
in her direction.
Scrambling for something to add, Danielle sat tall in her chair again.
"They sound really cool. I'm so happy for you. And Bex likes them too?"
"Bex likes anybody who rocks her and sings her favorite songs."
Sherry's wrinkles at the edges of her eyes deepened as her smile widened. "I
know she's getting bigger every day, but God, I hope she slows down a
little. I need to get a picture of them together soon."
Andrew leaned across the table and waggled her eyebrows. "What about
you, Danielle? Have somebody you're seeing lately?"
Oh, God. Her grin froze as she rapidly sifted through responses. No,
because my ex-boyfriend was a dickbag, and I still can't bring myself to
open a dating app? No, because all I really need is a good time at Cherry
Street when the sun's gone down? No, because I'm fucking our boss?
Somehow none of those seemed to be appropriate for the conversation.
She finally laughed and shook her head. "No, no, absolutely not."
"Why not?" Andrew scoffed in good nature. "You're a gorgeous catch. If
Mr. Hughes didn't have you around, I think his head would fall off. You
keep everything running like a well-oiled machine—even when it's not your
job."
Danielle winced. "Listen, if your phone is ringing, and you're off
making copies, why wouldn't I answer it?"
He smirked. "You're a workaholic. And I think we can all agree that you
would be much less stressed if you were getting pampered and worshipped
from time to time, like you deserve."
Danielle covered her cheeks, but she could feel her blush traveling all
the way down her neck.
"Don't embarrass her!" Sherry reached across the table to slap Andrew
on the arm.
"Oww," he whined.
Sherry turned to face Danielle. "Don't let him make you feel bad. He
thinks anybody's day would improve with their own sugar daddy."
"Would you could all be so lucky," Andrew drawled as he pulled out his
phone and began texting.
"Are you happy being single?" Sherry prompted Danielle gently.
In moments like this, Sherry's days spent with children—both her
students and her own infant daughter—shone through so vividly. Her
compassion was effervescent.
Danielle took a second longer to answer than she intended to, but at
least her anxiety was lessened. "I am."
"Then that's what matters."
While Andrew and Sherry transitioned into looking at photos of the
weekend trip Andrew went on with his partner, Danielle's palms itched. Her
legs ached for activity. Her body was warmed straight through.
She missed Mr. Hughes. She really did. And she hoped his meeting was
going well, and that she'd be able to see him sooner rather than later to
discuss it.
Discuss it? You don't have a hand in his business. You run his
background processes, like a good computer. It's not like he's going to take
you out to dinner and gush about how his time with Mr. Renfield went.
With her expectations at a far more manageable level, Danielle released
as quiet of a sigh as she could manage, expelling whatever yearning was
still whistling through her.
"Danielle." Andrew pushed his phone toward the center of the table.
"Look at these manta rays we saw."
In terms of distractions, she could certainly say that cute animals were
an excellent one. She leaned over and cooed when she saw the rays
captured perfectly beneath the crystal clear water. "Cute!"
In minutes, everything had fallen away, buried in appreciative sighs
with lovely company.

"D on't have too much fun up there, now!" Sherry called as Andrew
and Danielle began ascending the stairwell to the offices.
"More than you and your showroom, for sure!" Andrew shouted back.
Sherry flashed him a very professional finger, and Andrew's laugh
echoed through the stairs as she disappeared back into the showroom.
For the first flight, the two of them were silent, but then Andrew spoke
once more. "I'm really glad you came out with us, Danielle."
She blinked in surprise, quickly pivoting to the manners ingrained in her
as a young girl. "It was my pleasure. Amazing food. And you two are
hilarious. I'm grateful you invited me along."
 "I know we can be a lot to handle." Andrew paused. "Okay, I can be a
lot to handle." He shot her a cheeky smirk. "Especially for somebody like
you. You've got everything together. You scored such an amazing job
working with Mr. Hughes, and honestly? I don't think anybody could really
do for him what you do. The way you keep him grounded and moving at
the same time is incredible."
"Really?" Danielle didn't mean for that word to come out in such
breathy surprise, but there was no taking it back.
"Really," Andrew fiddled with his slightly too-long shirt sleeve, fingers
fidgeting with the button holding it closed. "I think I always kind of figured
that people like me annoy the hell out of really professional, respectable
people like you. And maybe that's why you never go out with us when we
get lunch. So I hope I wasn't too much for you today. A-And the dating
thing, I didn't mean to push that either. Just because I love being a slut
doesn't mean anybody else should feel like they've got to get out there and
hit the dating scene."
Professional? Respectable? And here Danielle thought she'd just been
melting into the walls. She was too gobsmacked to reply.
After a quiet moment passed, Andrew cleared his throat. "Anyway, I
hope you come out with us again. Or even if you don't really want me to be
there, I hope you go out with Sherry more too. I know she'd like that."
As Andrew reached for the door to their suite, Danielle hurried to speak.
"I had a lot of fun today. A-And I'm so glad you didn't stop asking for me to
come out."
Andrew hesitated with his fingers on the handle. He glanced over his
shoulder, and after reading her face, he grinned. "No problem. C'mon, back
to the grind, eh?"
He stepped through, pushing the door behind him so Danielle had room
to follow, but she had to take a second to collect herself. She'd forgotten.
She'd really, truly forgotten what it felt like for someone to want her nearby.
It was one thing when someone just fucked her for relief. It was another
thing for someone like Andrew to say to her face that they hoped she stuck
around.
Her heart was full.
The pristine moment shattered the second the conference door flew
open.
 "You are a disgrace to your company," Mr. Renfield spat as he stormed
out of the room. "I've never experienced this level of disrespect today. It's
absolutely unfathomable!"
Danielle barely had the presence of mind to step out of the way before
Mr. Renfield could bowl her over. He stomped all the way to the elevator,
and Danielle stared after him in shock.
When she looked back inside the office, Mr. Hughes was standing there,
staring at the floor, arms crossed. Without a word, he walked away, and in
the distance his door shut.
"What the fuck?" Andrew whispered.
"Shit." Danielle raced to the conference room for any signs of what
she'd just seen. Papers were scattered messily all over the table. The water
pitcher was bleeding condensation. A red water bottle sat abandoned beside
filthy silverware.
Without another thought, Danielle grabbed the bottle, then hurried out
of the suite, ignoring Andrew's repeated question behind her.
Something had happened. Something made Mr. Renfield feel as though
he hadn't been taken seriously. This didn't surprise her. From the moment
he’d entered the building, he seemed to think the standard rules didn't apply
to him.
And someone like Mr. Hughes, who had so little patience for anyone
who considered themselves superior, likely hadn't taken to that well—
especially after being jerked around by Renfield for weeks now.
But that deal's important. More important than anything V.W. Hughes
Furniture has done so far. So why the hell would Mr. Hughes forget how
crucial it was to play nice?
As Danielle burst into the parking lot, she caught sight of the older
gentleman making his way toward his driver's car. "Mr. Renfield!" she
called as she raced across the asphalt, her sharp heels clicking.
He turned and glowered at her beside his door. "I don't have any
comment."
"I'm sorry." She came to a stop and held out his water bottle. "You left
this. I didn't want you to go without it."
Suddenly, she was struck by how embarrassing of a moment this was.
He was a millionaire. He could simply buy a new water bottle. If he'd felt so
furious only seconds beforehand, it wasn't going to help matters for Mr.
Hughes's personal assistant to stop his departure just to give him a dinky
plastic container.
But to her surprise, Mr. Renfield stayed still, frowning as he took the
bottle from her. He turned it over and over in his hands before he
harrumphed. "Your boss is a sad sack of shit," he intoned with such
confidence that it made Danielle's brows leap nearly into her hairline. "Such
an impatient man. Rushing me. Trying to make me sign that damn paper."
As far as Danielle knew, the entire reason Mr. Renfield had even come
to the business lunch today was, in fact, to complete the deal they'd been
negotiating for months. She couldn't fathom why else he'd fly in from out of
state just to eat meatloaf.
But though Mr. Hughes was clipped, to the point of eschewing
unnecessary conversation, he wasn't an intentionally rude man. He was
constantly running numbers in his head. If he'd been insistent about Mr.
Renfield signing the contract today, then it was for a reason.
Down the road, the Methodist church bell began to ring, tolling the
time, and things began to sink into place.
They only had so many minutes with Mr. Renfield. A lunch meeting. He
had other business to attend to in the city, and it would be disrespectful for
Mr. Hughes to ask him to run over their allotted time. Mr. Renfield clearly
enjoyed wandering off on whims of fancy, from rugs to tables, and Mr.
Hughes had tried to keep him on track.
With a cool man like Mr. Hughes offering the contract with the firm
focus that it deserved, no doubt he didn't listen to Mr. Renfield's wandering
thoughts the way that the other man wanted him to.
Danielle nodded, dropping her voice to a low, sympathetic volume. "I
do want to apologize for his behavior. Not because he sent me as a
mediator, but because I've worked with Mr. Hughes for years, and I know
him quite well. And if he seemed like he was pushing you to sign that
agreement, it's not only because he wanted to be respectful of your time. It's
because he deeply admires you as a businessman. He knows that at the end
of the day, there's no other company that he'd rather work with."
Mr. Renfield shot her a suspicious frown, squinting through his glasses.
Danielle knew there was no saving this deal today, but she didn't want
to let this man believe he'd come here only to be pushed around. She
smiled. "Sometimes when we get passionate about something, we lose our
head. And I know he'll be reaching out to you soon to apologize. But please
give him grace as a fellow business owner. I know someone like you
wouldn't have gotten to where you are in your career if you didn't
understand how easy it is to get swept up in something you care deeply
about."
Mr. Renfield still didn't reply. But his thick, bushy brows seemed to
soften, rising back to a more natural position.
"I won't take up any more of your day." Danielle dipped her head as she
backed up a few steps. "Please be safe as you go around the city. I hope you
won't let your experience here color how you perceive the area. It really is a
beautiful place." She gave a little wave. "Bye for now." And she turned to
head inside.
This time, Danielle let herself take the elevator. She'd been up and down
these stairs in skinny heels too much in the past hour and a half. As she
stared at her reflection in the shiny doors while it took her upward, she
pondered how the rest of the day was going to go.
It would be wise to leave Mr. Hughes alone to lick his wounds and
decide on the next, most effective course of action. But the least she could
do, before she cleaned up the remnants of the conference room, was check
that he didn't need anything else from her.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 9

A s Danielle approached Mr. Hughes’s office, she saw the door was still
shut. But his office being closed off had never necessarily applied to
her.
If he doesn't need me, he can send me away, and that's okay.
Danielle knocked quietly.
"Yes?" Mr. Hughes called.
Danielle let herself in rather than shout back. "It's just me, Mr. Hughes."
The rest of her thoughts died off as she took in the man before her.
Mr. Hughes sat behind his desk, his gaze focused only on the wooden
surface. His strong hands were folded. He wore a frown. With the blinds
closed behind him, the lighting was sterile and cold, and so was he.
Though he always seemed to be someone who could take on the world,
right now he appeared as though he, in fact, had lived every bit of those 55
years. He wasn't frail, but he had seen and done enough. He felt like a
willow tree's branches, bent to the whims of the world, unable to stand on
their own.
What she wouldn't give to stand behind him and rub his shoulders until
he was ready to carry the burdens of his company again.
"I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do for you." As she
spoke, she caught sight of his abandoned coffee mug, and she went to pick
it up. That put her close enough to the blinds that she opened them without
thinking, letting sunlight bleed into the frigid room. A little warmth would
do him good. "Do you need anything?"
"No." He didn't even need to think about it. The word came sharp and
raw, and she took it like a slap.
 Of course not. I was silly. Danielle tucked her burned heart deep inside
her chest for safety. "I'll leave you to your work," she murmured, chastised,
and went to the door.
"Stay."
She stopped on a dime.
Mr. Hughes huffed behind her. His chair creaked. "God. Listen to me.
You're not a damn dog. I mean to say...you may stay. If you want.”
Her skin sparked, like she'd just dragged clothes out of her dryer
without using fabric softener. Every time she breathed, something else
burst.
Though the temptation was to kneel beside him and bury her head in his
thigh and hope to be pet, Danielle made herself turn around and look him in
the eye and speak. "You may invite me to stay, if you wish," she murmured.
"But I don't mind very much being told either. Not if it's by you, sir."
Mr. Hughes drew in a long, audible breath through his nose as he
watched her. From this distance, it was more difficult to perceive what
flickered behind his gaze—what her words made him feel. But when he
stood and smoothed down his clothes, making sure every stitch was
impeccably in place, she could already see a hint of a swell in his trousers.
He turned to the window, not speaking, and Danielle closed the door to
leave them alone. She didn't want to cross too far. She knew as well as him
that they shouldn't step outside the bounds of an executive and his personal
assistant when they were here, where anyone could walk in at any moment.
She'd be happy just standing here and sharing the air with him for the
rest of the day, if it was what he needed. He didn't have to be alone.
And God knew Danielle desperately wanted company as well. Even if
she didn't think she deserved it.
"I made a grave error today," Mr. Hughes finally said. He tucked his
hands against the small of his back, joined hand to wrist. "I thought I'd
grown beyond such childish mistakes. I was wrong."
Sympathy bloomed in her, acidic yet hot. She ached on his behalf. There
was no avoiding it. "I'm sure it wasn't your fault," she hurried to reply.
"Working with Renfield would've been the dream of a lifetime. Of course
you were eager to sign the deal. You can't blame yourself for pushing a little
hard. Any business owner would've done the same, if they felt like things
were dragging on too slowly."
"You flatter me." The bitterness in his tone was palpable.
 "No, I mean it." Danielle set his mug down on a small, decorative table.
"Especially with a man like him. He's so bizarre. He drags his feet and
hems and haws just because he can. He's used to having all the power, and
he expects everyone else to go along with it. And for someone like you,
who built himself from the ground up? Without anybody's help? I know for
a fact it wouldn't interface well with you—"
"Miss Higgs."
He cut her off with one statement of her name. The power behind those
two words kept her as still as a doe under a hunter's crosshairs.
Mr. Hughes rubbed the bridge of his nose. His body was so tense that
his shoulder blades stabbed through the back of his jacket, as sharp as his
frustration. When he spoke again, his voice wasn't any less tight. "I
understand how you see me. I appreciate it. But I need you to stop putting
me on a pedestal. Goddammit, Miss Higgs, I raised my voice at him. I all
but threw the pen at him."
Stunned into silence, Danielle dropped into the chair in front of his
desk.
"Renfield making me want to pull my hair out wasn't an excuse for my
behavior. Do men like him infuriate me? Yes. I want to scream at the mere
sight of them. They toddle around and act like the entire world is their
playground, and like everyone else exists to be their servants, but..." Mr.
Hughes grabbed the windowsill and leaned into it. "This is business. This is
an exchange. And there was no reason for me to lose my temper. No matter
what he might've said."
Danielle shook her head. "I don't understand. Did he say something
specific that set you off?"
Mr. Hughes scoffed. "I thought he was going to. I was even prepared for
it. But it never came—and maybe that's why I was so on edge to begin
with."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He looked over his shoulder. He studied her with intense regard before
he huffed and turned back to the window. "I was already so...irritated with
his behavior toward you. The way you set up the conference room was
lovely. Every piece belonged there."
She slouched. The praise was too much to bear, no matter how slight it
was.
 "And how he dragged that rug around? Ridiculous. He made it crooked.
It did nothing for the space. It was as though he said that regardless of who
designed the room, he was the only one allowed to enjoy the specifics. I
was already prepared for war from that point—a person like that believes he
can have anything he touches. But I believed he was baiting you, how he
went from chair to chair, as though your existence wasn't worth him
acknowledging. Like he hadn't seen you since you walked in."
Mr. Hughes drummed his fingers forcefully on the wall. "You're more
than a goddamn food delivery person. You always have been. I have trouble
not seeing you, no matter where you are. Even if you're gone, all I have to
do is..."
It wasn't fair. He trailed off, as if to recenter himself and not share too
much, and though Danielle was now at the edge of her seat, she couldn't
push him to keep talking. The words dried on her tongue.
"Regardless. After I sent you off, he commented on how lovely you
were. I was already tense. I wanted him to make one single innuendo about
you, so I had a reason to throw him out. But no. He spoke right after about
how helpful you must be—to be so beautiful, yet so good at sinking into the
background, keeping the gears moving while making it appear as though it
happened on its own." He dipped his head and stared at the floor. "He saw
you. And in the way that I thought only I did. And it...angered me."
Danielle opened her mouth, then closed it again. What he was saying
seemed unfathomable. Mr. Hughes was the owner of an incredible
company. He was respectful to all of his employees, whether they were
working as craftsmen or selling his products or answering his phones or
vacuuming his office. He gave them all equal measures of attention, herself
included. She'd grown accustomed to barely receiving a glance during a
standard work day.
Mr. Hughes had only turned his attention her way because he'd fucked
her first. He'd felt how good she could be around his cock. Right?
Her thoughts twisted in on themselves. But if that was how it worked,
then why did he agree that it felt better for him to fuck you at Cherry Street
when he thought it could be you? Why would it feel best for him if you were
the one he was projecting his fantasy on and no one else?
Danielle's fingers tightened around the arms of the chair. "You've...seen
me?"
 "You know as well as I do that I shouldn't answer that," Mr. Hughes
replied.
"But..." His damnable honor. Though he never would've been attractive
to her if he didn't try to maintain respectful boundaries between them, it
was still infuriating. She wanted answers. She wanted to know if he'd only
noticed her for her looks, or if there was more. How much did he see? Did
he like all of it?
But she couldn't force his vulnerability if she couldn't show her own.
And the mere thought of asking if he liked her made her want to shrivel up.
This wasn't middle school. She couldn't just pass him a note and ask him to
check yes or no.
She also couldn't leave it there. If she walked out of his office right now,
they might never speak of this again.
She wanted one sign that he did, in fact, want her. Even if it was only in
one way.
As Danielle approached him from behind, she drank him in. He always
fit in his clothes so fucking well. She wished she could be this fine fabric,
wrapped around every inch of his body, keeping him protected from the sun
and the wind. She was out of her mind, and she knew it, but there didn't
seem to be any going back.
He didn't turn to face her, even though she knew he heard her approach,
and that suited her fine. Danielle wrapped her arms around his waist.
Mr. Hughes inhaled sharply. "Miss Higgs."
"It's all right," she murmured.
Initially, he relaxed, adjusting to being embraced. He smelled
incredible. She wasn't sure what cologne he wore, but she wanted to go out
and buy a thousand bottles. Danielle nuzzled between his shoulders and, as
their bodies sank into each other, she let her fingers wander.
She unbuttoned his suit jacket and slid her hands inside, and Mr.
Hughes shivered. “Miss Higgs," he repeated.
"Yes?"
"You don't have to do this."
"What do you mean?" She could feel every inch of his stomach and
chest, separated from her touch by just two layers of fabric. Her cells sang
in joint celebration and hunger.
"I mean that..." He cleared his throat. "Though I had a difficult day and
a terrible business meeting and, frankly, made myself an asshole, that
doesn't mean you should force yourself to make it better."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" Danielle rubbed her cheek over his
back. As two of her fingers traced beneath the swell of his pectoral, her
other hand inched under his belt. "Do you think I'm only interested in taking
the pain away so the office keeps running smoothly?"
He huffed out a strangled laugh. "I'll be frank, Miss Higgs, I have no
idea why someone like you, in the prime of her life, would want to touch
me at all."
She grinned. "Then I hope you'll let me show you."
In the back of her mind, she ran rapid calculations. She'd set up a
perfectly good fantasy the other night. If Danielle slid under his desk, she
could suck him off out of sight, and as long as she kept her tongue clever,
he'd barely be able to breathe, much less try to watch her work.
She could sink into being a complete and total slut, and he wouldn't be
able to tease her about it.
"This is all you are, isn't it? Humiliating. I've never seen a woman so
fucking boring as you. You might as well just be a blow-up doll. At least if I
had one of those, I wouldn't have to waste gas to come fuck it."
Danielle froze.
"Miss Higgs?"
She hadn't realized she'd clenched her hands, sinking nails into his shirt.
Thank God she hadn't gotten any of his clothes off. She could've hurt him.
"Yes?" Immediately she returned to opening his belt.
It had been a long time since she heard that chiding, awful voice in the
back of her head. A long, long time. And she intended to chase it away.
"You're all right?"
The kindness in his voice first soothed, then rankled her. "Of course I
am." As the belt fell open, Danielle followed with his zipper, then slid her
hand inside his underwear. "I'm going to suck you off, sir."
As her fingers ran over the smooth skin of his shaft, Mr. Hughes
stiffened and choked on a gasp. One of his hands found her wrist and held
tightly. But while Danielle expected him to take her arm and drag it so both
her hands were engaged with getting him ready for her mouth, he did
something strange instead.
He ran his thumb over the sensitive inside of her wrist. Then again. And
again. Little, teasing circles.
 She didn't know if he wanted to keep her on her toes or what, but the
way heat rushed into her pussy told her that she desperately needed to bring
spare panties to work.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Danielle teased. "You seemed to enjoy
it plenty the other night."
His fingers tightened around her arm. "I did. I would. But..."
"But?"
"But only if I get to spread you across my desk and eat you out."
Danielle immediately removed her hand from his pants. No. That wasn't
part of the deal. She was supposed to get him off, then run to the bathroom
and finish the job for herself. He should be satiated, rejuvenated, and
getting back to work.
This isn't supposed to be an equal exchange, her mind snapped.
"Would that be all right?" Mr. Hughes asked softly.
"You don't have to do that," Danielle barely managed to reply.
He chuckled. "Doesn't that sound familiar? What was it you said to me?
What do you mean?"
He began to turn, and Danielle grabbed him by the belt loops, keeping
him facing away from her. "I just mean that I'm not expecting anything. We
don't have a lot of time, do we? I-I know you have phone calls to make,
emails to send—"
"Then we shouldn't go through the trouble of a blowjob either, should
we?" He zipped up his pants again.
It was as though she was being scolded. Danielle immediately held his
arm in place before he could close his belt. "I want to."
"And I want to guarantee that, whatever treatment you give me, I give it
back."
This time when he turned around, Danielle let him, but she kept her
gaze on the wall. It was impossible to stand still. She shifted her weight
back and forth, worrying the inside of her cheek.
Mr. Hughes touched her jaw as if it was made of delicate glass. "Maybe
this isn’t the right time for us to be spontaneous. I think there’s more that
we need to talk about.”
"I don't understand why I can't just go down on you and be left alone,"
Danielle blurted.
He thumbed over her jawbone with a quiet sigh. "Because if I use you
like a sex toy and send you on your way when I'm the one who signs your
paychecks, gives you an office space, and is responsible for a letter of
recommendation when you decide to move on from here... That doesn't sit
well with me."
She squeezed her eyes shut.
"I refuse to be that bastard who wields all the power over someone."
"Even if she asks for it?" Danielle's words were barely over a whisper.
He cupped her face in both hands now. His touch was so warm, so
soothing. She wished she could lean into it and stop the noise in her head.
"Miss Higgs." He paused. "Danielle."
Her lips parted with a shaky gasp. She couldn't look at him. She just
couldn't.
"If you tell me that you don't like being touched—that the only thing
that gives you pleasure is bringing your partner to orgasm—then that's a
conversation we can have, so I don't make you uncomfortable. Is that what
you're trying to say?"
Wouldn't that be so much easier? She knew there were plenty of people
who enjoyed fantasies or sexual content, but simply didn't want their own
bodies to be involved with the experience. They made perfect sense to her.
She could understand how having that orientation would make her entire
situation easier.
But she wasn't on the asexual spectrum, like those folks. She
experienced sexual attraction at a blistering pace, sometimes so powerfully
and quickly that it alarmed her.
It was just trauma. Goddamn fucking trauma. And it seemed like she
wasn't going to be able to avoid talking about it.
It didn't seem fair. She hadn't even kissed Mr. Hughes, and now she was
going to rip her soul open.
Danielle gathered herself. "I feel uncomfortable when someone can see
me getting off."
He hummed. "Do you want to tell me why?"
"Not really." Danielle chuckled nervously. "No, it's just...embarrassing,
when people get to see me overwhelmed like that."
One of Mr. Hughes's hands slid around the back of her neck. The other
brushed a few stray bits of hair away from her forehead. "Cherry Street
suddenly makes a lot of sense."
"Mm-hmm." His warm touch made it almost impossible to talk. Her
tone wavered as she went on. "If no one can see me, if they just get to use
me, it's better. I-I don't have to think so hard."
"And is that why your eyes are closed? Because it's easier to talk if you
can't see me?"
"Listen, I know it makes me sound like a child." Danielle grabbed his
wrists and held them in place as she stepped away from his hands. She only
opened her eyes when her back was to him. "It's like, oh, if I don't see you,
then you can't see me! Fucking ridiculous. I can't stand how I am." Now
that she was talking, she couldn't stop. "In a perfect world, I would've just
imagined it was you at Cherry Street. We never would've known for sure
who it was. I could've gone on being simple, being used, and nobody
would've cared."
"That's not true."
Danielle scoffed. "It's not?"
"No. Someone always cares. Even if you think they don't."
He couldn't keep being cryptic. One day he'd say something like that,
and she'd actually be bold enough to demand that he elaborate. But for now,
Danielle hugged herself and held onto the smallest piece of hope—because
maybe he was the one who cared. Why else is he being so patient?
Mr. Hughes cleared his throat. "I think we can both agree that the
moment has passed, yes?"
Danielle covered her face. It wasn't fair. She took a deep breath to clear
out the gunk in her heart. "I know there's nothing sexy about listening to
some woman whine about her bullshit, but fuck, I really wish I could just
go down on you before I went back to my day."
Mr. Hughes barked out a laugh. "Just like that?"
"Just like that," she agreed. "It's humiliating, but the best stress relief for
me has always been sex. I used to use my lunch break to go to Cherry Street
and get fucked when it got too hard."
It really was kind of him to let her stay facing away. He hadn't tried to
touch her. He hadn't told her to look at him. He kept his place a few feet
behind her, and it made the entire conversation easier.
Danielle found herself relaxing, even after sharing that anecdote about
how she used to spend her meals. He still had that effect on her, despite this
entire exchange.
Mr. Hughes sighed. "I'm afraid that my concerns still stand. If we're
going to do something...sexual, especially for this first time, it has to feel
equal. Otherwise, I won't be able to enjoy a second of it."
 Danielle's lips quirked. "Gentleman. You know, cold businessmen like
you aren't supposed to have a conscience."
"My apologies," he drawled. "I'll see if I can find that in the next book I
read about how to be a better CEO."
Now that some of the painful tension had left her muscles, Danielle
could turn around. She stared a hole through his tie. "Why aren't you angry
about this?"
He stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"Five minutes ago, you were sure you were going to be blown. And
now you're joking and acting like it's not a big deal."
Mr. Hughes crossed his arms. "Because it's not."
That didn't answer her question, but his tone was getting tighter, and the
last thing she wanted was to upset him now.
She was still stressed to hell and back, though. She should be able to
handle it. She should get through the rest of the day, go to the glory hole,
and get fucked silly. But something about the idea gave her pause.
It was true that she and Mr. Hughes hadn't agreed to an actual
monogamous arrangement. But a stranger no longer appealed to her.
She needed relief. But she couldn't be mocked in the midst of it. And
with a spark of genius, she wondered if perhaps she could get precisely
what she wanted while also making Mr. Hughes feel like less of an asshole.
“Equal. All right. So…how about this?” Danielle came forward and
tugged Mr. Hughes's tie. "I think you should put this over your eyes, and
then you should fuck me."
He sucked in a quiet breath. "You think that, do you?"
She nodded. "That way you can't see me. You get your cock wet. I get
my pussy filled." Her cheeks burned, being this close, knowing he was
reading her face while the filth dripped off her tongue. "We both get what
we want—and then we go back to work, relaxed."
"You have it all figured out." But though Mr. Hughes tried to sound
casual, he couldn't hide how thick his voice had become.
She loosened his tie and stood on her tiptoes to pull it over his head
without mussing his hair. "You remember how good it felt to fuck me, don't
you?" Before her sentence was half-finished, she was wrapping the length
of the tie around his eyes. "How hot and wet I was? How I clenched around
your cock every time I felt you thrust?"
"God..." One word, but so choked by his desire.
 She tied a clever knot, then slid one fingertip just under the edge of the
fabric to check that it wasn't too tight. Perfect.
"Do you want to fuck me?"
"Yes," Mr. Hughes confessed without shame. He reached behind him
and fumbled his wallet out of his back trouser pocket.
Light burst inside of her chest. Danielle relaxed with a little smile. "I
want to hear you say it."
Without hesitating, he responded. "On Saturday night, it took all of my
integrity not to drive over to your apartment and fuck you on every surface
in your home, over and over, until the sun came up. If I don't get my cock
inside you today, then I don't know how the hell I'm going to make it
through the rest of the week."
Danielle gaped at him. Every word fell freely from his handsome
mouth, as though he had nothing to fear. The blindfold had emboldened him
as well. Though he fumbled with his wallet, finally he pulled a condom
packet out and dropped the brown leather to the floor.
She began to kneel to grab it. "Wait—"
"Leave it," Mr. Hughes commanded, and she obeyed. "Where are you?"
"Right here." Danielle moved forward until their bodies met. She half-
expected him to grab her ass or push her blouse up so he could get a hand
on her tits.
Instead, the moment he knew he was touching her, he leaned down. He
clumsily pressed his lips right beside her nose, surprising enough that she
froze.
He grumbled. "I missed."
He wanted to kiss her. In a lurching, breathless way, she came to realize
that she wanted to kiss him too—and that, apparently, she was allowed.
It had been a long fucking time since she knew what that freedom felt
like.
"Here," she whispered. Danielle tilted her head so their lips met, and the
world fell away.
There was a faint sound, as if something was dropped, before Mr.
Hughes grabbed her face and deepened the contact.
She'd spent so long admiring the shape of his mouth, and now here it
was, delicious and soft and hot. He kissed her with a ravenous hunger, his
tongue sliding to meet hers as he let out a low growl.
 She was overwhelmed by him. Her ex had spent so long avoiding
kissing her in the last years of their relationship that she'd forgotten
someone might crave her taste just like this.
Danielle grabbed his jacket and surrendered to Mr. Hughes's tide. He
wrapped his arms around her waist and held her so close that she knew her
wobbly knees didn't matter.
As he nipped her bottom lip and sucked it between his own, she
moaned, and just as quickly cut the sound off. We're in his office. We're in
his fucking office. We have to stay quiet.
Was that even possible? He was hard against her belly now, thick, ready
to take her. The second he split her in two, she'd need a gag.
In the distance, the phone rang, barely audible from the front desk.
Suddenly Mr. Hughes broke the kiss. "Take my phone off the hook."
"What?" Danielle gasped.
"I'm not talking to a single client until you come on my cock," he
murmured. "Take my phone off the hook, Miss Higgs."
She nodded. "Yes, sir."
The moment Danielle turned toward his desk, Mr. Hughes pursued her,
his hands locking around her hips. The two of them stumbled against the
edge of the furniture as he ground his cock against her ass.
"What did I tell you about that word? What it does to me?" Mr.
Hughes's teeth touched the bare skin of her neck, but he refrained from
biting down. "Are you doing that on purpose? Riling me up?"
If she'd known it was that easy to rile him up, she would've called him
nothing but sir for three years straight and waited to see how long it took
him to fuck her over the copy machine. Danielle arched her back, wishing
she could feel his bulge press against her soaked panties instead. "No, sir—
I-I mean..."
His fingers drove bruisingly into her hips, and Danielle bit her bottom
lip to muffle her groan of appreciation. After another second of scrambling,
she finally managed to lift his phone and set the receiver on the desk, letting
the dial tone dully ring out under the sounds of their harsh breathing.
"I need you to find the condom I dropped. Now."
Danielle nearly told him not to bother. He could pull out. He could soak
the back of her shirt in his cum, for all she cared. She'd walk to her car
looking like the slut she always wanted to be, covered in him, and she'd
love every second of it.
 But he took a single step away, just enough room for her to do as he
asked, and her desire to be good overwhelmed the temptation.
She knelt to grab the small packet and studied the object in her hands.
This packet was new. Fresh. It wasn't a wrinkled, bent, and tired condom
that had been in this wallet for months, just waiting to be used.
She had a quick flash of their fateful encounter at the glory hole,
remembering the sound of the vending machine. He'd purchased the barrier
he used there first. He didn't come to Cherry Street already prepared.
What that memory told her was he'd put this condom in his wallet just
for her.
Knowing that, she couldn't wait another second.
Danielle flew to her feet and perched on the edge of Mr. Hughes's desk.
She grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him forward.
"Whoa—" Mr. Hughes caught himself with one hand high on her thigh
and the other on his desk. He breathed a surprised laugh. "Eager."
"I've been waiting too long." She opened his zipper once again, mouth
already watering in anticipation. It was a shame her tongue didn't
understand that it would have to bide its time. Her hole took precedence.
"That dildo you picked out for me was perfect, but it didn't do the job your
cock did. I need it."
Mr. Hughes existed on a fascinating sexual scale. He was withdrawn
when he thought she might have trauma around being touched. He was in
charge the moment she put the blindfold on him. And now he simmered in
the center—not dominant, not submissive, simply letting her set the pace
after he'd put her on the correct course.
He panted above her, his mouth swollen from their kisses, skin pink all
the way down his neck. He squeezed her bare thigh, kneading it like a cat.
"Why do I get the sense that you're going to ruin me?" he murmured.
Danielle paused as she studied what part of his face she could see. How
did he mean that? Ruining his body with her own? Or destroying his life
from the ground up, like torching a building?
I'd throw myself on railroad tracks before I let you go down in a
scandal, she wanted to say. But how true was that, really? She was making
him fuck her in his own office, where anyone could walk in.
Making him? Curious, Danielle shaped her palm over his hard package.
Mr. Hughes groaned quietly, soft as a vibrator.
"Do you want to be ruined?" she asked.
 He licked his lips. His thumb drew a slow circle on her inner thigh
before he replied. "By you? Yes. Absolutely."

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 10

D anielle pushed Mr. Hughes’s pants down, and his belt clattered
around his ankles as the fabric landed. When she traced over his
erection, she found a single slick point spreading through his black boxer
briefs, and it kickstarted her heart into another dimension.
She wasn't the only one who had been wet and miserable all day. His
poor cock had been weeping for her.
No matter what happened in this strange entanglement after today,
Danielle would always know his body wanted her as much as she wanted
his.
As Danielle eased his underwear down, she got her first look at his
cock. The graying hairs above it were nearly trimmed, kindly groomed for
any mouth that might find its way here. His erection was heavy and hard,
the thick head ruddy with blood. She wanted to trace every vein endlessly
with her fingertips.
Or her pussy. Either way.
Mr. Hughes's grip tightened on her leg. "This is difficult."
"What is?" Danielle pulled the condom from its wrapper.
"It's...vulnerable." He turned his head away. "Knowing you're staring.
Drinking your fill. And I can't read your expression to know if you like
what you see or not."
"I do." The words came so quickly that she forced her mind to slow
down so she could speak again. "I'm very happy with what I can see right
now. Are you nervous, Mr. Hughes?"
Silence. Danielle let him take his time considering his response by
pinching the tip of the condom and beginning to ease it onto his shaft, little
by little.
"It's been a while," he finally confessed quietly. "Cherry Street was one
thing. But being seen? Touched? Not being able to do the same? I feel like
I'm seventeen again. Like I'm fumbling in the back of my car and hoping it's
working."
She'd taken that power from him by refusing to let him see her. It would
be so easy to snatch the tie away and let him have whatever he wanted.
But she couldn't. Not yet.
As a compromise, now that the condom was in place, she grabbed his
wrist and coaxed his hand further and further up her skirt. "Then maybe you
should see if I'm as ready as you are."
He sucked in a sharp breath. "Yes?"
Danielle pushed her panties to the side just in time for his fingers to
graze through her folds.
"Oh..." Mr. Hughes let out a deep, reverberating hum that shook her to
the core. "Fuck..."
"You see?" She grinned as she spread her legs further and leaned back,
supporting herself with a hand behind her. "What do you think?"
"I think you're going to make a mess all over my fucking desk with your
beautiful pussy." He turned his wrist for better access, and his thumb
brushed over her clit. “I wish I had the time to make you squirt all over my
floor."
"The time?" She couldn't help but laugh. Her head tipped backward and
her eyes fell shut. "I don't think it would take as long as you imagine."
"No?"
"No. Not when I've been thinking about this all day."
Mr. Hughes stepped into her space, and she squeezed her thighs around
his hips. She knew she was little more than a wanton slut at this moment,
the quintessential sexy secretary who'd open herself up to any number of
free use scenarios for her boss. He'd barely touched her, and her pussy was
already clenching.
In a single spark of anxiety, she opened her eyes, but he was still
wearing the blindfold securely. And that meant she could let herself be
whatever she wanted to.
He guided his cock forward and let it take the place of his thumb. He
pushed his tip over her clit, through her tingling labia, all the way to her
hole—and, right before he could enter her, he drew back again.
 Danielle let out a quiet moan of frustration. "Mr. Hughes..."
"Yes?" That word was more a purr than a human voice. He began the
slow, treacherous tease again, his hardness exploring her soaked heat.
Surely he couldn't hold back this time. Surely he'd—
As he pulled away another inch, Danielle slapped her palm on his desk.
"Fuck, please..."
He chuckled. The sound would've been more at home in the mouth of a
devil. "Do you hate being teased this much?"
It wasn't that. If anything, she thrived on the anticipation, wondering
when he'd break and pound her mercilessly. She enjoyed being so keyed up
that her muscles were ready to let go at the slightest provocation.
"It's good," she finally babbled, the confession barely audible. "It's so
fucking good..."
"Is it, now?" Mr. Hughes leaned in until he could rest his forehead on
hers. The fabric of his tie tickled her cheek, and her breathing kicked up as
the warmth of his words brushed her skin. "How good?"
"Too good, I-I..." She curled her toes in her heels and whimpered as the
arm holding her up trembled. How was she supposed to give words to how
her entire body was burning with anticipation?
"Is this all it takes to make you come?”
Her lungs froze, and Danielle's eyes flew wide open. But it wasn't Mr.
Hughes that she saw.
It was a phantom memory of Nick, sneering at how easy she was.
She felt humiliated all the way down to her marrow.
The pressure on her clit became more insistent, and she jolted back to
reality with a shudder. If Mr. Hughes so much as chuckled at her—
"This is all it takes? My cock on your pussy?" Mr. Hughes growled like
a starving lion. "Fuck me, Miss Higgs, that's fucking hot as hell."
Her elbow gave out, and she fell fully back on the desk, another full
body shiver wracking through her. Hot?
"You're dripping all over my goddamn desk because you're so ready for
me. Fuck." His broad shoulders arched as he let out the edge of a quiet
groan. "I bet I could come from this too—from knowing how wet you are,
from feeling how your pussy keeps twitching as I tease it."
As though she'd been sucked through a black hole, Danielle lost all
sense of direction, space, and time. He thought this was sexy enough that he
barely had control of his own release? Was that possible?
 Mr. Hughes slowed, and he frowned, turning his head as if trying to find
her. "Are you still all right?"
"Don’t.” That was the only word Danielle could feasibly think of. But
the second she said it, she realized what he'd take it to mean. She hurried to
clarify. "Don't come yet. Don't. I need you to fuck me. I need your cock so
badly, sir."
He was unraveling, but he held onto the fraying edges with gritted teeth.
"Not until you come for me first." And he dragged his thick cock along her
most tender, sensitive skin once more.
This time when Danielle closed her eyes, all that awaited her was a
mental snapshot of him right above her. She banged her shoes on his desk
as she struggled to wrap her legs around his waist. "Please," she begged.
From this new angle, she nearly sucked his head right inside of her.
"No." Just like at the glory hole, Mr. Hughes slid his hand under the
small of her back and held her in place. "If you want my cock, then I want
to hear you come, just like I did before."
It wasn't going to take much. She bit the edge of her fist, trying to focus
herself with the pain, but all she did was muffle her needy whining. If
anything, the kiss of sharp agony accentuated the addictive drag of his cock.
"Do you know that since Friday, I haven't been able to keep my hand off
my dick?" Mr. Hughes's tone wrapped around her like a velvet blanket as he
went off. "It's incredible. As soon as I knew it was you I fucked, I became
insatiable. All I can see is your pussy. All I can hear are your moans. I've
been beating myself off three, four times a day, and it's still not enough."
Danielle groaned sharply and slapped her hand over her mouth. So
close, so close...
"Today has been hell. I haven't been able to touch myself since I left my
house. And here you are, being so gorgeous, all dressed up in purple just for
me. Goddammit, Danielle, I want to bend you in half and look into your
eyes and make you come for me, over and over again, until we're even.
Until you've had just as many orgasms as you gave me."
For once, the fantasy of Mr. Hughes being nose-to-nose with her as he
fucked her didn't embarrass her.
Instead, it was the match that lit her ablaze.
Danielle surrendered to his words and his cock, letting herself quake
uncontrollably under him as she squealed into her palm. The rushing waves
of pleasure coursed through her from head to toe.
 "That's it," Mr. Hughes growled. He redoubled his efforts, grinding his
cock through her twitching folds until the ecstasy was almost too much to
handle. "That's it, beautiful, let me have it."
Somehow it didn't seem fair that she craved this man so much that he
could bring her through an orgasm like that with only his words and the
barest edge of foreplay. As sweat began to cool on her temples and the back
of her neck, Danielle collapsed bonelessly.
Though it took her a few seconds to find her brain, she had only one
thought.
That's one. Let's not lose count of these orgasms, now.
When she trusted herself not to keep moaning, she dropped her hand
from her mouth. "Fuck me." The words barely came. They were slurred,
like she was wrecked already.
She was a fool, thinking she was going to get anything else done today.
"Can you take it?" Mr. Hughes drawled.
Before she could answer, someone knocked on the office door, and she
sat up straight. The mouse fell, dangling by its wire and smacking the desk
rhythmically.
Mr. Hughes was just as frozen as she was. He hesitated a second longer
before he cleared his throat. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Hughes, but you have someone up front to
see you!" Andrew's bright voice rang through the closed door. "I kept trying
to transfer his call to your office, but the line's busy."
Mr. Hughes's lips curled up in a sneer. "Then does it seem like I'm
available for visitors?"
Even from here, Danielle heard Andrew touch the handle, and her heart
stopped. But he seemed to think better of intruding without an invitation,
and the door stayed shut. "I'm sorry, sir, he's insisting. I can't send him
away. It's urgent."
"For God's sake," Mr. Hughes hissed. He pulled off his slick condom,
tucked his erection back in his underwear, and pulled his pants up. "Tell
him to wait, whoever the hell it is. I'll be there as soon as...as I finish this
call."
"Absolutely! Sorry again!"
Andrew's footsteps retreated as Mr. Hughes reached for his tie. He
paused with his fingers on the fabric. "May I?"
 "What?" Danielle's adrenaline was still pumping hard enough that she
thought she might have to throw up in his trash can. "Yes, of course."
He tugged the blindfold away and got his first long look at her. His
nostrils flared, and his fingers were clumsy as he put his tie back on and
closed his jacket. "We'll finish this as soon as I send this unfortunate
gentleman away," he drawled when he threw the condom in his trash can.
Her eyes widened. "Yes, sir." Before he could walk away, she grabbed
him by the jacket, then quickly secured his belt that he'd left hanging open.
"Hurry."
He surged into her with one last fervent kiss before he broke away and
stormed toward his door. He shut it behind him, and Danielle was left alone.
The silence was deafening. When she had no distractions, no way to
occupy her thoughts, that was when the worst of her contemplations crept
in. Nick was always there, circling in the back of her head, teeth bared like
a leopard ready to rip her throat out. His poisonous words would drip into
the well of her soul, so that they spread through her underground veins,
until everything that gave her life was tainted with him.
Right now, though, the only thing on her mind was how loose she was.
Everything was relaxed. She was sure she looked like a complete mess, and
she'd need to triple check her appearance before she left the office, but she
found she didn't quite care.
So what if her clothes were wrinkled? Who cared if her hair was ruined?
If Mr. Hughes wanted to stake a claim on her and leave her like this, then so
be it. At least no one else would even think to touch her. She was his.
Listen to you. She smirked as she slid off his desk. Her legs were slowly
getting their strength back. What do you want next? For him to leave marks
all over your neck? Fill you up with his cum? Growl in your ear that
nobody else ever gets to touch you?
They weren't bad ideas. Danielle understood the claiming kink very,
very well, even if she hadn't trusted someone enough to take her through it
properly. But there was more to it than that.
She wanted to know everything he'd said so far was truthful. He'd
murmured so many pretty words about how knowing he turned her on this
much was an aphrodisiac—that he was just as mad for her. And as
respectful as he'd been of her body and boundaries so far, Danielle was
curious what would happen if he no longer felt like he had to hold back.
 What would happen when they trusted each other implicitly? When he
knew where her lines in the sand were, and how he could toe them without
overwhelming her? How long would it take Mr. Hughes to grab her and
throw her on his bed and fuck her brains out? And then wake up and do it
all over again?
You're making a lot of assumptions about how much he'll want to see
you anyway. It's one thing if you're easily available when he wants you. But
is he really going to go out of his way to see you that often?
Such a private man probably never brought lovers to his home anyway.
No wonder she hadn't seen any photos on his desk of partners nor hickeys
all over his neck after long weekends.
No wonder he was so ready to explode the moment he saw her.
The blissful contemplation she'd found herself in earlier was
evaporating. She had to be sensible about their arrangement. If Mr. Hughes
was so aroused by her, it was because she was a new experience after he'd
spent so long barely touching anyone. And when this happy, early energy
passed, they'd transition back into being a boss and his employee.
It'd be fine. It had to be.
But that didn't mean she couldn't take advantage of what they had right
at this moment.
She couldn't hear any voices in the front room, but Mr. Hughes wasn't
coming back as quickly as she thought. Either he was politely turning away
someone who was incredibly determined, or there was actually important
business to conduct.
He was a smart man. He wouldn't try to bring anyone back to his office
as long as she was here.
Maybe she could go ahead and initiate an experiment: if he had open
access to her body, how long would he restrain himself before he took it?
The mere thought made her pussy pulse. Making such a powerful man
lose his sense of control in a safe, consensual space electrified her.
She took a few moments to collect items off of Mr. Hughes's desk and
set them safely aside. She’d put them back later, but what mattered now was
having available space.
When she was happy with what she saw, Danielle’s mind began to race.
Am I really doing this? The risk was massive. Anyone could walk in on her.
But that was part of what made this so exciting.
 Yes, she'd lost her head. But as Danielle kicked her panties aside and
bent over the desk, she found that at this moment she really didn't care.
Hyperfixation had kicked in, entwining with her experimental curiosity, and
she wouldn't be satisfied until she had a clear answer.
Danielle reached behind her and pulled her skirt up around her waist.
The cool air tickled her hot folds. Bare and ready, she put her hands on the
desk and waited.

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 CHAPTER 11

S econds ticked by. Minutes. Danielle kept her gaze on the open
blinds, staring across the expanse to the office building on the other
side of the street.
Can they see me? Her blood rushed though her even faster. If someone
looked out their window, would they see what I'm ready for?
Not quite from this distance, she theorized. Maybe if they squinted
through some binoculars. But that made how she waited even hotter.
No one could really see her. They wouldn't judge her. And from this
angle, Mr. Hughes wouldn't be able to read her expression either.
It was a win/win.
In the distance, she heard booming laughter that was both familiar and
not, and she turned it over in her head. The silence returned, but was soon
broken by the sound of approaching footsteps.
Danielle took a deep breath and held it.
The office door opened. After a pause, it closed firmly. Breathing. She
wasn't alone.
She didn't dare look over her shoulder nor say a word. She waited for
this stranger to set the pace for her.
She'd be a good girl, even if it killed her.
The soft whisper of trousers tickling together as the stranger approached
her. Quicker breaths. A pause, more fabric, and the crisp sound of plastic
crinkling together.
Suddenly something landed on the desk right beside her arm, and
Danielle lurched with a gasp. It was a brown leather wallet, hanging half
open, stuffed with credit cards and fresh, green money.
 When the crinkle returned, accompanied by a clinking belt and a sharp
unzipping, Danielle could see the condom in her mind's eye. She listened to
the rough, husky exhales, paired with the tight inhales, and goosebumps
spread across her whole body.
Fabric brushed against the back of her calf. The desk shook, as though a
little more weight had been put on it.
"Do you know who that was, waiting for me?"
Mr. Hughes's velvety tone could've made her come again right then and
there. Danielle's eyelashes fluttered. "No, sir."
"It was Mr. Renfield."
All at once, he pushed his cock into her, tip to balls, and Danielle
keened as the desk shook. She bit the back of her forearm and shivered.
Mr. Hughes let out a long sigh. He crushed his pelvis against her
swollen outer labia, rocking his hips to tease out sensation. "He told me that
the two of you had a little chat in the parking lot."
Her memories snapped to the older man's contemplative frown as she'd
offered comforting words and handed over his water bottle. Her eyes flew
open.
He drew back, so slowly that she swore she could map out every vein of
his dick as it retreated. Then he bucked back inside.
"Did you speak with him, Miss Higgs?"
Danielle had no idea what answer he wanted. She might be in trouble
for interfering, but also he seemed so hungry to fuck her. She scrambled for
an answer before settling for the safest one. "I-I'm sorry."
"You're sorry, are you?"
"Yes—" Another sharp buck cut her word off before she could fully
finish it, and Danielle grabbed the edge of the desk for stability with a
quivering moan. Another few fucks like that, and her feet would be off the
ground.
Mr. Hughes grabbed her ass and squeezed it hard as he let out a
shuddering sigh of his own. "Miss Higgs. In a few short months..." He
pulled back again, until only the tip of his cock was inside her. “…carefully
selected pieces from V.W. Hughes Furniture will be in stores all around the
country."
She blinked. She pushed herself to half-stand and glanced over her
shoulder. "Really?"
 She only got the barest glimpse of him before Mr. Hughes pounded her.
She melted back into a puddle on the desk.
"It's your influence that did it. Your kindness." Suddenly his body
covered hers, his chest pressed against her back, and his mouth hovered
above her neck. "You've saved us. Do you know that?"
Danielle squirmed under him, but his weight keeping her in place only
made her more insatiable. She could barely find the words. "No, sir. If it
wasn't for your hard work, your furniture..."
"Are you really going to argue with your boss when he pays you a
compliment?" Mr. Hughes purred against her skin.
When he put it that way, it did sound a bit rude. But she couldn't just act
like some savior. She shook her head. "I-It's not that, I just, I-I didn't do
anything, I just said..." She trailed off when his teeth nibbled on her
shoulder, too light to leave a mark. "Oh, fuck, fuck, bite it, please..."
"I only bite good girls who understand their own worth."
He really had no idea how potent those words were, both praise and
chastising all mixed in a dizzying cocktail.
Mr. Hughes kissed her shoulder instead. "Bad girls get fucked until they
can't put themselves down anymore."
"Oh, God," she whimpered, eyes closing.
"Let's see how long that takes." And he started the process immediately.
With these firm but more controlled thrusts, the desk didn't shake quite
as audibly, but Danielle had still lost all sense of control. Her feet dangled
above the floor, and no matter how much she strained, she couldn't get
leverage from them again.
She was bound to him, waiting for the moment he showed her mercy.
And she loved every second of it.
Mr. Hughes stood tall as he pounded inside her, quick and rough breaths
accentuating every time his balls slapped her pussy. He took her with a
seamless grace, the same ease with which he ran this business.
It seemed odd to think of him as elegant when he fucked her like this,
but once the idea spawned, she couldn't erase it. Those smooth, effortless
thrusts were like a perfect piston, never jerky, never painful.
She rode the waves of being impeccably used. Like a lullaby, her mind
quieted, and everything fell into the darkness behind her eyelids. No
thoughts, no emotions. Nothing but the raw way their bodies met in the
middle.
 She didn't need to come again. She'd be happy being fucked into
submission just like this.
But then his hands found her hips. He lifted them slightly, and the angle
made his cock rub over the sweet spot deep inside her.
"Fuck—" Danielle flailed her legs for only a moment before she
surrendered to his hold. He had her right where he wanted her.
"There?" he growled. His voice was a little more strained, his breathing
more labored, and he didn't seem to care.
She nodded wildly. "Mm-hmm."
"Good." And he took her harder.
The desk was shaking again, but Danielle couldn't find the brainpower
to care. The whole building could collapse on them, and she wouldn't notice
as long as he didn't stop. His feverish, desperate pace had every inch of her
body singing.
Only one thing mattered. She dug through what remained of her mind
until she could manage a sentence. "I-Is this good for you, sir?"
Mr. Hughes groaned. "I'm at the fucking edge."
"Come,” she whispered. "Fuck, fuck, I want you to come, I want you to
feel so fucking good—"
"Not until you do, too." The sharpness of his tone left no room for
argument.
He'd already wrung her out with just a tease of her clit. It didn't seem
fair that he'd insist on her coming twice when he only got to once. And
though she was keyed up right now, she'd flirted with the edge of her
refractory period.
But she had a goal. If he wasn't going to be satisfied just by using her,
then she'd give him what he wanted.
"Can I touch myself?" she asked breathlessly.
"Can you, from this angle?" His thrusts slowed to an addictive drag, in
and out.
Danielle tried to reach under herself, but she couldn't quite manage it.
She whined in frustration.
"Fuck." Mr. Hughes bucked deep inside her and held firm. "I want to
turn you over."
That meant being seen. That meant he'd see her blotchy face, her dilated
pupils, her swollen and parted lips. She stammered for a few moments. “I-
I’m a mess."
 "You're perfect."
He couldn't just say things like that. Danielle bit the inside of her cheek,
then nodded. "Okay. Yes. Do it."
Mr. Hughes stepped back just enough to begin rolling her over, and she
allowed it, letting him have complete control over her body. Once she was
on her back, he let out a soft sigh and reached for her shoulders.
"Sit up," he commanded gently.
She did. And when he looped her arms around his neck, she held on.
"Can you open your eyes for me?" That request was just as tender as the
last.
As anxious as the words made her, she knew she should try. And when
she obeyed, all she could see was crystal blue.
This close, he couldn't read her either. They were eye to eye, noses
brushing together, as though nothing else existed but them.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured.
In that moment, Danielle knew he was going to shatter her glass heart.
She could swear up and down that all she wanted was sex, yes—but her
soul craved nothing more than to be wrapped up in Victor Hughes for ages
to come.
Before she could tear up, Danielle pressed a quick kiss to his jawline. "I
can't take care of myself, if you have me holding you like this."
"You don't have to." He thumbed over her clit, and she quaked for him
with a gasp. "I've got you, Danielle."
He did. Without a warning, a demand, or an expectation, he listened to
the quiet sounds of her pleasure, and he responded. He found the most
exquisite way to rub her off, and when he seemed confident that he'd found
the appropriate rhythm, he entered her again.
From this close, the warm frequency of his groans felt as though they
vibrated directly into her skin. His pleasure was inescapable. Somehow
having her here, close enough to taste at any moment, only drove him
higher.
Now there was no way to deny how perfectly they fit together. They
shared each other's air. When one of them couldn't help but moan, the other
responded, pressing closer, moving faster, until Danielle couldn't tell where
he ended and she began.
She lost any sense of control that remained. Danielle sank her fingers
into his hair with one hand and cupped his face in the other. She rolled her
hips to meet him in the middle, knowing full well she was leaving a mess
on his desk by doing so.
When there was nothing left but him—his fingers, his cock, his eyes, his
mouth—Danielle furrowed her brow in focus and shivered. "I'm so close,"
she whispered, her lips brushing against his with each word. "Please.
Please, Mr. Hughes, I want you to come.”
The hand on her back pressed down more firmly, until it might bruise.
"Say my name." Where he'd once been commanding, now he was soft,
gentle, pleading just as fervently as she was.
It was a gift. One she didn't deserve. But how could she deny him?
Danielle tightened her grip on his hair. "Come for me, Victor?"
"Yes," he breathed almost soundlessly just before he kissed her.
As soon as his moans reverberated through her mouth, matching the
stuttered thrusts of his hips, Danielle let her last tenuous hold on her orgasm
go. The pleasure of this one was deeper. Richer. It didn't overwhelm her, but
it didn't have to.
If she had been overtaken by it, she wouldn't be able to hear, see, and
feel Victor so completely.
He was beautiful.
He sank his weight into her as his aftershocks wore away, and Danielle
clung to him, legs tight around his waist. They struggled to smooth out their
breathing.
After a few beats, Victor kissed her cheek. His eyelashes tickled over
her skin as he stayed close.
It was too good. Too perfect. And as someone so used to being
abandoned the moment that sex was over, it terrified her.
"So you signed the contract?" Danielle managed to babble out.
Mr. Hughes hesitated a moment longer before he drew back with a nod.
"We did. Right then and there." He shook his head. "You astound me,
Danielle. How you managed to smooth over all my mistakes with one
thirty-second conversation, I'll never know."
She chuckled. "It's not hard when it's someone like you. I told you, I
didn't do much. All I did was remind him that when somebody's really
passionate about working with a person they respect, sometimes things can
get a bit overwhelming."
He squeezed her hip with a sly smile of his own. "Now, what did I tell
you about denying my compliments?"
 "I'll let you call me beautiful all you want, Mr. Hughes," she teased,
"but if you're going to give me all the credit for this deal you've been
pioneering from the very beginning, then I'm going to stop you."
Somewhere in the midst of her sentence, his smile seemed to freeze.
The gleam left his eyes. Though he huffed a single laugh, the air had
changed. "You're maddening." But there was fondness in his tone too.
He left her off-kilter even now.
Mr. Hughes pulled out of her and set to cleaning himself up. "Tell me,
Miss Higgs, what if someone else had walked in on that delectable display
you left me?"
She slid off the desk and went on the hunt for her panties. "Then I guess
someone else would've had the pleasure of fucking me."
His next laugh was louder and far more genuine. "Not if I have anything
to say about it."
"What, are you going to put a collar on me?" She batted her eyelashes at
him. "Tell everyone that they couldn't have me, even if they tried? That I'm
your sex kitten?"
"Absolutely maddening," he drawled with a smirk, but didn't offer any
further reply.
They put themselves to rights together, turned away from the other.
Danielle smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt as well as she could, then
opened her phone's camera to make sure her makeup hadn't smeared
terrible. It didn't take much to touch up her lipstick.
The sound of Mr. Hughes rearranging his desk jolted her out of her
concentration. "Oh, let me," she insisted. "I'm the one who made such a
mess." She took the papers and objects from his hands and took care with
putting them right back where they belonged.
Mr. Hughes watched her, arms crossed. "I think you know my desk
better than I do."
"I've spent a lot of time watching you behind it."
"Have you?"
Danielle blinked at him. For a long moment, his stare arrested her.
Finally, she shrugged. "It's hard not to when I spend so much time in here
working with you."
Mr. Hughes slowly nodded. "Fair." He flicked his gaze to his monitor,
then sighed as he walked to his chair. "I swear, I can never get to the bottom
of these emails."
 "You're popular. People want to work with you. That's not a bad thing."
Without thinking, Danielle slid his hair back into its usual style. As lovely
as it was to ruin it, the cheerfully discombobulated state was a red flag to
anyone wondering where Danielle had been. "Can I get you some more
coffee? Water?"
"No." He caught her hand before she could withdraw it, and though he
didn't look at her, he kissed her forearm and lingered close to smell her
perfume. "I'd like for you to take the rest of the day off."
"What?" Danielle stiffened. "What are you going to do without me?"
"Manage, just as I always have." He rubbed his stubble over her inner
wrist. "As we transition into working with Renfield, my hours here are
going to be quite long. I might need you to stay late with me some nights.
Are you comfortable with that?"
"Of course. It's not like I have anything else I'd rather do."
He looked at her with a frown. He tangled their fingers together and
kissed her knuckles next. "Did you have lunch with Andrew and Sherry
today?"
Danielle blinked. "Yes?"
"Good." Mr. Hughes released her. "Go home. Do something relaxing.
Don't make me scold you for being bad."
Like a spell being weaved over her, she knew she'd go do exactly that.
But first, she cocked an eyebrow. "And what do you do to bad girls again,
sir?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Go. Home." But he couldn't hide how his pupils
dilated instantly.
She obediently did as he asked, scooping up her purse and heading
straight to her car.
It wasn't until she sat inside it that she wondered at how easy it seemed
to be for him to kiss her like that.

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 CHAPTER 12

M r. Hughes hadn't been kidding when he said that things were

going to get incredibly busy in the office. In hindsight, him
letting her only work half a day on Monday had been a blessing. Suddenly
everything had kicked into high gear, and there was no sign of it slowing
down.
That stolen hour in his office was little more than a distant memory
through the rest of the week. Once she'd returned on Tuesday morning, both
of them had slipped seamlessly back into being all business all the time.
If Mr. Hughes wasn't on a long, complicated phone conference, he was
forgetting to eat. He spent an entire day at the warehouse, then an extra half
in the storage facility, making elaborate lists for what he thought would sell
best in a brightly lit, big-box store. Pieces that stood out. Ones that had a
unique edge to them that would draw the eye away from the other furniture
on display.
On Wednesday, as Danielle delivered his fifth cup of coffee to his desk,
he'd looked more like a mad scientist than a distinguished carpenter turned
business owner.
Even if Danielle had the energy to seduce him, she could feel full well
that the boundaries had been rebuilt. And that was fine. She had confidence
that as soon as the fervor died down and the pieces were selected for mass
production, Mr. Hughes would have a wellspring of lust that needed to be
sated.
For now, though, she took comfort in the small texts he would send her
way after they'd both finally left the office.
"Make sure you eat something other than ramen tonight."
 "If you're already planning on having a bath, spend twice as long
soaking in it for me."
"That pink blouse you wore today was stunning. It paired perfectly with
your lips.”
As much as Danielle tried not to get used to reading these sweet words,
she treasured each of them. They were signs that he was thinking of her—
that he wanted her to take care of herself. Indeed, she was eating better than
she had in years, making sure to incorporate fresh fruits or vibrant green
vegetables in the meals she cooked for herself.
She loved how she felt in her skin nowadays. It didn't have a thing to do
with her perception of her weight—she'd always been comfortable with
how full-figured she was, from her thick legs to her soft tummy. But now
she had more energy than she’d had in years.
She did feel a bit like a meme the night she put on a yoga video and
took herself through it, especially when the instructor perkily reminded her
to drink more water. But if it felt good, then it couldn't hurt.
Thursday was a particularly grueling experience. Her body was sore
from all of the stretching she'd done the night before, and she immediately
wanted to punch that bright yoga teacher in the face for putting her through
this level of torture. But she kept her head up, ran every errand Mr. Hughes
needed, and made sure his coffee cup stayed full.
When she brought him his lunch and he didn't so much as look at the
box, she put her hands on her hips. It took a few seconds for his gaze to
wander to her, and his eyes were so fuzzy that she doubted he saw her at all.
"It'll get cold," she murmured.
"What?"
"Your food."
He blinked. "Didn't I tell you to bring me a salad? It's supposed to be
cold."
Her lips twitched. No matter how stern she was trying to be, he was just
so damn cute when he was this little bit out of sorts. "You asked for the
salad yesterday. This is the Philly cheesesteak."
Mr. Hughes stared only a few seconds more before he shook his head
with a huff. "God, this week has been a nightmare."
"And you've done a wonderful job getting through it so far." Danielle
smiled as she opened the box and nudged it slowly in front of him.
"Remember, tomorrow's Friday. Finish everything, and you get the whole
weekend without hearing Mr. Renfield's voice screaming in your ear."
Mr. Hughes chuckled. "Indeed. Unfortunately, I believe he's already
infected me. When I sleep, he's still there, shouting."
Danielle dropped her voice. "I think you need something better to dream
about at night, then."
"Indeed," he repeated just as quietly. As she moved the kitchen's
silverware closer, he covered her hand with his. "Come home with me
tomorrow."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"Unless you already have plans—"
"No, no, I don't, I-I just..."
Mr. Hughes picked up her hand and turned it over. He studied her palm
as he traced patterns in it, his head tilted. "It's a quiet place. No one's ever
there but me. I thought that you might enjoy a peaceful weekend."
The entire weekend? Her jaw dropped. How did we go from you fucking
me in your office to you offering me a weekend getaway?
After another moment, he cleared his throat. "I don't want to impose. I
know the invitation is sudden. And if you're content with how things have
been, you might not want to add another complicated element by stepping
into my space."
"No, it's fine," Danielle quickly said.
He met her gaze. "Yes?"
"Yeah, no, absolutely." Her mind rushed to her wardrobe. Do I have
enough sexy panties clean for a weekend stay? Fuck. I have to do laundry.
"Should I bring anything, like dinner or wine or..."
"Yourself, and whatever you need to feel comfortable. That's all I'm
interested in."
She wrinkled her brow. There was no ignoring the warmth in his eyes.
"You're sure?"
He smiled, gentler than a breeze. "Quite sure."
That wouldn’t help her pack, necessarily, but maybe that was for the
best. If she got too wrapped up in it, she'd never actually get a bag ready.
"Okay." She nodded slowly. "Will we just...leave here together
tomorrow?"
"Sure." He shrugged. "Why not?"
 Why not? Why not worry about what people think if they saw my car in
the parking lot over the weekend? And if I drove and followed you home,
why not think about what they'd say if we arrived here at the same time on
Monday?
It must be so easy to be a comfortably wealthy businessman who never
had to worry about what others thought of him, as long as he could close his
deals.
"Okay." Danielle nodded with more confidence this time. "I'll...be
ready."
"Good." His smile widened. "So will I."
She could've spent an hour standing here, letting him play with her
hand, but she glanced over her shoulder. "Andrew's waiting for me. We're
getting lunch today."
"Good." That word was firm and warm at the same time, like a
delectably sweet kiss. "Have fun. Don't rush back here too quickly."
"Yes, sir."
He squeezed her hand, then let her go.

T hough Danielle had been warming up to her lunches with Andrew

and Sherry, today she was back to square one, unable to speak.
While she and Andrew waited in the short line of guests waiting to be
seated at the restaurant, Danielle stared out the window and watched the
clouds drift by.
When they reached their spacious booth, Andrew finally spoke up.
"Everything okay?"
"Fine." It was possibly the least convincing lie Danielle had ever given.
Their server dropped off their water and bread, then took their orders.
Andrew, bless his heart, was kind enough to let Danielle have her space
through those long minutes, but the moment their menus were whisked
away, he seemed ready to burst.
"You're not fine." Andrew squeezed lemon slices into his water, then
dropped them in with a plop. "Listen, you can tell me if you don't want to
talk about how you're feeling, but I know you're not okay. So do you need
that space, or what?"
 Danielle drummed her fingers on the table as she weighed how much
she was prepared to share. She couldn't exactly talk about how she was
fucking her boss—their boss, for that matter. He'd have a conniption.
Knowing Andrew, he might pull out a sudden slideshow about how
inappropriate it was, and there would be no escape.
But in the end, she found she did have a question she could posit, and
one that she desperately needed an answer to. "I'm having trouble figuring
out if a man likes me or not."
Andrew's eyebrows shot skyward. "I thought you weren't dating
anyone."
"I'm not." Her cheeks warmed. "I'm having sex with someone."
"Oh." His eyes widened. "Well, that's brand new information."
"Just because we're sleeping together doesn't mean he has feelings for
me," Danielle pointed out. She needed to head that off at the pass. "It's a
casual thing."
"Trust me, honey, I know all about what you're saying." Suddenly
Andrew sounded fifty, rather than half that, a jaded and world weary man
who should be drinking vodka rather than lemon water. He took a long
slurp of his drink, then began the process of buttering his roll half to death.
"Do you want him to like you?"
Her heart pounded, half eagerness, half anxiety. "I don't know. It's
complicated."
"Complicated as in..." Andrew clinked his knife on the plate as his jaw
dropped. "Oh God, don't tell me he's married."
"No! No, he's not. I'm sure he's not." No ring, no photos, no fear of
inviting her back to his house for a whole damn weekend. Danielle grabbed
some bread as well, but she found herself shredding it bit by bit, leaving a
pile of soft innards on her plate. "He's just...better than me, in every way.
He's powerful. Wealthy. He's got a brilliant mind. He deserves some perfect
socialite on his arm who can help him steer the ship he's on, not...me."
Andrew scoffed. "You? You, who keeps everything in the office running
like clockwork, even though it's not part of your pay grade? You, who is so
sweet and kind to anyone who comes to meet Mr. Hughes, so they're
already comfortable and feeling at home before he opens his surly mouth?
Danielle, you're a fucking catch. When are you going to figure that out?"
There didn't seem to be an appropriate answer to that question, so she
shrugged as she sipped her water.
 Andrew heaved a sigh. "So we're not doing the whole affirmation thing.
Okay. That's fine. What was the question? How do you tell if someone likes
you?"
Danielle nodded. She couldn't look at him anymore. She was a grown
woman. She should've figured this out a long time ago.
Andrew blew out hot air as he sat back in the booth and cocked his head
to the side. "Huh. Okay. So it's supposed to be just sex. Has he started
being...tender with you at all?"
"In what way?"
"Like, is he just blowing your back out, or is he making sure you can
make eye contact and kissing you all sweetly and shit?"
Suddenly Danielle was afraid that there was some secret megaphone
transmitting their conversation to the whole dining room. She could've
picked a better place to have this discussion. She knew Andrew had no
shame, and yet she let this happen anyway.
But his evocative words called to mind how desperate that last
encounter between her and Mr. Hughes had been. How lost she'd gotten in
his eyes. How he held her so close as he fucked her that their mouths
brushed together with each thrust. He'd become her entire world for those
few humid minutes.
Danielle nodded again. "But that doesn't mean anything, does it? If two
adults are having casual sex, there's no reason they can't fulfill their craving
for intimacy while they're at it."
"True." The word dragged out of Andrew slowly. "Is he only calling you
up for booty calls?"
Danielle vividly recalled how once during this week, she'd held her
phone to her bosom once he sent one of his sweet check-in messages, as
though she was embracing him. How embarrassing. "No. He...makes sure
I'm eating well. Taking care of myself. Things like that. B-But what man
wouldn't do that? You'd want your sex partner to be clean and soft and
relaxed before you slept with them, right? It's just practical."
"Practical."
"Yes."
Andrew chuckled. "Okay. Hmm. What else? Let me think."
Salads were delivered, and Danielle welcomed them. Maybe they'd
drown away the fact that Danielle brought up this topic at all, buried under
vinaigrette and cheese.
 "Do the two of you meet in neutral locations? To make sure it stays
casual and all, I mean."
No such luck. Danielle took her time chewing through lettuce and
crunchy cucumber before she responded. "Not really. He just invited me to
his house this weekend."
Andrew leaned across the table. "For the first time?"
"Mm-hmm." Danielle wrinkled her nose. "I asked if I could bring
anything. He said just to bring myself—that I could relax while I'm there."
"You are so fucking incredible," Andrew drawled. "You're sitting there
telling me all of this, and you want to know if this man has feelings for
you?"
Danielle scowled at him. "It's not a bad question."
"It's not. But if I was sitting here telling you all of this, wouldn't you
know for sure that the man was interested in me as more than a sex buddy?"
"I don't know." Danielle stabbed another forkful of salad with more
aggression than was necessary.
Andrew sighed. "Danielle. Listen. I'm not trying to make you feel like a
fool. I just want you to really think about this for a second. You have a
powerful and wealthy man in your life, someone who could buy company,
if that's all he needed." Andrew left his own salad unattended, as though he
couldn't eat until Danielle knew the truth about this situation. "But he's
being kind to you. Sweet. Reaching out more often than just to fuck you.
Wanting to bring you into his very own space. If he just wanted to pamper
you and have a sexathon, he could've gotten a really great hotel room, you
know that?"
When he spelled everything out like this, there was no denying what
Danielle had already suspected. She dropped her fork and covered her face.
"Oh God, I'm so fucking ridiculous."
"No, you're not." Andrew chuckled as he patted her arm. "You're really
not. It's okay."
"I'm just not used to this. Holy shit." Danielle dropped her hands to the
table and pouted at Andrew. "People don't just care about me."
"That's a goddamn lie." He grinned. "Me and Sherry think you're
amazing."
"But you only ever see me at work. You don't know the real me, the one
who never gets out of her bathrobe and eats whole pints of ice cream in one
sitting and can't make a phone call to make appointments for herself
without having to write out a damn script." Danielle turned her hand over,
and he loosely grabbed it across the table. "I'm a mess."
"So am I. So is Sherry. So is this mystery man you're seeing. So is half
the goddamn globe." Andrew dropped his voice. "Us having things we're
struggling with doesn't make us unworthy of being loved. You know that,
right?"
Danielle cut her gaze to the window.
"Danielle," Andrew murmured. "If this man wants to romance you,
please, please let him. If you're having trouble figuring out if he cares about
you for more than your body, ask him."
"That's the worst advice anyone could ever give me." Danielle squeezed
her eyes shut until they burned. "If I ask him if he likes me, then that means
he has room to say no."
"And if you never bring it up, you'll spend your whole life wondering if
the reason he's holding himself back is because he thinks you're perfectly
happy with the way things are." Andrew patted the back of her hand before
he let her go and returned to his salad. "Just think about it, okay?"
With the way things were going, Danielle highly doubted she'd think
about anything else.
Their meals were delivered shortly after, and to Danielle's relief,
Andrew turned the tide of the conversation toward the latest musical he'd
become obsessed with. It was gentle chatter, something that let her listen
without needing to respond very much.
It gave her plenty of time to meditate on how gently Mr. Hughes had
held her hand in his office while he smiled.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 13

D anielle had never been taken away for a weekend before, and that
meant she wasn't sure what she was supposed to pack. Her sexiest
lingerie would have to come with her, of course, and her toiletries, but what
else? Was it offensive to bring a book? Did he like to keep his house cold?
Should she bring fuzzy pajamas instead of tiny ones? Slippers?
It was a nightmare. As Danielle drove to the office, she knew full well
she'd packed for a goddamn week. He was going to take one look at her bag
and think that she'd stuffed a whole body in it that she needed to hide in his
backyard.
But, her anxiety reminded her, it was better to be prepared for anything,
even if that meant bringing the giant soft bathrobe that was more like a
blanket than a garment.
God. What if he thinks I'm bringing things to keep there for a later stay?
What if he worries that I'm trying to move in or something?
The thoughts were too much for so early in the morning, especially if
she was going to get anything done. She tried to push them from her head,
but utterly failed.
When Danielle walked into the office, Mr. Hughes was already standing
in the kitchen, his back pressed against the counter.
"You're early." Danielle looked around, and seeing that he hadn't made
himself coffee, she quickly gathered what she needed to do so.
"You're always early." Mr. Hughes didn't move to help her, but simply
relaxed there out of her way while he watched her work. "I thought about
brewing you some coffee, but it seems like a task that you enjoy."
Was she really so easily read? Her face flushed. "I do," she admitted.
 "Do you take a great deal of pleasure in doing it for me?"
Danielle nodded as she chewed on her bottom lip. She was ruining her
lipstick, and she couldn't be arsed to care.
"You make the perfect cup every single day. It's wonderful. I enjoy it so
much."
The praise was like tipping a cool bucket of water over herself on a
searingly hot day. Her mind quieted and she let out a sigh she didn't realize
she'd been holding. "I'm really glad to hear you say that."
Once the coffee was blooming, Mr. Hughes reached to cup her elbow,
his touch sending tingles down her arm. "Are you ready for this weekend?"
Danielle shot a glance over her shoulder. Only when she reassured
herself that they were alone did she nod. "I have my bag in my car."
"Perfect. What would you like for dinner tonight?"
"Anything. I'm not picky." She looked at him only from the corner of
her eye, because drinking him in fully with the knowledge that he might
have feelings for her was impossible. It would be like staring into the sun.
She'd melt into a mess immediately, and she'd never get anything done. "I'd
rather have what you want."
He moved closer. His hand wandered to her cheek. "And I'd like to have
what you want." His voice was warm, with fondness she could no longer
overlook. "Maybe we'll spin a wheel and see what restaurant it lands on."
She chuckled. "That works for me."
"Good." Mr. Hughes hesitated, but after a moment, he kissed her
jawline, lingering to breathe her in. "I have a phone call to take in the next
half hour. If you could go ahead and begin a second cup of coffee for me
once you drop this one off, I would appreciate it."
Coffee? She'd give him the world right now, if he asked. She'd pull up
her skirt and bend over the counter and let him take what he wanted, no
matter who was watching. She'd let him claim her so publicly that no one
questioned who she belonged to.
But coffee. Right. That was doable as well. "Yes, sir, absolutely."
He let out a low, rough sound. "Call me sir again before we leave the
office tonight, and I won't get anything done."
"Sorry…”
"Don't be." He tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. "I'll carry it
with me for the rest of the day. It'll keep me warm."
 As Mr. Hughes departed, Danielle took herself through a few slow
breathing exercises. He was right. As much as her body was keening, they
both were perfectly capable of keeping things under wraps until they'd
completed all their work.
They had an entire weekend together with no interruptions. Just simple
time spent together.
I'm not going to rub myself off in the bathroom before lunch. I'm not. I'm
a good girl.
She could almost convince herself of that, too.

A t five o'clock on the dot, people began to trickle out of the office, and
Danielle waited at her desk and vibrated. For the past hour, she'd
been miserable. Her tasks were all finished. Mr. Hughes hadn't called her to
add anything new to her list. She'd played desktop Solitaire with the most
mournful energy, thinking that perhaps the clock would never move again.
But it had happened. Everyone was leaving. And if she listened hard,
she swore that she could hear Mr. Hughes shutting everything down just
beyond his closed door.
When he finally emerged from his office, Danielle was dusting her desk
for the third time in a row, and she let the relief rush through her at the sight
of him.
"Are you finished for the day?" he asked.
Danielle came to her feet like a jack-in-the-box. "I am."
"Good." He smiled. "And you're ready to go?"
More than ready. If she let her mind run away with her any longer, she'd
never reel it back in. It would be nothing but a weekend of anxiety.
"Absolutely."
Mr. Hughes held his hand out, and after a moment of her heart pounding
like a bird trying to escape her ribcage, Danielle took it.
As they made their way to the elevator, Danielle caught herself peeking
into every shadow and corner along the way, as if someone was going to
leap out with a camera. Would Mr. Hughes be embarrassed if someone saw
them holding hands? What if Andrew forgot something and came back for
it?
 But when she risked a look up at Mr. Hughes, he seemed perfectly
relaxed—more than he had been this entire week, actually—and she had no
desire to disturb that.
They stepped into the empty elevator together and stood in silence as
they rode down.
"Was work terrible for you today?" Mr. Hughes asked.
Though she recognized polite conversation when she heard it, Danielle
was still so tense that she struggled to find an appropriate answer. "I
managed."
"If you need help, you can always let me know. I'll do what I can to take
something off your shoulders."
"First of all, Mr. Hughes, that's very silly." She shook her finger at him.
"I'm your personal assistant. It's my job to take things off your shoulders."
His lips quirked, the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes deepening, but he
didn't stop her.
"Second of all, it wasn't necessarily the work that had me in a tizzy all
day."
"And what was?"
Danielle pursed her lips, trying to hold the truth inside, but she couldn't
quite manage it. "You kissed my jaw in the kitchen."
He turned to face her with a slowly growing heat in his gaze. "And did
that affect your productivity?"
"It did," she accused playfully. "All I could think about for the rest of
the day was your mouth."
"And where else I might put it?"
Danielle flushed so quickly that she was stunned she didn't overheat.
The elevator came to a stop, but neither of them moved. She broke their
stare and shifted her weight with a shaky breath. "I didn't say that."
"But I did." Mr. Hughes moved into her space, his chest an inch away
from hers. "I thought about spreading you out in my bed and feasting on
your pussy until you were sobbing."
The elevator door closed. Time stopped, suspending them in a murky pit
of lava. "And what...was I crying for?"
Mr. Hughes shrugged. "Release. A toy. My cock. Perhaps all of the
above."
"Fuck," she whispered. She was going to see his bedroom tonight. He
might very well already know precisely how he was going to take her.
 There would be no escaping him there. No blindfolding him, no turning
her back to him, no biting her fist to so no one could hear.
Vertigo rushed through her. This weekend was going to be either a
dream or a nightmare, and she couldn't figure out which.
Mr. Hughes stepped forward, forcing her to take one backward.
Together they walked until he pressed her flush against the elevator wall,
his hard cock pressing into her belly.
"You know that if you'd told me what you needed," he purred, "I
would've provided."
Danielle huffed out a laugh. "Me being wet isn’t an emergency. You had
work to do, things with Mr. Renfield to clear up—"
"And I might've been much more productive if I knew you were sitting
feet away from me, soaking your panties." He wouldn't take his eyes off her
face. "I'm right, aren't I? You're wet. I wouldn't be surprised if you were
dripping for me."
Just a needy slut, only good for sex, so desperate to be filled, so
humiliating—
Danielle held her breath for a moment to recenter herself, but she stared
at his chest, unable to respond.
Mr. Hughes touched her arm and thumbed over her bare skin. "Can you
feel how hard I am right now?"
She nodded. It was almost a grounding point, having her attention
turned that way.
"Did you know that I've made a terrible mess of my briefs too?"
She didn't even have to try. Immediately, the image of his black boxer
briefs being filled out by his aroused cock, with a spreading slick spot of
precum on the front, came to mind.
"Does it turn you on to think about how that shows that I want you?"
It did, actually. Her pulse was pounding, and the idea of dropping to her
knees right here in the elevator didn't sound too bad.
"Then you know how much it gets me off to think about how wet you
get for me."
"Really?" The word slipped out of her unbidden.
"Really." Mr. Hughes took her hand and pressed it against his cock, and
she immediately felt the heavy heat rolling off of him as he groaned. "Miss
Higgs, I don't know who ever made you feel like your sexual appetite is a
failing, but I hope you’ll realize that I'm not that sort of person."
 Suddenly she was in the middle of a stage, a spotlight on her, so vividly
seen and unable to escape. She stammered for a second before she
remembered language. "Of course you're not. Everyone wants a partner
who can't be satisfied. Who always wants to make you come."
"Not everyone." He said it so casually, no hesitation. As he let her hand
go, it fell back to her side, and he stepped back an inch so they were no
longer touching. "Not even me, necessarily. It's you that I want, not your
appetite—"
"It's humiliating, sometimes, when people see how much I want to be
used," Danielle babbled, speaking over his words before she lost her
courage. "It's all I'm worth to them. I'm a hole to be filled. And I like being
that hole, but I also hate knowing that they might mock me for it. I can't
control myself, when I'm getting fucked just right. I'm red and blotchy. I
beg. I make a mess all over the sheets. I pull ridiculous faces. It's easier
when they can't see me. If all they know is what my pussy looks like and
nothing else, then they can take me, use me up, and move on."
"And you find relief in being useful," Mr. Hughes murmured.
"Yes."
"Just like you find it in making my coffee, picking up my dry cleaning,
and running whatever petty errand comes to mind."
Danielle shrank back against the wall. "Yes." This time, the word was
barely audible.
Mr. Hughes took a deep breath through his nose. When he held out his
hand again, she took it, and he opened the elevator door for them.
He led her through the empty showroom to the parking lot, and she
hated every step of it. She was little more than an anxious wreck, like a
child who needed to be guided through life.
Suddenly her attraction to him horrified her. He was nearly twenty-five
years older than her. What if he thought she was only interested in him
because she had daddy issues? Because she had a shitty childhood?
Sure, all of those things might be true, but they had nothing to do with
why she cared about him. She loved him because he was Victor Hughes and
all that that entailed, not because he was older and wiser and able to walk
her through her days.
Her mind slammed suddenly into a brick wall.
Love?
"Do you want me to drive you to my house?"
 Danielle jerked herself out of the maelstrom she'd unexpectedly dropped
herself into. "I thought I was going to follow you."
"And you can do that too, if you'd rather." Mr. Hughes paused in the
space between their two cars and studied her carefully. "But you seem a
little shaken up, and I don't mind doing the driving."
The thought of taking herself through start-and-stop traffic all the way
to an unfamiliar neighborhood was exhausting. With her luck, she'd lose his
car in the flow of vehicles, and her phone wouldn't even properly take her to
his house.
"I don't want to impose," she finally said.
"Danielle," Mr. Hughes murmured. "Time spent alone with you isn't an
imposition."
After a long moment of consideration, she pulled out her keys and went
to her trunk. "As long as you're sure you won't mind if someone catches us
coming to the office together on Monday."
"I don't mind at all."
Danielle pulled out her bag, and the moment it was free from her car,
Mr. Hughes whisked it away from her easily. He didn't say a word about the
size of it nor how stuffed full it was. He simply carried it to his own trunk
and deposited it.
This was really happening. They were doing this.
The man she was forced to admit that she loved was taking her home
for the weekend—and there was no more pretending that he didn't care for
her as well, even if he hadn't said it out loud yet.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 14

W hen Mr. Hughes opened the passenger door for Danielle, she
smiled as she slipped inside. Once they were both situated, he
pulled out of the parking lot, and off they went.
For a few moments, they sat in silence, but Mr. Hughes was the first to
speak up. "I want to make one thing perfectly clear to you. Are you ready to
listen?"
"Yes, sir," she murmured without thinking.
His knuckles tightened around the steering wheel, turning bright white,
before he relaxed his hands once more. "If what you want is to feel well-
fucked, I'm not afraid to do that. I'll keep up with you. Don't worry about
that. But I'm not interested in using you while you lay there and take it and
hide your face so I can't see if you're enjoying it or not."
His words filled her with equal parts arousal and shame. She knitted her
hands in her lap and looked down.
"I understand the appeal of the glory hole, blindfolding, taking you from
behind, all of that. Those ideas arouse me just as much as they do you. But
I'd rather us use those things as a kink, not a necessity."
"Understood," she whispered.
"And, for the record, if I make you lose yourself so much that you can't
control your body, your voice, or your expressions, that frankly means I've
done my job incredibly well, and I'd be hard pressed not to come the
moment you reached that point."
That didn't seem correct. Not after what she'd experienced. But she
nodded, because she knew he wanted a response.
 Mr. Hughes sighed. "Can I ask you who it was that made you feel that
way? That it was humiliating that you enjoyed sex?"
Though she sensed that she could tell him no and that he'd respect her
decision, she also found she didn't want to hide it anymore. "My ex-
boyfriend, Nick." She huffed. "I'm not even sure he would've liked it if I
called him my boyfriend. But he was my first, my only. He found a naive
little thing in college, and he taught her how her body worked, and then
when he couldn't mold it into his perfect pornographic fantasy, I guess that
made me a whole lot less interesting."
The way she'd phrased it didn't sit right with her, and she backtracked.
"I don't have anything against porn. I watch it all the time. But there was
this sense I had that what he really wanted was someone who could read his
mind and know the exact fantasy he wanted in bed at any time. He wasn't
interested in me. He was interested in what I could become. And when he
realized that actually I was a loud, pleading, dripping mess, that wasn't what
he wanted. So I turned into a convenient hole that he found ways to
tolerate."
"This was your only boyfriend?" Mr. Hughes asked.
"Mm-hmm."
"How long were you two together?"
Danielle blew out a sharp breath. "Eight years?"
"Eight years. Eight years of him making you feel like you weren't good
enough."
As the memories bubbled up, she spoke about them for the very first
time, finding it impossible to stop. "He used to tell me that I was too loud.
Too whiny. He'd gag me whenever he could so it was muffled, then call it a
kink. And when I tried to be quiet, it wasn't good enough either—he'd ask if
he was fucking a corpse." Danielle chuckled bitterly. “I used to think he was
just into the humiliation. But no. It was more than that. I really wasn’t a
human to him.”
"He was a bastard," Mr. Hughes intoned.
"He was." She wasn't afraid to admit that anymore. "I think it would be
easier to deal with some of the things he said if I hadn't also enjoyed being
taken like that anyway. He still aroused me. I still wanted to be filled up.
Even if he didn't do anything to make me come, I clung to the fact that it
still felt good to be used. But I'll be completely honest with you: Cherry
Street was much, much less traumatizing, even if it wouldn't seem that
way."
"I believe you." His voice was quiet, but in the perfectly silent, new car,
there was no hiding it.
Danielle risked a glance his way. "Do I make a little more sense now?"
"Absolutely. And I really want to destroy this man. Nick, you said?"
"He's not worth it." Her smile dripped with acid. "I choose to believe
that he's being a miserable little pissant out there somewhere, while I'm
getting fucked by a sexy man with incredible hands."
Mr. Hughes smiled as if he wasn't expecting it to come so easily to his
face—crooked, a little unsure. "You like them?"
"If I talk about how much I like them, I'm going to leave a stain on your
seat," Danielle said sweetly.
He shook his head in wonder. "How do you share how this man hurt
you so terribly, and then pivot immediately back to sex?"
Danielle let out a deep sigh. "Probably coping mechanisms."
"Probably," he agreed.
"Do you want to watch me fuck myself while you take us to your
house?"
Mr. Hughes stammered for a moment. It seemed much more difficult for
him to keep his eyes on the road now. "As...a coping mechanism?"
"Mostly because I've been thinking about you being inside me all day,
and if I have to wait until we get to our destination, then I'm going to come
the second you put your cock inside me."
"And that's a bad thing?" Mr. Hughes's typically smooth, low voice
hitched a bit higher.
"Maybe not," Danielle admitted with a laugh. But while she sank further
into her seat, getting more relaxed and spreading her legs as her skirt rose
up, she acknowledged something else. "Maybe I'm also trying to teach
myself that you're being honest when you say that me being this turned on
arouses you."
"Ah. Exposure therapy. Of course."
Therapy. Something Danielle hadn’t dug into yet. She always made
excuses—it was too expensive, too time-consuming, and too embarrassing
to attend.
She could get by without it while she was just by herself. But with how
off-kilter Mr. Hughes was in response to her primary coping tendency of
pivoting from her pain straight into her pleasure, she found herself
reconsidering her past choices.
They came to a red light at that moment, and three whole seconds ticked
by as Mr. Hughes stared out the front view. "I want you to do it if you want
to do it," he finally stated. "Not because you have to. Not because you're
trying to prove a point to yourself. If you ever stop enjoying it, then I want
you to—"
The moment Mr. Hughes looked her way, Danielle placed one shoe on
the edge of the dashboard and ran her fingers over her panties.
Anyone might be able to see her. If they were in a taller truck and
looking from the correct angle, they'd know precisely what she was doing.
Perhaps they'd even recognize her face, know where she worked, and would
consider going on a crusade to get her fired—
But as the anxieties began to trickle in, Danielle focused on Mr.
Hughes's expression alone.
This powerful man was staring at the crux of her legs like a celibate
monk who'd just chosen to leave his order—like he'd never seen someone
hovering at this point of arousal. His jaw hung open, and his brows
furrowed with intense focus. He was so fixated on the sight of just two
fingers, tracing up and down pale peach fabric, that he looked half-furious.
Danielle never thought someone she loved might watch her with such
ferocity.
A polite horn tooted behind them, and Mr. Hughes sucked in a sudden
breath as he looked at the green light. "Fuck." They jerked forward when he
hit the accelerator too hard, and he leveled them a moment later. "How am I
going to get through this entire drive without touching you?"
"Beats me," Danielle teased. Exposure therapy might've been a joke, but
she had to admit that there was a certain level of freedom in this. Not only
could Danielle challenge herself to get off right here where he could soak
up every bit of her reckless abandon, but also Mr. Hughes could only steal a
glance or two every so often.
And Danielle could study him all she wanted.
She'd never known what it was like to have this kind of hold on
someone. Nick used her because it was easy, but he hadn't been interested in
her initiating any sex they had. In the back of her mind, she suspected that
his fantasy was to have a perfect good girl that he'd corrupted, one who still
begged him to let her finish her homework or her book but who inevitably
resigned herself to his desires.
Her stomach recoiled.
Focus. Focus.
But here was Mr. Hughes, who was kneading the steering wheel like a
desperate cat. His breathing was uneven. His cheeks were flushed just over
the edge of his beard. He was barely holding himself together, and she
hadn't done anything particularly noteworthy yet.
A fresh wave of arousal rushed through her and made her entire body
pulse with the pounding of her heart.
"Do you think I can get myself off in the length of time it takes you to
drive us to your house?" Danielle asked. She didn't recognize the husky
edge of her tone, but she welcomed it all the same.
"Oh, I don't doubt you're capable of doing anything you set your mind
to." Mr. Hughes breathed a low laugh. "It's not a long drive. But nothing's
ever stopped you from reaching your goals in the office before."
She smirked. The ease of their banter helped her relax further. "That
was different. Anything I do in the office, I do for you. Not for myself."
His grip on the wheel tightened. "Oh?"
"Do you want me to come, sir? Right here, in your car?"
Mr. Hughes seemed a step away from accidentally ripping a chunk out
of his vehicle. He released a shuddering groan, his brows descending in
focus. "You're going to make me cause an accident, aren't you?"
"Not today. Not if you're careful." Danielle pushed the thin fabric aside
and bared her hot pussy to the cool air conditioning. "Not if you keep your
eyes on the road and just listen to me touching myself."
"Danielle," he murmured with a certain urgency. "If you do this, I might
fuck you over the hood of my car the second I park it in the garage."
That desperation was all she needed to hear. "Then I can't wait for you
to fill me up with your cock."
As she slid through her silky folds, she collected ample, dripping
wetness to make her exploration easier. In the silence of the vehicle, the
sounds of her arousal were inescapable. Only a few rubs over her swollen
clit had her muscles clenching, needing the promised dick deep inside.
"Mmm..." Goosebumps rose all along her body as Danielle melted into
the seat. "I wish you knew how good this feels. All I can think about is how
you rubbed your cock all over my pussy until I came. How am I supposed
to look at your desk again, sir?"
"If thinking about it tortures you," Mr. Hughes rumbled, "then please
know you're not alone in that. Every day that I sit there, I have to remember
it. A meeting drags on, and all I see is your face in beautiful ecstasy."
For the first time, his words rang true without hesitation. A spark of
euphoria seared her gut, and butterflies burst free in its wake. He wasn't
lying to her. How would he? She had already seen the signs of his need for
her written all over him, from his face to his body language.
"It's a shame we can't start every day with a treat like that." Danielle
chewed on her bottom lip as she imagined it: delivering his mug of coffee,
pulling her skirt up, and sinking into his lap every single morning. Rocking
there. Her heels dangling above the floor. Keeping them both right at the
edge until Mr. Hughes scooped her up, sat her on the edge of his desk, and
gave them what they both wanted. She shuddered, new wetness dripping
from her hole. "It'd certainly keep our morale high when we had a stressful
deadline coming, wouldn't it?"
Mr. Hughes sucked in a long, audible breath. "The entire car smells like
you. Fuck, Danielle. Do you know how long it's been since I was so hard, it
hurt?"
She was ruining him just like this. He didn't want her to be reluctant. He
didn't need her to be anyone other than who she was. Just this. Only them.
With this crystal clear confirmation, she released every remaining
inhibition.
Words failed her. All she could manage was to look at Mr. Hughes and
drown in his handsome profile. She felt slightly manic, drinking in the
sharp point of his nose, the fullness of his mouth, and the softness of his
well-groomed beard. How were these the things that aroused her so
powerfully? It had nothing to do with his incredible cock. She didn't need to
see the more intimate parts of his body.
Just Victor Hughes. The man she loved.
Danielle's fingers picked up their pace. With her entire pussy now slick
enough that she met no resistance, she could rub herself off mercilessly,
driving herself faster and faster toward her peak.
As seconds ticked by in this foggy high, she lost control of her voice
and her expression. The familiar tight sensation of her forehead wrinkling
came as she arched her brows. Her jaw dropped. Husky, primal sounds
broke from her, more animalistic than human, every time she tasted those
sudden sparks of heated pleasure.
Mr. Hughes lost a little more of his composure every moment. He stole
one glance. Then another. He'd gone from a furiously fixated man to a
neglected puppy, desperate for any touch or treat that he could get.
At a stoplight right outside of a neighborhood, his eyes flicked upward
to hers. Their gazes locked. And for the first time, Danielle didn't look
away.
Mr. Hughes slammed one hand on the gearshift and gripped it tightly. "I
want so many things," he breathed. "So much of you."
"Take it," Danielle barely managed to say aloud. "Anything." She was
right there. Right at her peak. Even a single brush of his thumb over her clit
would send her spiraling. Whatever he wanted in this moment, she'd give it
to him without remorse.
But while she expected him to plunge fingers deep inside her, or for him
to grab her hand and put it on the tent in his slacks, he did something that
she hadn't thought would be anywhere near the forefront of his mind.
Mr. Hughes kissed her.
Danielle was so used to being little more than a hole. She was a body
that provided pleasure. She was made to be fucked, whether it was her
pussy, her ass, or her mouth. She reveled in it.
But with her entire body available to her, Mr. Hughes chose to cup her
face so tenderly in one palm and kiss her with the utmost gentleness. Even
the way he slipped his tongue forward to meet hers was careful.
And though Danielle was still reeling in her surprise, her body mewled
its approval with one bursting firework deep within her.
Danielle fed her long, trembling moan into Mr. Hughes's mouth, and he
sang his groan in response. She grabbed hold of his sleeve and held him
there as she rode the high of her orgasm—
And another far less patient horn rang out.
Mr. Hughes broke away with a muttered oath and took the turn into the
neighborhood an instant before the light turned red again, leaving one very
unhappy car far behind them.
Now that Danielle was a post-orgasmic mess whose body was still
recovering, she had little else to do but gawk at Mr. Hughes. And though he
was occupied with navigating the neighborhood's streets, he did steal one
more glance at her. "Are you all right?" he asked.
 She nodded. "You kissed me."
His neck colored a fresh shade of pink. "Was that a mistake?"
"No," she blurted. She had no doubt her cheeks were matching his blush
now. "No, I-I just... I liked it. But I didn't think you'd like it as much as I
did."
He weighed his thoughts. "I like a lot about you, Danielle."
Shy as speaking made her, she couldn't hold her own thoughts in. "I like
a lot about you too."
Right now she felt like a teenager in a debauched adult body. She still
hadn't put her panties and skirt to rights. Her pussy was only just now
stopping its rhythmic clenching as the last physical signs of her orgasm
slipped away. But here she was, confessing a crush on her boss, as though
she hadn't been out of school for a decade.
"I'm glad," Mr. Hughes murmured, his lips quirking. He seemed just as
sheepish about it as her.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 15

D anielle finally pushed her skirt down around her thick thighs. As
she sat a bit taller, she looked around, then froze as she drank in the
opulence of the houses.
They weren't mansions. It wasn't as though he lived in a massive,
guarded, gated community. But the homes were splendid. Danielle had
never been inside such large, comfortable houses. She'd spent her entire life
in apartments.
"These are lovely," she breathed. "They're all so unique. I'm not used to
seeing that anymore."
"I despise how formulaic most recent houses look. It's the differences
between them that give them character." Mr. Hughes frowned. "When I was
looking for the home I wanted to live in for the rest of my life, I didn't want
one that looked like it came out of a catalog. And though all of these houses
are a bit older and need more repair than others, I found one that suited me
quite well."
They certainly weren't boring either. Danielle was so used to white and
beige homes that as they drove past a large house that was a rich forest
green, her heart soared. Another had a brilliant garden in the front,
exploding with so much color in flowers and bushes that she leaned closer
to the window to drink it in.
"That's a lovely triad who lives there," Mr. Hughes pointed out.
"They've been together for years, as far as I can tell. They brought me an
apple pie when I moved in. I wasn't aware people even still did that, but
those three, they're quite spectacular. Most of those flowers you see in the
front are edible, and their backyard, where their food garden is, is
completely self-sustaining."
"They sound like wonderful people. They're together romantically? All
three of them?"
"They are," Mr. Hughes said slowly, stealing a peek at her.
Danielle's heart melted a little more. "Imagine being so lovable that not
just one, but two people want to hold you for the rest of their lives. I love
that for them so much."
Mr. Hughes smiled, his gaze flitting back to the road. "Indeed."
As they continued down the road, a brilliant shade of muted coral
caught her eye. "Oh, wow." Danielle leaned forward as she drank in the
beautiful shade of brick and decorative paneling of a house on the corner
lot. It was tipped with a roof that was a soft shade of green, and her entire
soul soared as she imagined being inside of it. "That one's amazing. I love
that Victorian style."
"Do you, now?"
"The turrets, the wraparound porch, the... Jesus, is that a gazebo
attached to that corner of the porch?"
"It is. It's my favorite place to read the newspaper."
Danielle's heart skipped a beat, and she whipped her head around. "You
live there? You're serious?"
His grin spread further, wrinkling the edges of his eyes. "Let's try the
key and find out."
As Mr. Hughes pulled up the long driveway, Danielle practically had
her face pressed against the window, drinking in every detail. "This is
incredible. It's beautiful. I-I mean, I knew you had wonderful taste, but I'm
just blown away by how lovely this home is even just from the outside."
"Then I hope the inside meets your tastes as well."
"If you designed it, then I know it will."
Mr. Hughes let out what sounded like a long and pleased sigh just as he
pulled into the garage built on the back of his property.
As the garage door shut behind them, it left them in the quiet isolation
of the car. For a moment they caught each other's eyes, staring, waiting for
the other to make the first move.
Mr. Hughes gulped, then opened his door. "I should give you a tour,
then."
 Danielle blinked. She waited a moment before she slipped out of her
own seat. Though Mr. Hughes was wandering toward the trunk, Danielle
matched him on the opposite side, making her way around the front of the
car.
She touched the metal. It was hot to the touch, but not enough to burn
her, even as she pressed down just above the engine firmly. "What
happened to you fucking me over the hood of your car?"
Mr. Hughes froze. He cleared his throat. "You'd like that?"
Danielle cocked her head so she could see him around the side of the
vehicle. "I like the thought of you losing yourself with me. No politeness.
None of your fancy words. I want to see your clothes wrinkled and ruined
because you can't hold yourself back from taking me."
His eyes widened. Even from this distance, she could see how his pupils
swelled, black and thick, obscuring so much of the icy blue of his irises.
Danielle knew she could make it easy on him. All she had to do was
perch on the edge of his car and pull her skirt up again.
But she'd done the heavy lifting before. She'd gifted him a hot, hungry
pussy on a silver platter, sprawled out on the edge of his desk for him to
take the second he stepped into his office.
He could show her how much he ached for her now.
Only two more seconds ticked by before he slammed his trunk shut
again and rounded the car. His expensive shoes clicked on the hard ground
beneath them both, and his entire body was shaped into a beacon of primal
need—fingers curled like clenching claws, broad shoulders curved, cock
impossibly hard in his slacks.
He grabbed her by the hips and pushed her forward, so she scrambled
for purchase on the hood of the car. She was barely in place before he
reached for her blouse and shoved it up in one smooth motion. The next
second, he pulled the cups of her bra down, and he sucked one sensitive
nipple into his mouth.
"Fuck!" Danielle locked her thighs around his hips and held him firm,
her head lolling back. "Fuck, fuck..."
Mr. Hughes growled as he fondled her breast and laved her nipple,
feasting on her like a man half-starved. If she'd thought she reached her
refractory period, one generous lick from his tongue informed her that she
was dead wrong.
 The moment his fingers found her pussy, she surrendered fully to him,
forcing him to hold her up with his other hand splayed against her spine.
The shock of skin-on-skin contact grounded and enflamed her all at once.
She hadn't thought the feel of fingers on her bare back, of all things, could
be so arousing.
She'd gone so long without the less intimate parts of her body being
touched. She'd forgotten... No, she'd never known how that little bit of
contact would make every part of her sing.
Soft kisses. Utmost care being taken to keep her body steady, unafraid
to hold her with one hand. These moments of gentleness ran head-on into
what she was used to—the overwhelming sexual tidal wave of her mouth or
pussy being used up and left behind.
It wasn't fair that Mr. Hughes barely had to do anything to snuff the
good sense out of her brain. One powerful hand. One hot mouth. One rich
moan. Everything coalesced into a perfect, safe place for her to let herself
be overwhelmed.
In his garage, on top of his car, of all things.
Exposure therapy, she thought wryly, is way more fun than I thought it'd
be.
"Fuck me…” They were completely alone—no coworkers who might
be listening in, no neighbors nearby. A chill rushed through her, chased
immediately by heat. She lifted her voice into a firmer command. "Fuck
me, sir."
Mr. Hughes's teeth scraped faintly over her nipple as he withdraw. He
rubbed his smooth beard over the fine skin, pinning her in place with a
feverish stare. "Gladly."
He was gentle as he laid her back on the hood of the car. It was
fascinating to watch him transition from taking the utmost care with her to
nearly ripping his belt in two. Mr. Hughes's fished his wallet from his back
pocket and pulled out another condom.
Danielle's heart skipped a beat in excitement. "I thought you were
planning for us to be good this week,” she teased.
"The best laid plans, and all that," he murmured, lips quirking in a
sheepish smile. "Aren't you glad I'm always prepared?"
Danielle reached for his tie and gave it a tug. "I bet you were a Boy
Scout."
 He met her gaze, smile shifting into a far more mischievous smirk.
"Maybe." He held up his first three fingers in a familiar salute, then reached
them to rub through her folds in a single slow push.
Danielle tipped her head back and moaned, eyes falling shut. "Sir..."
"I have you." The sound of the condom packet ripping open seemed to
echo in the small, warm, low-lit space. "You don't have to worry about
that."
As Mr. Hughes entered her, Danielle instinctively pulled her knees
closer to her chest, skirt riding up around her hips.
Strong hands met the back of her thighs and held her in place. "You are
so fucking beautiful..." The words were more rasp than language. He was
already unraveling.
"Take me. Please." Danielle shivered once more, even though her body
was warming to the hot metal beneath her. "Don't play with me. Don't tease
me. I need you."
"Yes," he whispered. "Fuck, Danielle..."
When the words fell away entirely, that was her favorite part. With
every slap of his balls against her, Danielle jolted an inch further back, until
she had to catch herself against the windshield with outstretched arms. Her
muscles ached. Being bent like a pretzel was painful and erotic all at once,
and as her muscles relaxed into it, soon there was nothing left but the
sweetness of pleasure.
Danielle panted like an animal in heat. She was too far gone in his
hands, his groans, his cock to be humiliated by the wet sounds of their
feverish fucking.
She didn't know what it was about Victor, that he could overtake her so
easily. His presence was so potent. Just the smell of him was enough to get
her wet on a weak day.
And today, she was certainly weak. She had no walls left standing to
protect her heart. This entire weekend, she wanted him to eat her alive.
In the end, a quieter orgasm overtook her, this one so gentle that it crept
in through her veins like a stranger. Soft, gasping breaths broke from her
with faint cries on their edges, and she grabbed for Victor's wrists in
stunned surprise at how exquisite it felt.
He twisted his hands and laced their fingers against her skin. In a flash,
his chest pressed against her legs, pinning her more completely as he kissed
her with a weak cry of his own.
 She'd never heard such a sound from him. Victor was powerful. Strong.
Everything about him was impeccably held together. But that one whimper
vibrating against her mouth was so different—almost like he was at the
edge of tears.
His hips bucked against her twice more, staggering and lost in rhythm,
and then the weight of him sank down. He opened her thighs to welcome
him more sweetly as he tipped his head and deepened the kiss.
Just the two of them, lost together in a world all their own.
Danielle broke one of their handholds, lifting her fingers to his face. As
she ran over his cheek, she found faint wetness on his skin, and she pulled
back from the kiss with a quick blink to reorient herself.
But before she could see him any clearer, Victor nuzzled her neck and
left one more kiss behind. "I should get you inside," he murmured, a quiet
chuckle following. "You absolutely...ruin me, Danielle Higgs."
Touched as she was by those quiet words, her heart still ached to know
if those were, in fact, tears that she'd felt. "Are you okay?"
"Yes." He stood tall and busied himself with removing the condom.
With how low the light was in the garage with the door closed behind them,
she couldn't get a good look at his face. But his mouth, that was visible
enough. A smile like that could light the entire world. "I...yes. Very. I didn't
hurt you, did I?"
"No." Sore as she was, her heart was blisteringly on fire for the man
above her.
"Good." Gentle fingers smoothed her clothes back into place before he
took her hand and coaxed her to her feet. When she teetered for a moment
on her heels, he caught her against his chest.
Strong arms slid around her waist and for a strange, floating moment, he
simply held her.
As she buried her face in his shirt and breathed in the scent of his
cologne, she found her own eyes going wet as well. "Mr. Hughes?"
"Will you call me Victor?"
She dug up a fistful of his jacket. "Can I?" she asked on a far fainter
whisper.
After a moment of pause, Victor kissed the top of her head. "I would
very much like to hear you call me by my name anytime you want."
It didn't seem real. She'd spent three entire years with this man at the top
of a pedestal. She'd respected the necessary distance between them, happy
to carry a secret infatuation until they eventually went their separate ways.
Danielle had prepared herself for a long life of loneliness, never being
fulfilled in the ways the rest of the world took for granted.
His name had been anathema. Not allowed. Sinful. Even to speak it in
her mind had seemed an invasion of privacy. In the rare moments that it
bubbled up, like only moments ago, she’d squash it back down soon after.
She hadn't realized how far gone she'd let herself go—how she didn't
think she deserved these small, simple courtesies.
She loved this man. She had a creeping feeling he loved her in return.
But God, if she couldn't even call him by his name openly without him
giving her permission, how could she share the depths of her adoration for
him first?
Danielle sucked in a deep, courageous breath. At the very least, she
could ask for something she wanted in return. "Will you call me Danielle
whenever you want to as well?"
The mark of Victor’s lips on her forehead was more shockingly intimate
than one might have been on her mouth. "Yes, Danielle. I'll say it as often as
you wish."
The very air around them was tremulous. It quivered as though it knew
that so many words were being left unsaid. Secrets were made be shared.
Hearts, it turned out, were made to be open.
But there was anticipation as well. They had an entire weekend ahead of
them, and everything was starting so well.
Unable to stop herself, Danielle lit up with a brilliant smile. "Will you
show me your home, Victor?"
At the sound of his name, he let out a quiet breath of his own.
"Happily."

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 16

F rom the moment they stepped inside the house, Danielle was
already overwhelmed with everything there was to see. She'd
always thought of a Victorian structure as being stately and elegant, but she
was still taken aback by the richness of the colors he'd used to decorate.
Victor slipped off his shoes into a small rack at the entryway, and
Danielle quickly followed. She nearly lost her balance while she craned her
neck to study every painting in sight.
"These are so lovely," she breathed. When she was finally free of her
shoes, she stood in front of a landscape in particular. She had no expertise
in visual art specifically, but she recognized the soft texture of an
Impressionistic style. Bright and vivid flowers in pinks, oranges, and blues
stretched out infinitely through grassy plains. In the distance, two shapes
stood beside a lake. A secret meeting, perhaps.
"Thank you." Victor stood just behind her, drinking it in as well. "It's a
bit silly. I picked out every piece of art in my home, but once I've hung
them up, I sometimes forget to actually appreciate them. I'm glad to have a
pair of fresh eyes to remind me."
"Is there more?" Danielle peeked up at him.
His lips quirked, eyes sparkling. "Yes. Many. I'd love to have an entire
gallery room that I could fill with paintings. I've already bought so many
that I'm afraid if I put anything else on my walls, it'll look crowded."
Danielle's mind buzzed with the puzzle, and she cocked her head. "It all
depends on the space you set up. If you arranged them just so, making sure
everything looked complementary... No, I think there's a way to set up an
entire room of art." She paused. "It might look a little ostentatious, of
course."
"We wouldn't want that," Victor drawled as he took her hand and led her
further in.
The more they walked, the more Danielle got the joke. His house wasn't
overly gilded by any means, but every room they passed reeked of
expensive taste.
What struck her most potently was Victor's adoration of dark wood.
Blessed as he was with large windows in almost every room, none of the
spaces were overtaken by the rich tones of black walnut and mahogany. But
there was a certain heaviness nonetheless. Stature, so to speak.
Much like the man guiding her through each space.
When they arrived in the master bedroom, Victor set her bag at the foot
of the bed, and Danielle spun in a slow circle, taking in the powerful
statement pieces: the massive bed and the large armoire. But when her eyes
caught sight of the bathroom—and specifically the large, luxurious shower
and jacuzzi tub—she hurried to the door to drink it all in.
"Do you like it?" Victor teased.
"Mr. Hughes, you..." She hesitated. "Victor." A hard habit to break.
"You've been holding out on me. My God. I might just live in this tub for
the entire weekend."
He chuckled. "Do I get to join you?"
"I'd be insulted if you didn't." She lightly poked his side, and when he
squirmed away, she made the amused mental note that he might be ticklish.
Victor caught her hand and entwined their fingers. "Are you hungry? Do
you want to change into something more comfortable?"
She considered. "Yes, I think, on both accounts."
"What would you like to eat tonight?"
Danielle's cheeks flushed all over again. He never asked her this when
they were working. It was her job to get him what he wanted. It was as if
every food she'd ever enjoyed had been wiped from her memory. But the
longer Victor stared at her, the more she was uncomfortably aware of her
own silence. "I would like...whatever you want."
He quirked a brow. "Really?"
"Yes." She drew out the word for a few beats longer than necessary,
unsure if it was the correct answer or not.
 The way he frowned told her that it was, in fact, wrong. Her stomach
flipped over, and she looked away.
"I'm not sure if I really know what you like to eat." Victor lifted her
hand and left a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "I think I should."
Her mind rushed through some of the restaurants he requested most
frequently, keen to avoid rejection by choosing something he wasn't in the
mood for. But everything was so strange. So different. Now that she was in
his home, and as Danielle, no less, she struggled to pick up the familiar
cadence of serving him.
"You're thinking too hard." His other hand touched the rumpled
consternation on her forehead and smoothed it back out. "What's on your
mind?"
"I-I..." Danielle shook her head, trying to clear the clutter.
"You can be honest with me, Danielle. You're here as my guest."
Honesty seemed dangerous. She swallowed hard. "I don't want to pick
something you don't want."
"What do you think will happen if you do?" he gently coaxed.
Danielle tried to stare the fear down, picking it apart piece by piece. "I
think...you might decide I'm too much trouble. I'm not used to calling the
shots between us. I'm your personal assistant. You tell me what you need,
and I get it for you. My interests don't come into the picture."
When Victor drew her back into his arms, she found it was easier to
melt into his hold this time. As he spoke, she listened to his chest vibrating
under her ear, and it soothed some of her anxiety. "Danielle, when we're out
of the office...you're not my personal assistant. You're a woman with your
own mind, heart, and desires. You know what you enjoy. And if I ask for
something you'd like, it's because I want you to have what you want. Not
me. Does that make sense?"
"It does." She huffed and nuzzled into his warmth. "It's hard, though.
Undoing three years of habit isn't as easy as it should be."
He pushed the hair out of her face. "I was afraid of that. It's a little bit
like teetering on a wire, isn't it? Figuring out how to change how we
interact. It's not like we can just pick up and put down how we work
together."
Danielle nodded. "It's my job to help you with whatever you need. And
when I'm off the clock, transitioning out of that headspace is more difficult
than I thought."
 "Well. When you're here, I'm not Mr. Hughes. You're not Miss Higgs.
We're equals. And tonight, I want to order whatever it is you want to eat."
She peered deeply into the dark void of uncertainty, and what she saw in
the distance made her smile. "Maybe...some fried chicken."
Victor leaned back slightly, and she peeked up at him. He was visibly
holding back a laugh. "A woman of refined taste, I see." But before she
might feel the instinct to apologize and take it back, he followed up quickly.
"Fries? Onion rings?"
"Fries."
"Perfect." He stole a quick kiss before stepping out of her arms. "I'm
going to order dinner. You get changed into something comfortable. And
we'll go from there. All right? No expectations, plans, or demands." His
gaze softened. "I asked you here so I can get to know who Danielle Higgs is
under the surface. Whatever you want to give me, I'll take."
Danielle’s heart soared. She nodded.
He smiled and walked toward the door.
Just before he could disappear, Danielle perked up. "I know you're not
Mr. Hughes, and I'm not Miss Higgs. But do I still get to call you sir?"
He paused, fingers squeezing the doorframe. After a moment to collect
himself, he looked over his shoulder with eyes of blue fire. "As long as
you're prepared for the consequences of your own actions."
She grinned like a gremlin, and he dipped his head in acknowledgment
before he left.
As Danielle took care of her business in the bathroom—terrified as she
was that she'd ruin such a perfect toilet just by sitting on it—she let her
mind wander to her suitcase. Comfortable. What was the best thing for her
to put on? She had pajamas, but slipping into those at 6:30pm seemed silly.
She'd tucked some loungewear into her bag as well, but as she washed her
hands, she caught herself panicking that it wasn't sexy enough.
He's already fucked you over the hood of his car. He needs a break.
Please get out of a skirt for two minutes without worrying you're not hot
enough for him.
Pep talk received, Danielle dressed in the soft blue tones of her
loungewear, appreciating as always how the loose folds of the velvety
material made her feel both sleek and cozy in her full-figured body.
Danielle wandered through the hallways, studying the elegant portraits
and expansive landscapes. She paused in front of a brilliant beach
landscape, where the waves of the ocean stretched into eternity. It had been
so long since she felt the sun on her skin somewhere like that.
Maybe she and Victor could—
A day at a time, sweetie. Maybe you get to the point where you're brave
enough to tell him that you're in love with him before you start planning
elaborate vacations together.
Her lips quirked, and she continued on her way.
When she reached the kitchen, Victor had a silver laptop on the counter
in front of him, and his lips were pursed as he frowned at the screen. He
showed none of the hesitancy regarding technology that she was used to
seeing in others of his age, but she itched to hand him his reading glasses all
the same.
As she didn't want to disturb his concentration, she looked around the
massive open space, studying the dangling light fixture overhead and the
impeccable appliances. The amount of counter space he had filled her with
a more professional sense of lust—what she wouldn't give to spread out like
this in her own small apartment.
But at the end of the counter, something caught her eye. A photo frame.
In it was a young child, two or three, wearing a bright red, floofy dress and
a poinsettia hairclip. They sat in the lap of a Santa, grinning through too-
long blonde curls.
She paused with a frown. Of all the things that she expected, a picture
of a child in Victor Hughes's house was not one of them.
Her mind raced. Never once had she seen a family photo of any kind on
his desk. She supposed this could be the child of one of his siblings, if he
even had any.
She knew so little about him even still.
"Food will be here in around half an hour." Victor's voice cut through
her contemplative concentration. "Ah, you've found Roxie. Adorable, isn't
she?"
Danielle wasn't alarmed nor was she afraid. But she'd be lying if she
said she wasn't curious. "She's super cute. God, look at all that hair. She
looks like a little cherub."
"She's never really tolerated haircuts very well, as far as I can tell."
Victor came up behind her and squeezed her shoulders. "That's what Greg
says, at least."
Danielle tipped her head back and studied him upside down. "Greg?"
 Yet again, his cheeks went pink just above his silver beard. Victor held
her gaze intently as he responded. "Greg's my ex-husband. This is his
daughter, Roxie. He and his husband, Jay, welcomed her via surrogate
around two and a half years ago."
That was an incredible amount of information descending on her all at
once. Initially, she felt the sting of never having know any of this. But
seconds later, she knew just as well why he'd played it so close to his chest.
They were from completely different eras, really. As a multisexual man
hitting adolescence in the 1980s, he might have learned very early on to
hold certain personal details about his sexuality close to his chest.
As it was, the two of them had only recently embarked on a new phase
of their relationship, where they were allowing small peeks into their
private lives. To go from a solely working relationship to something far
more intimate was going to throw a few stumbling blocks in the way.
And either Danielle could let herself be tripped up by them—or she
could be wise and step around them instead.
"She's one of the sweetest little ones I've ever seen," Danielle looked
back down at the photo. "Look at how her eyes are twinkling. You can
already tell she's going to be mischievous."
"Oh, absolutely. If it's not in her genes, it's certainly in her parenting."
Victor tucked her in his arms and held her tight. He seemed to sag with
relief, clinging to her for a long moment. "Greg and I don't talk as much
these days, like you might expect. But he and Jay see me as sort of an uncle
to Roxie. I'm fortunate to see them over holidays."
"That's interesting. Forgive me for saying this, but I'm not used to many
exes having long-term connections with each other after their marriages
end, especially when any kids involved aren't mutually theirs."
"It's a fair point." Victor kissed her cheek. "Would you come sit with me
for a while so we can talk?"
Thrills and nerves burst inside her in equal measures. "Sure." Danielle
set the photo frame down on the counter and let him take her hand and walk
her into his living room.
As they sank down onto a brown leather couch together, he lifted his
arm, and Danielle boldly slipped under it.
Victor stretched his long legs out and studied the opposite wall in deep
contemplation. After a beat of silence, he began to speak. "Greg and I were
together since college. We were the sort of couple that everyone said
wouldn't work out. He was wildly extroverted, a musical theater major,
filled with big dreams of how he was going to be the next big actor on
Broadway. Meanwhile, I wanted nothing more than to be tucked in a little
studio somewhere, sawing wood, shaping raw materials into art."
He huffed out a quiet laugh. "Needless to say, we were long distance for
entire years after college. Greg snagged a few amazing roles on the stage. I
worked on designing and building. We mastered our respective crafts in our
own way. And then he hurt his leg."
Danielle's heart broke. "God, no."
"Indeed." Victor squeezed her arm, then snuggled in closer. "He's a
stubborn man. Always has been, always will be. After ten years of dating,
we moved in together." He paused. "I think that was the first time we
realized exactly how much we clashed. I was used to having my own space.
He was hungry to fill it with people every weekend for parties. When Greg
had gotten through the bare minimum of his recovery, he was ready to take
me out dancing, and I was desperate for him to stay home and keep
resting."
She buried her face in his chest. With how controlled Victor was, she
couldn't imagine how he must've felt, watching the private place he'd set up
for himself start to crumble. Pair that with the fear of his lover pushing his
injured body to reckless limits, and it must have been a fragile time for
them both.
A few more moments passed, and Victor sighed. "I'm not even sure how
we got through that period. It was tense, to say the least. But when you've
been with someone for that long, they become a part of you. You're
reluctant to let them go, even if you know in your soul that you're not made
for forever."
"But you married him anyway?" Danielle wrinkled her brow.
"You must know how incredible 2015 was for so many of us." Victor
closed his eyes. "For the first time, there was no more jumping through
hoops to make sure our life partner was on our medical insurance. No more
worrying about who would have control over our decisions, if we passed on
early. No more asking ourselves if one of us should legally adopt the other,
just so we'd be able to have the right to take care of each other in the eyes
of the law."
She'd been living in a fugue state around that time, if she remembered
correctly. Nick still had her in the palm of his hand. It was so strange to
think of what must've been a freeing, celebratory year for Victor having
been barely a blip during her own extended trauma.
Victor found her hand and wrapped it gently in his own as he continued.
"By that time, I'd moved to New York City with Greg. He'd finally accepted
he'd never be the star he wanted to be. He'd turned to choreography—and, if
I can say so, he’s damn good at it. He has a way of working with young
actors that blows me away. They're so eager to listen to him."
Victor paused. "But I digress. At that point, we were holding onto the
familiarity of our relationship. We were both too career-driven to seek much
more than basically being best friends who had sex from time to time. We
married because it was what we needed to get by—to keep ourselves safe."
As he played with her fingers, Victor dipped his head and huffed. "I
think we knew even then that it wasn't going to last. A few years went by,
and the city had finally broken me. I had to come back here. I needed quiet.
Rest. And he needed the stage." His voice dropped to a soft murmur. "I'll
always be grateful that we didn't hold anything against each other. We're
different people. In a perfect world, the constant racket of cars and life itself
wouldn't have driven me mad. Greg wouldn't have picked the only career
that required him to sell his soul to a big city just to survive. But we are
who we are. And now we're not together. And that's perfectly fine."
The deep honesty he'd shared with her touched Danielle deeper than she
thought possible. She kissed his hand and held him closer. "Thank you for
telling me. God. I can't imagine the life you've lived." She chuckled. "It
makes my own seem so small in comparison."
"You have far more time left ahead of you than you think. You'll be able
to make all the waves that you want to—and none of the ones that you
don't."
"You're sweet to say that." Danielle's mind wandered to people like
Sherry, who's been nonmonogamous for years now, and Victor's comment
about the triad that lived in his neighborhood. Suddenly it seemed crucial to
cover a few more points. "Are you still in love with Greg?"
"No." The word came quickly and with confidence. "I have to admit
that the way my heart works has always been a bit...strange to most
people." Victor slowed again, each sentence shaped with the utmost care.
"We didn't really have a word for it for a long time. The way I'm
romantically attracted to people is unique. I have to get to know them
before I feel any spark at all—and once it's there, sometimes it flits and
falls."
Danielle had spent far too much time on the Internet. Words sprang
immediately to mind like a vocabulary test. "Demiromantic, grayromantic,
something like that. Is that right?"
"I believe that might be what people call it nowadays. For all I know,
that’ll change within the decade. I don't really see the purpose in trying to
pin down exactly who I am with language, as fragile as it is. Sometimes I
love. Sometimes I don't. But that desire for closeness and intimacy and a
long-term relationship is always deep inside me, even if the butterflies
aren't there."
The long period of Victor never having a photo on his desk suddenly
made sense. But something squirmed in Danielle's gut as well: uncertainty.
Her hand tightened around his.
Victor cleared his throat. "Can I be honest about something with you?"
"We're already on a roll," Danielle murmured, fighting back a nervous
smile. "I don't see why we should stop now."
"Fair. Danielle, what I feel for you is..." He paused, then turned so he
could stare into her eyes. "I am overwhelmed sometimes by how many
things I feel when I look at you. I'm not used to them. They scare the shit
out of me." Victor chuckled. There was just as powerful an anxious gleam
in his own gaze. "But I know what it is, even if I'm not used to it. I care
about you. Deeply. Romantically, sexually, platonically. Everything
coalesces into this cocktail that I'm getting drunk on. But I need you to tell
me if it's all right for me to feel all of this—or if it's just going to complicate
things."
Danielle's eyes widened. This was everything she'd hoped to hear. Her
whole soul was soaring with the big, fluffy clouds high overhead. "I-I..."
She shook her head in wonder. "Forgive me for asking, Victor, but why
would it complicate things any more than we already have?"
"Because you told me you were happy with how things already were.
Sneaking sexts. Chasing away the loneliness we might feel." Victor drew
back an inch, as if preparing for a blow. "I don't want to be a selfish bastard
who locks someone in. If all you want from me is sex, I'm all right with
that. But the last thing I want is for both of us to think this is something
different than what it is—and for it to blow up in our faces when one of us
expects more."
 She gaped at him. "I'm so sorry. When I said that I was happy with how
things were, I didn't realize it might've scared you to ask for more."
Victor's gaze softened. "Then why did you say it? Didn't you mean it?"
"I meant it in one way, and in another, it was a lie." She touched her
aching heart and felt how fiercely it pounded beneath her palm. "I couldn't
imagine a world where Victor Hughes saw me as anything other than a
sexual tool. And I meant it when I said I was okay if that was all I ever got
to be."
The last word broke, and Danielle struggled to even out her tone.
"Victor, I feel so much for you. It's powerful and all-encompassing. It's
everything. And if I risked telling you that I cared about you as more than a
sexual fling, then I would've been opening myself up to being irreparably
hurt. It's a miracle I managed to fall for someone again at all, after Nick."
Victor touched her cheek and thumbed over her warm skin. "You've
been hurt. I've been hurt. We've both been wrecked backwards and forwards
in so many ways. But what I want you to hear right now is that I'm not
looking for something cheap and easy. I'm tired of forcing myself to be
lonely. And if you want to be a part of my life, then I'll have you in any way
you choose."
"Even if I'm still your personal assistant?"
Silence spread between them. That was complicated, and they both
knew it. The amount of gossip that would spread the second they were open
about their status as a couple was outrageous. It didn't take much
imagination for Danielle to picture the cruelty that could be whispered
behind her back.
"Let's get through the weekend first." Victor leaned in, leaving the
gentlest kiss on her lips. “Maybe you'll see the way I cook my eggs, and
you'll hate me."
Danielle burst into laughter. As serious of a man as Victor was, he
always knew how to utilize that dry sense of humor to his best advantage.
She nodded. "Okay. We'll start there."
"Good." From so close, his eyes were whirlpools of emotion, sucking
her deeper and deeper within. He lingered there so close that the tips of
their noses brushed, then pulled away slowly, as though she was a magnet
that he had to struggle against. "I'm going to go change. Then we can keep
talking over dinner. All right?"
"Sounds perfect."
 Victor disappeared down the hallway, and Danielle kept her spot on the
couch. She studied the high ceiling of the main room. She couldn't imagine
having all this space to herself and no other company inside it. Her tiny
apartment suited her, but if she had to live somewhere bigger with only her
own thoughts, she thought she might go mad.
Not for the first time, she considered getting herself a cat. Maybe Victor
would like one too.
When the doorbell rang, Danielle went to receive the food. In a moment
of awkwardness, she realized she didn't have her wallet on her to pass over
a tip, in case he hadn't provided one digitally.
"It's already taken care of," Victor said from behind her. He put a hand
on Danielle's back and ushered her away from the door with a smile. But
when she peeked over her shoulder at him, she caught a quick glimpse of
him pressing yet another wad of bills into the delivery person's palm.
Danielle began unpacking the bag of fast food, her mouth already
watering from the smell. Maybe it was silly to want greasy, crispy chicken
strips and a mountain of french fries when she could've had steak—but,
really, who was getting steak delivered anyway? If she wanted to curl up
happily at home, then she wanted her plate to be full of comfort food.
Another time, she could get dolled up and go out for steak or lobster
with Victor, where they could flirt over the table while teasing each other
beneath it.
She stirred at the mere thought.
As Victor wandered into the kitchen, she looked up and accidentally
dropped the bag of french fries she'd been handling.
"Are you okay?" He chuckled.
"Yes. Yeah, absolutely." Danielle's gaze wandered down his body. "I-
I've just never seen you dressed down before."
Victor's grin widened. "What are your thoughts on the matter?"
She wanted to be sexy. Really, she did. She'd been doing a great job of it
so far. But as she drank in the sight of her handsome lover in well-fitted,
soft charcoal lounge pants and a creamy t-shirt that hugged his torso
impeccably, somehow she struggled for words. "Good." That was all she
could manage.
He laughed again, bright and pleased, and circled the counter to bring
down two plates for them from a massive cabinets. "Good. I'll take that."
 "It's different. But I like it a lot." She squirmed in place, trying to
recenter her thoughts from how great his ass looked in cozy sleep pants. "It
makes me feel...welcome, I guess. Knowing you're not afraid to show me
the side of you that you only let out at home."
"I want you to see it," he murmured.
Danielle fought the urge to preen.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 17

T hey ate at the breakfast table in the kitchen, right by a massive

picture window. As Danielle looked over the backyard, she found
her mind wandering through possibilities. There was so much that could
still be done in this space. She wondered if Victor might like a sitting area
on his patio; it wouldn't take long for a landscaper to sculpt a stunning
garden for him to admire while he ate his breakfast.
The entire house inspired her, really. All of it bled Victor from every
nook and cranny, but something in the back of her mind whispered about
small personal touches that he could still add.
Victor was washing their dishes when Danielle found herself back in the
main room. A lamp sat on an end table by the couch, and she studied how it
lit the space.
"You're thinking so loudly, I can practically hear it from here," Victor
drawled. He stood beside her, arms crossed. "What's in your lovely head?"
"Oh, I don't..." Danielle chewed on the inside of her cheek. It seemed
presumptuous to say.
Victor leaned down, his mouth an inch away. "Say it. I want to know."
His hot breath tickled over the shell of her ear, and she was helpless to
hold back. "I don't think the lamp is best used right here."
"Oh?" He stood tall. "And why is that?"
"It's not providing very much light, is it? And it's taking up the entire
end table. What if you need it for a glass, a book, something like that?"
"To be fair, I spend most of my time in my study." Victor ran calloused
fingers running through his beard. "What do you recommend?"
Danielle faltered. "I'm not sure."
 "I think you have something in mind." The velvety soft words were a
comfort, coaxing her blossoms to open. "I'd like it if you shared your
thoughts with me."
"But it's your space," she pointed out. "If you chose where to put
everything, it’s rude for someone to tell you that they don’t like it.”
He laughed again. She'd never gotten to hear his joy so often before.
"Danielle, I'm a carpenter-turned-businessman. I was never an interior
designer. If I put something in my house, it's because I thought it was lovely
—but that doesn't mean I put it in the right place."
Danielle stammered for a moment, trying to gather herself, then pushed
on. "I think a lamp like this is overwhelmed by such a large space. It's made
to give soft light to a room, right? It might be better in a library setting, or
by a reading chair. Here, it's doing very little to keep the space lit. I'd get a
floor lamp, maybe, something that can stand up to the rich furniture in here.
I think you'd be very happy with it."
Victor tilted his head. After a moment, he turned off the lamp, then
unplugged it from the wall.
As he began to leave the room, Danielle flapped her hands. "Okay, but
you see how leaving it dark is worse, right? That wasn't what I meant—"
"I have a library," he called over his shoulder. "Why don't you come
help me find the right place for this lamp?"
A library? A whole library in your own house? She stared after him,
struck silent, before quickly following him up the stairs.
This was a whole new floor to explore, and her heart thrust itself into
her throat. Imagine being able to live so comfortably—yet be so alone. She
hurried past door after door, all the way to the open one at the end of the
hallway.
He hadn't been lying. Endless bookshelves covered the walls from floor
to ceiling, leaving only a small space vacant for a reading seat tucked into a
beautiful bay window. Most of the shelves were filled, but there were whole
areas left bare, ready to be filled.
"To be fair," Victor said, calling her attention back to him, "I've been
thinking about how dimly lit this space is. But with everything we've been
dealing with regarding Renfield, I haven't had much time for reading."
Danielle nodded. She tented her hands over her lips, trying to admire
the room while also inviting quiet intuition. "Well...the bay window there,
you'd be most inclined to read in it during the day, when you have all that
beautiful sunlight pouring in. So I wouldn't put the lamp there. Any lighting
in that area, I think it would be better if it was in the wall, or very slim,
something unobtrusive that you can simply turn on if you're getting too lost
in a book before dinner."
Victor hummed. "I'll keep that in mind."
"But a lamp of this size would go better with a reading chair." She spun
in a slow circle, taking in the placement of the chairs around the room.
There were only two, tucked close together on a lovely rug that had such
vibrant colors, it made her chest burn with inspiration. She wanted to
sprawl out on top of it with book after book for hours.
Danielle flitted across the room, fingers brushing over the soft fabric of
the chair before she tugged. She arranged both chairs at different angles, so
that the two reading together could be close, but not intruding on the other's
space. "Two end tables. One on either side. I think it could divide the space
in a really fun way. See how you've got this rug spread out? It's already
perfect. It tucks the readers in their own sort of sub-room in the library
proper."
"Wouldn't that cause the same problem you mentioned earlier, though?"
It was as though he was quizzing her, tickling her brain. "If you have a lamp
on each table, then there's no room for a cup of coffee, a book, anything like
that."
Danielle pursed her lips in a pout. With a few more moments of
thought, specific tables came to mind. "There are these absolutely splendid
ones that are in the showroom, actually, if they haven't already been sold.
They'd be the perfect size for a lamp like this, with space for a drink, a
snack, anything like that. Obviously if you pile too much on any table, it
gets too cluttered, but—" She cut herself off when she saw the way that
Victor was watching her.
Danielle's mouth went dry, and she twisted a lock of hair around her
finger. "I think I'm being a little obtrusive here. This is your space. I don't
know why I'm just going off like this."
"Because you have lovely ideas," Victor murmured. "Because you've
got a head for this. Have you ever studied interior design?"
"No. I mean, I watch design shows. I read articles, browse the Internet,
play little phone games about designing things. Like, the stuff that
everybody does."
 His lips quirked. "I think you have a knack for it. And I like that when I
challenged your idea, you didn't back down right away." He stepped closer,
rubbing his hand up and down her spine. "You did back down after a
second. But I think that's something you'll get better at."
Danielle chuckled. "You want me to tell you you're wrong about
things?"
"I want you to feel safe to be able to say it. Whether my pride is hurt or
not, there's no harm in a discussion, is there?"
"No." She frowned up at him. "But I don't want your pride to be hurt."
"If it is, I'm sure you'll find creative ways to make it up to me." He
kissed her and brought a smile back to her face.
Having him so close, feeling intellectually stimulated and creatively
charged, Danielle tucked one finger in his waistband and pulled him in for a
deeper kiss. "You haven't showed me your office yet."
"I haven't, have I?" Victor asked on a rough tone.
"The place you spend most of your time." Another smooch stolen.
"Where you drink your whiskey and think about your pretty personal
assistant on her knees for you."
Victor's entire body seemed to ripple with anticipatory heat, radiating
his aching desire. But as he tucked her hair behind her ears, his voice stayed
quiet. "You don't have to do that for me. You don't ever have to do anything
you don't—"
"Sir." That one word cut him off into a shivery silence. "I promise that
I'll never think I have to submit to sex without me wanting it, as long as you
promise never to take it unless you want it. Fair?"
Victor nodded quickly. "Incredibly fair."
On one hand, she delighted in the fact that he was careful enough with
his knowledge of her trauma to make sure she wasn't leaning into old
expectations.
On the other, Danielle Higgs was an adult. She was comfortable with
her high libido. And she never wanted her lover to make her feel like she
was misinterpreting it, or making it up for their sake.
"I want to know," she murmured, inching closer and closer on her
tiptoes, "what your wonderful cock feels like in my mouth." And when she
touched his pelvis, his body immediately responded. The faint swell of
interest stirred, giving one unexpected twitch before Victor released a
shivery sigh.
 "If you want to put your pretty mouth around me, then who am I to say
no?" Victor drawled. He took her hand and led her behind him.
With every step they took, Danielle's desire grew. This mindset was
familiar. She wanted to be taken, used, and wrecked—and had so very little
interest in her own release. Consider it a fixation, so to speak, one that had
her mouth watering and her knees ready to be bruised by the hardwood
floor.
But for the first time, she felt safe in this tunnel-visioned lust. There was
no fear in being seen, no embarrassment in having Victor know how
precisely she wanted to be little more than a vessel for his pleasure.
If those rough, yet teary moments in the garage were any indication, he
was keen on worshipping her with a similar fixation. So why should she be
shy about saying what she wanted to do to him?
In these moments, nothing mattered except for the quiet, starved urge to
be good.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 18

V ictor guided her down the stairs with the utmost care. As he turned
briefly at the base of them to assure himself that Danielle reached
the bottom safely, a quick glance showed him how hard he was and how
flushed his throat remained. She'd never seen the signs of her exciting
someone quite this vividly.
It was addictive.
Victor nudged the office door open. "Would you like a tour?"
"I'll take one after I've swallowed your cum," she teased, and was
rewarded by how quickly his jaw dropped.
"You're insatiable." Victor coaxed her further into the room with a
gentle hand on the small of her back. "How am I ever going to keep up with
someone as incredible as you?"
"From what I've heard, practice makes perfect." The moment Danielle
caught sight of the massive chair behind a stately, black walnut desk, she let
his hand go and put both palms on his chest. Little by little, she pushed him
back, holding his gaze the entire time. "Don't worry, sir. We'll build up your
stamina again before you know it."
As he landed in his chair, all the air escaped him. He spread his strong
thighs instinctively, feet flat on the floor, and watched as she dropped to her
knees. "I can give you a pillow. That can't be comfortable."
"I don't want it to be comfortable." The words left her mouth without
thought, but Danielle realized it was true. Pain had such a grounding effect.
Whether her legs were numb over her head at Cherry Street, or whether her
knees were burning while she walked to her car after sucking a stranger's
cock, she reveled in the ache. She loved being so present in her body.
 The difference now was that she wouldn't have to go home alone—or be
abandoned with the taste of bitter cum on the back of her tongue by a
partner who never gave a shit about her in the first place.
This was different. Victor didn't expect anything. He watched Danielle
unblinkingly as she slid under his desk with a coy gleam in her eye. His
nostrils flared as his cock tented his pants. His expression was stunned and
reverent all at once, as though she was a goddess who had come to bless
him with her presence.
The tender way he ran his fingers through her hair broke her and healed
her in equal measures.
"I can go find a condom for you," he murmured. "You don't need to do
this unprotected, if you don't want to."
Danielle got more comfortable under the desk while her fingers ran up
and down the soft material over his thighs. "When was the last time you
were tested?"
Victor breathed a soft laugh. "Last week, actually."
She understood. One didn't mess around at Cherry Street, even with
condoms, without running regular tests to make sure they knew how their
body was functioning.
"The results were all negative. But if you don't like the taste of someone
ejaculating, for example, then I don't want you to have to suffer through that
either."
"You are so fucking sweet and attentive." Danielle shook her head. "I
need you to start giving classes on checking in with your partner. I can think
of a few people who need them."
Though the conversation was light, when she reached for his waistband
and began pulling his bottoms down, Victor still leaped as though his entire
body was a live wire. "Perhaps I should." The words were far more airy.
She took that as a win, smirking up at him. "Are you getting a little
distracted, sir?"
His cock bounced free from his clothes, immediately pointing straight at
the ceiling. "I've never been able to focus while you were around."
Her eyes widened. "Never?"
"Never."
To think that for three years, she'd been harboring these secret feelings
for her boss, and here he'd been doing the same. It was unfathomable.
 It also served to drive the screaming hunger in her brain a notch higher.
Salivating, she leaned in and wrapped her lips around him.
She'd thought to tease him at first. Keep him hovering at the edge of
release. Inch him closer and closer to the breaking point. All of that
sounded lovely. But now her heart was bursting in her chest.
Victor was here with her. He was watching her with an open mouth and
raw, thick gasps that almost sounded pained. His fingers were still so gentle
through the strands of her dark hair, never clenching, never dragging her in
for more than she was ready to give.
"Danielle," he whispered, half-broken.
If she thought she didn't want to make him come as fast as possible,
then she was fooling herself.
It had been a little while since she properly utilized her mouth, and as
she took him deeper, she reminded her jaw to relax. The hot, veiny length
slid slowly up the length of her tongue. She marked the flavor of him,
memorizing it. She let the weight of his cock settle into place, where she
could cradle it and suck the life out of him simultaneously.
Danielle had forgotten how sweet it was to lose herself in this. Just this.
Just the rhythmic flow of pleasing someone.
Her mind always went a little hazy in these situations. She couldn't
describe why. It was as though an oral fixation and submissive tendencies
combined to leave her just a wee bit high, until her eyelashes were
fluttering.
Her lids went heavy, and Danielle let them close as she hummed around
his cock, tightening her slick mouth around him as she bobbed her head.
His sounds of pleasure met her through a wind tunnel, wavering,
distant. She lost herself in the tickling of her scalp as his short nails
scratched along it. The faster she moved her head, the filthier she felt her
mouth become, saliva dripping from her lips down her chin.
She was a mess of a creature, all primal urges and no good sense, and
she loved every second of it.
"Good," Victor managed above her in between ragged moans. "Oh, so
fucking good, Danielle..."
Good. The word was more satisfying than a hot cup of coffee. She dug
her fingers into his thighs as she let out another weak sound of happiness.
She wanted more. She wanted to show him exactly how much he
deserved this ecstasy. Victor Hughes was the best man she'd ever met. And
if she couldn't spend her days tied to his bed, letting him fill her and kiss her
and worship her in equal measures, then she'd use every free moment to
elevate him instead.
More. You can take it. Danielle shivered through a new crop of
goosebumps as she pushed closer to him. He had a fantastic cock, but it
wasn't overwhelming. She knew her capabilities, even if she hadn't accessed
them in quite some time.
"Oh, fuck..."
Relax the jaw. Deep breath through the nose. Gentle elevation of the
soft palate. Open herself. Become the perfect vessel.
"Shit—"
Just. A little. Further.
With one more inhale, she eased down the last inch of his dick, and an
unfathomable level of pleasure ripped her to shreds the moment she felt his
head slide down the back of her throat.
"Fucking— God, Danielle..." Victor was a man at the foot of an altar,
bowing deep, overwhelmed by his goddess's regard.
And Danielle, overtaken by his adoration for her, was more than happy
to drink from him until they were both shuddering wrecks on the floor.
The moment she swallowed around him, Victor's hips spasmed, and he
threw his head back with a stunned shout. Those loving, masterful hands
tightened for a moment in her hair as he released, the hot flow dripping
straight down her throat.
Danielle grinned around him, working him again and again with
instinctive gulps that teased his oversensitive cock. She took him as far as
he seemed able to manage—right to when his groans took the color of pain
—and only then did she pull back, so slowly that the long drag of her
tongue had his toes curling against the floor.
When he slipped free from her swollen lips, she peeked up at him,
vision still a bit foggy through the haze of desire. From this angle, all she
could see was his bobbing Adam's apple and the sheen of sweat gleaming
on his wrinkled forehead. He gathered himself, chest heaving with his
staggered breaths.
"You destroyed me," Victor finally managed to murmur. "I thought I
was too cold. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to let myself be this
vulnerable ever again. Danielle..."
 She nuzzled his bare knee, a bit beyond words for the time being. As
familiar with these fragile, post-coital moments as she was, she usually had
to weather them all on her own, clawing through thick clouds until she
found the sun.
Victor suddenly slid his chair backwards, and she wavered, chest
tightening. Danielle stared up at him with a sharp, accusing stare. Was he
leaving? Really? When she'd just thought she was safe?
But he only took a moment to pull his clothes back to rights, then
resettled. And when he held his hands out, all of her instinctive despair fell
away.
She stared at his fingers for a long moment, unsure.
"Will you sit in my lap?" Victor asked. "So I can have you close?"
"Are you sure?" As much as Danielle adored her body, she couldn't stop
the initial jolt of hesitation.
"I want to hold you as long as you'll let me. Please."
She was in his lap a second later.
Danielle wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in
his sweet-smelling hair. The fine silver and black strands tickled her nose.
"If you'll give me a moment to gather myself after that amazing gift,"
Victor murmured, "then I'll spread you out on my desk and return the
favor."
"Don't. Not now. Not yet." Danielle tightened her embrace and shivered.
"I just need this. I need to know you're not going anywhere."
"What?" He held her just as close, leaning his chair back so she sank
fully against him. "I'm not going anywhere at all. You're a guest in my
house. I want you here."
"I know, I-I know, I just..." She sniffled and curled into a tighter ball in
his arms. "Tonight, I just need you to hold me. Is that okay? You're not mad,
are you?"
"No. No, Danielle. Not even a little bit."
She didn't know how long they sat there together, hovering in lingering
endorphins. She hadn't been held by a lover in...ever. And he'd invited her
into this position.
Victor wanted her. Every part of her. Not just her holes. Not just as a
toy.
He wasn't watching a clock and huffing and waiting for her to get over
this little emotional outburst.
 If anything, he was shaking too, as though years of loneliness were
being sucked out of him. If she was squeezing him, then he was doing the
same.
After what could've been minutes or years, Victor kissed her jaw. "What
do you think about taking this to bed?"
Danielle peeked down at him, but didn't reply right away.
He smiled as he thumbed over her cheek. "I think I want to be pressed
against you all night. I want my arm around your waist. I want to feel you
breathing as you relax and let yourself fall asleep. Call me selfish, but I
want to know that I can keep you safe."
"You're too good to me," she whispered.
"Danielle, if you think you're the only one who feels spoiled by this
shift in our relationship, then you're dead wrong. I've been alone for only a
handful of years, yes—but I've felt alone far longer."
It must've been strange, being in a marriage with a close friend rather
than a life partner–adoring him as he was and yet knowing that neither of
them were fulfilling the other's needs. Danielle could hear in Victor's voice
that he held no ill will against his former husband. The fact that he had a
photo of a child he hadn't even helped bring into this world confided how
vital that relationship still was to him.
But for both Danielle and Victor to have the opportunity to slough off
the past and meet the present with someone that fit there by their sides...
That was a blessing she didn't want to take for granted.
They were still figuring each other out. For all she knew, they'd realize
they weren't quite right here, and they'd part ways as well.
But right now, this was a dream, and she didn't want to wake up.
"I'm a cuddlebug," she warned. "I wake up almost every day curled up
around one of my pillows."
Victor chuckled. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say
that."

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 19

F or once, Danielle slept hard.

She didn’t expect it. After sleeping alone for so long, she
thought that being beside another breathing, moving person would keep her
antsy. Not so. From the moment that Victor curled up close behind her, she
was encircled in such a warm, comfortable world that she couldn't have
held onto consciousness if she tried.
Even on a Saturday morning, however, Victor appeared to be an early
riser. By the time Danielle woke up, she'd been tucked in with care, but the
bed beside her was cold.
And she smelled coffee.
Danielle crawled out of bed and headed straight for the kitchen,
instincts leaving her frazzled. The moment she reached the doorway, she
put her fists on her hips. "You made coffee?"
Victor turned and quirked a brow. "Yes?"
"I'm supposed to make coffee."
"At the office," he pointed out, lips quirking. "On Saturdays, that burden
falls to me."
She was in his house and it was a weekend and they didn't have to work
and she was Danielle and he was Victor and that was how it was. "Right."
Danielle ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it down from sleep. "Sorry.
Old habits and all that."
"Mm." He moved toward her and held out a mug. "I believe this is how
you prepare yours. A little milk. Barely a hint of sugar."
Her eyes widened as she took the steaming cup. "You know how I like
my coffee?"
 "I've worked with you for three years now. You're not the only one
who's been stealing looks, you know."
She softened, feeling quite tender. Without another word, she took a
long sip of the beverage and found that it was, in fact, perfect.
Victor took over the job of running his hand through her hair, taming it
further. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like a baby. Your mattress is incredible. And what on earth is your
sheet thread count?"
"I haven't the foggiest." He chuckled. "I just bought the color I liked."
"Amazing. I can't believe you tripped your way into the coziest bed I've
ever been in."
His voice went quieter. "Well. Feel free to enjoy it any time you'd like."
Danielle studied his remarkable face. A few weeks ago, she would've
said that he was stern, cool, and gathered—but the man standing above her,
still soft from sleep and unafraid to show his fondness for her, was a
completely different breed.
She respected Victor even more for how he stayed so stoic at the office
rather than letting his emotions get the better of him.
But there had always been more to him. The gentle but firm ways that
he encouraged her to take care of herself, those had always hinted at the
warmth beneath his icy blue stare.
She wondered how much of his coldness was a product of office stress
mixed with the loneliness he suffered at home. No wonder he'd exploded at
Mr. Renfield during their meeting. If Victor had been letting all of that
tension compound inside him, it all had to burst out eventually.
But he wasn't a bastard, and she felt as though she'd known that all
along. If Victor Hughes was truly cruel, then he wouldn't go out of his way
to buy a bottle of water for a random body he fucked at a glory hole.
Danielle leaned into the counter and watched him wander around the
kitchen, plating up eggs and bacon and pancakes. "Can I help you with
anything?"
"No, I have it under control."
Danielle pouted.
After glancing over his shoulder, Victor looked away—but not before
she saw the hint of a smile. "I suppose you could bring our coffees and the
bottle of syrup to the breakfast table."
Delighted to be of service, she jumped at the opportunity.
 Their breakfast was enjoyed together quietly, spent staring out the
window while they both slowly woke up. Birds fluttered by, and a pair of
squirrels wrestled in the grass before they chased each other all around the
yard.
As Danielle dragged her last piece of pancake through her remaining
syrup, she spoke quietly. "Is it strange to you that this is so...normal for us?"
"No. Not a bit." Victor glanced her way. "We've always worked well
together. Why would we share space like this any differently?"
"Because we've always been careful to keep it only business in the
office." Her cheeks flushed. "Well. Until I pushed you for more."
He tilted his head. "You didn't push me."
"Encouraged, then. Nudged you until you relented." Danielle hung her
head. "I feel guilty about that, to be honest. I had such tunnel vision. All I
knew was that I wanted a chance to chase this thing for real. Even if all I
got was breadcrumbs, I would've been happy. And because of that, maybe I
got a little too...fixated. Maybe I should've just kept everything to myself
instead of bringing up phone sex in the first place."
"You're saying all this now?" As serious as their words were, there was
a faint edge of amusement to Victor's tone. "After I've made you coffee and
everything?"
"It just came to mind. Doesn't it seem like one of those things we should
sit down and talk about?" She put her fork down and planted her elbows on
the table, hands tented in front of her mouth. "Eventually, somebody's going
to realize I was here this weekend. They'll probably have a few dozen
things to say about that. And I know you're the head of the company, but if
someone was flustered enough by what happened between us, they could
really blow a scandal sky high, couldn't they? And then all that work to
partner with Mr. Renfield would be for nothing."
"First of all, Renfield likes you far more than he does me," Victor
drawled. "If anyone got in the way of your happiness, I imagine he'd pay
them off in order to keep their mouths shut."
"You're silly." Another flush, this time making her squirm from
embarrassment.
"No, really. Danielle, I don't think you realize how well-liked you are in
the office. You may spend most of your time with me, but that doesn't mean
the others don't think you're sweet." He quirked a brow. "Why do you think
Andrew and Sherry are always asking you out for lunch?"
 Danielle picked up her fork again just to fiddle with it. "I don't know."
"You're likable. You're lovable. Everyone wants to see you happy. I
imagine most of them grind their teeth about me, thinking I'm the reason
why you don't ever go out with them for drinks after work. Perhaps in their
eyes, I'm overworking you.”
"You're going to destroy me. This is too much. Too many nice things."
How odd that ample praise about her as a person, rather than her working
capabilities, gave her this twisting sensation in her gut. It was just as potent
as her sensitivity to rejection.
"It's all the truth." Victor gathered their plates and silverware and set
them aside so he could grab her hand over the top of the table. "Shall I tell
you the long road I walked, trying not to give you too much attention?"
Danielle flicked her eyes upward, blinking in surprise. "The what? No,
I... Please do."
"I hired you at such a strange time. Greg and Jay had just visited me for
Christmas. They'd told me that their surrogacy attempts were successful.
They were starting a long, grand life together, family and all, and I was an
absolute wreck when they left. This house had never seemed so cold."
He furrowed his brow, mouth set in a line. "For a time, I overworked
myself half to death. Now that I was no longer a craftsman, but a business
owner, I didn't know what to do with myself. I had no one to go home to.
No one to check me out of my own tunnel vision. I believe it was Jay,
actually, who told me how much I had worried Greg over their visit. It was
a bit of an ultimatum: I had to hire someone to help keep me on track."
Victor snorted. "I can't tell you how bizarre it is to have your ex-
husband's husband tell you to hire a personal assistant, by the way."
"I can imagine." Danielle smiled. "But they sound like lovely people.
No wonder they cared about your wellbeing."
"Indeed." Victor sighed and rubbed over her knuckles as though he was
stimming with her body. "I doubted it would go well. I thought I'd hire
someone just to get the two of them off my back, and then I'd prove how
much a personal assistant would trip me up. Surely no one would fit
seamlessly into the office. They wouldn't understand how I worked."
There was a long moment of silence as he played with her hand, his
eyes narrowing. He was so caught up in his own thoughts, and Danielle
floated right at the cusp of them, wondering at this new vulnerability
between them.
 As he spoke again, his voice was softer still. "There were four of you
with similar qualifications. But there was something about you that I
couldn't shake. An earnestness. An eagerness to help. You didn't care about
the pay or the benefits. You sat on the other side of that desk, practically
vibrating with a need to be of service."
Danielle remembered that interview just as potently. She licked her lips,
as though she was back in that room with lipstick on her teeth, so tense that
she couldn't let her back touch the chair. "My life had been so strange since
Nick and I split ways. No rhyme or reason to it. All I knew was that, God, I
wanted to have a reason to live that wasn't just myself. And a personal
assistant job seemed the best way to do it. Go to work, get paid for being
helpful, then go home and forget about it until the next day."
He met her eyes. "Did you?"
"What?"
"Forget about me every night?"
"No." Danielle pulled her legs into the chair, hugging them close with
one arm. "You were always right there in the back of my mind."
"It was the same for me. I hired you, thinking I'd be firing you within a
month. But you changed everything. Suddenly I could sleep again. I had
every meeting lined up perfectly in sync. I never forgot to eat lunch. I left
the office before eight o'clock at night. Christ, Danielle, I wanted to create
again. I hadn't been inspired to design a single piece of furniture in years."
Victor leaned across the table, his gaze blooming with intensity. "You freed
me in a way I didn't expect. And that scared the shit out of me."
She beamed. "I did all that? Really?"
"You did. And you shouldn't be surprised. It's just the kind of woman
that you are. You make everything easier for everyone around you." Victor
kissed her hand. "Why do you think I tried for so long to keep you at arm's
length? I knew if I wasn't careful, I might take advantage of how you made
me feel—how life was suddenly vibrant and full of possibilities again. Greg
and Jay were starting a family together...and suddenly I had enough time
and energy to do the same, if I wanted."
"But you didn't," Danielle pointed out.
"But I didn't. Because the amount of time I needed to invest into our
company would've caused me to neglect whoever I started seeing. It meant
more time with you." He paused. "Or more time imagining you, when I was
at Cherry Street."
 Her heart fluttered. "This is ridiculous. You can't tell me that I spent
three whole years trying to hide my feelings for you, and that the entire
time, you were feeling them too."
Victor's voice was ragged as he continued. "It's impossible not to pine
for someone as incredible as you, Danielle."
"Victor..." Her eyes filled with tears. "Why didn't you ever say
something?"
"How could I? It would've been inappropriate. As your boss, I could've
been harassing you. I might've made you feel fearful—like it wasn't safe for
you to turn me down, because I might fire you. Haven't you figured it out
already?" Victor reached for her cheek and thumbed away a falling tear.
"You didn't push me. You didn't force me into anything. The moment you
made it completely clear that you knew I didn't hope to control you, you set
my heart at ease."
She grabbed his hand and left three kisses on his rough palm, equal
parts overwhelmed and made whole. "No one has ever been so kind to me.
No one's cared if I ate good food, if I slept, if I relaxed, if I made sure to
take a bubble bath every now and again. I don't know if anyone really saw
me in the way you do. I don't know how to handle it."
"I understand that better than you know." Victor stood and circled the
table, kissing her hard enough to bend her backward. "I am so glad you're
here with me. And I'm so afraid of what might happen if I become the
center of your world."
"What do you mean?" Danielle wrinkled her brow, still dizzy from his
presence.
"Do you think I don't see how much time you’ve devoted to me from
the moment you started working in my office?"
"I'm your personal assistant," she pointed out.
"Yes. My personal assistant who never went for lunch with her
colleagues, who stayed late any time I needed her to without complaint,
who never talked about other plans she had outside of the office." Victor
held her gaze sternly. "Be honest with me. How often do you leave your
apartment, other than to run errands or come to work?"
Danielle gaped at him. "I-I... I'll have you know that sometimes I get
tired. Not everyone's an extrovert, going out to bars or clubs every night."
"Fair." Victor inclined his head in acquiescence. "How many friends do
you go and see? Or let come over to your space?"
 Danielle looked away. "Well..."
"Look at me, Danielle."
She obeyed immediately.
He hardened his tone. "If I fired you tomorrow, what would your life
look like?"
A shock of fear soured Danielle’s stomach. "Victor."
"Answer me. What does your life look like if I'm not in it?"
It was the worst question he could've posed. Her apartment was a
landing pad, not a space she entertained others in. She kept herself clean
and cared for because if Mr. Hughes's personal assistant looked sloppy, it
was a judgment on him instead. She never saw people outside of work—in
fact, the lunches with Andrew and Sherry were the first times she'd stepped
outside of her comfort zone in years.
As Victor blurred above her, Danielle swallowed down a sob and
pushed forward. "It doesn't look like anything."
Victor let out a deep sigh. "That’s what I fear."
"What about you?" she fired back. "How often do you see anyone
outside of work nowadays?"
Victor flinched. "That's a very different situation."
"How?"
"I'm an owner of a company. Dozens of people rely on me to keep
things running—otherwise, their entire safety net is gone." His voice grew
with fervor as he went on, as though he could read her thoughts. "I'm
building V.W. Hughes Furniture into something that will outlast me when
I'm gone. If I don't have time to socialize, beyond taking someone like
Renfield out for drinks, then that's a necessary sacrifice."
"That's not fair, and you know it." Danielle stood as well, chest-to-chest
with him. "If I'm lonely, so are you. If my life is small, then so is yours. You
fucked me on the hood of your car, and you cried. Why?"
Victor flicked his gaze away. "Because... Because I..." He let out a sharp
huff. "Because I can't remember the last time I felt so close to someone.
Because it was feeding a part of my soul that I didn't realize was starving."
"Exactly." The fire in her tone began to die off. "You've... God, you've
spent the past couple of weeks making sure I had more than you in my life.
Didn't you? Encouraging me to get lunch with Andrew and Sherry.
Reminding me to take care of myself at home. You've been pulling strings
like a puppet master."
 "That's not fair of you. A puppet master tries to maintain power and
control, and that was the opposite of what I wanted." His words were
equally soft. "If I pushed you to take more than you’ve let yourself have, it's
because I know you deserve everything. Friends. Confidence. Relaxation. A
world outside of your devotion to me."
She could be angry about this. He'd been guiding her gently to a whole
separate path, one she hadn't asked for—that she would never have chosen
on her own.
It was tempting to push that sense of affront away. But if Victor wanted
Danielle to make her life bigger, then he should also want her to fight for
herself.
“And you did all of that without explaining to me why you were doing
it?” Danielle kept her voice even. This didn’t need to be a fight—but it did
need to be a discussion. “Why didn’t you express these concerns first?”
Victor winced. “I was afraid you’d push back. That you’d say no, things
were fine, actually.”
“I don’t want you to pull strings like that again without a conversation
with me. We’ve agreed from the beginning that I’m an adult. I have agency.
I’m allowed to say no to more than sex.” Danielle tugged his hand into hers.
“You don’t have to like it when I say no. If I told you I didn’t want to make
my life bigger than you…” Her eyes filled again. “…then you’re allowed to
cut things off between us. But please. Let me have a say in what happens in
my own life.”
Victor’s gaze flitted away. He huffed a frustrated sigh, but afterward, he
relaxed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready to have a difficult
conversation with you, and that was inexcusable.” He squeezed her hand in
return. “It won’t happen again.”
She could recognize why he’d made that decision in the first place. Now
that she'd spent a night in this massive, well-decorated tomb, she could taste
that same concern for him right on the back of her tongue.
It was so tempting to make him her entire universe, whether he wanted
her to or not. And it was also terrifying. Both of them had suffered enough
damage in the past.
Going forward, they’d need to keep these lines of communication open
so they didn’t lapse into full codependency.
But before that, they needed to go forward in the first place.
 Danielle gathered up every ounce of her courage. "Do you want to be
with me?"
"Yes," Victor whispered without a moment's pause.
"I don't mean just sex. I don't mean just when it's convenient." Danielle
grabbed his other hand as well. "Do you want to commit to me? As my
lover? Just the two of us, feeling this out, seeing what else might be ahead?"
"Without a doubt." He paused, nose curling. "I'd even let you to call me
your boyfriend, even though it makes me feel like I'm in high school."
She fought back a snort. "How noble of you." Though it would be easier
for both of them to alleviate the tension with a joke, Danielle wouldn't be
satisfied until they'd figured out exactly where their relationship stood,
boundaries reestablished. "I also want that commitment to you. But what
does that look like for us in the office? Do things stay as they already are?
Or are we honest about this?"
Victor released another huff that sounded as if it was buried in his soul.
"I don't think hiding a relationship will work in our favor."
"I agree. There's something to be said for letting people have private
lives outside of the office, but...that doesn't seem like it'd be the best
decision, given our positions."
"Indeed." Victor's gaze grew distant, staring into a universe beyond
them both.
Danielle touched his cheek, the soft hairs of his beard gentle against her
palm. "I don't want you to fire me. I don't agree to that."
Victor met her eyes again, wearing a sober expression.
"If...if I need to not be there...if I need to go somewhere else..." God,
even saying the words was like ripping bullets out of her flesh without
anesthesia. She regathered herself. "Then I want that to be a mutual
decision."
Victor nodded slowly. "All right."
"I'm serious."
"I know." He bit his bottom lip, as though to collect himself. “I’m sorry.
I’ve spent a very long time being in control, Danielle. I might still have the
knee-jerk reaction to do something for your own good sometimes,
especially behind the scenes. And if I try that, then I hope you'll point it out,
so I can grow beyond those habits."
There was something freeing in how he phrased that. He didn't expect
her to go along with any mistakes he made, but he also wasn't wanting her
to be nice about it either.
She had permission to tell him to stop this behavior without feeling like
she had to protect his ego—and a promise that he'd mature beyond the
desire to help her.
"Then I want you to do the same thing for me," Danielle murmured. "If
I keep throwing myself on coals to keep you afloat, tell me."
Victor nodded. "No matter what happens when we go back to the office,
I want you to keep getting lunch with your colleagues once or twice a week.
And I hope that you can sit down and do some deep thinking about a
passion you'd like to start developing. It could be anything. Gardening,
knitting, hiking, fostering kittens—whatever makes your heart sing. I
wouldn't be able to stomach myself if I knew that everything about you was
devoted solely to me and your job."
Danielle narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to make me do something
for my own good?"
A smile crept in, though she could tell Victor was trying to fight it.
"Consider it a suggestion made by someone with almost twenty-five years
more experience in this world."
Danielle tugged the hem of his shirt, coming up on her tiptoes. "Then
you need to take a vacation. And you need to find friends you can spend
time with."
"And how exactly do you suggest I do that?" Victor drawled. His lips
were turning up at the edges more and more, even as his muscles twitched.
"Go take a pottery class or something. I don't care what it is. But when
you go, you have to talk to one of the other people there and have at least
one pleasant conversation."
“Me? Pleasant?”
Danielle smirked. “I think if you practice enough, you might even make
someone smile.”
Victor threw his head back and laughed, an incredible belly laugh that
radiated through the entire space. As he pulled her into his arms, she clung
to him, her own giggle buried against his chest.
"You're incredible," he murmured.
Danielle closed her eyes and grinned. "So are you."

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 20

"C an I be honest and say this is the closest thing I've had to a vacation
in years?" Danielle asked.
Victor glanced up from the thick novel he was making his way through.
The sun was low in the sky and painting his face in extraordinary golds and
oranges. "After all those paid vacation days I gave you?"
Danielle turned her head away just far enough that she didn't have to see
him. "Sometimes your boss forces you to take your days off, and you spend
them just cleaning and running errands, not sitting with your feet up and
having every meal delivered."
He snorted. "I've never known someone with a work ethic like you."
"Work ethic?" She tapped her chin. "Or just filled with a deep, personal
need to be on my knees sucking you off, so you stop frowning at me at the
end of the year when you realize my vacation days still haven't been
taken?"
"Touché."
The day truly had been one of the most relaxing she'd had in recent
memory. While Danielle originally imagined that a weekend at Victor's
house would involve endless sex, until she was boneless and unable to
walk, she'd been wrong—and not disappointingly so.
She hadn't realized how starved she was for this, just sitting in a room
with someone she loved while they read together. Neither of them had to be
entertaining. They didn't need to worry about the other person twiddling
their thumbs in boredom.
They'd just existed together, and it made her heart sing.
 They'd already watched a movie, her curled up under his arm, learning
what it felt like to be held without demands or expectations. Over burgers—
Victor's pick this time—they had a long discussion about the lack of pets in
their adult lives, followed by an agreement that cats were far superior
companions to busy individuals such as themselves.
She hadn't wandered to the library while Victor was in the bathroom
with any specific plans—she'd simply wanted to study the furniture therein
again, in case the two of them restructured it together. But when she'd
caught sight of a beautifully bound version of Frankenstein sitting
unattended, she'd picked it up for just a quick moment.
Which turned into minutes.
By the time she'd resurfaced and seen Victor sitting in the chair beside
her, reading his own book, she'd come to realize exactly how safe she felt in
his home—and with the man himself. It was an invaluable realization, and
one she held close to her heart.
With Victor's attention back on his book, Danielle put hers down and
stood to stretch her legs. She wandered across the room, arms pulled high
overhead to relax her sore back, and she paused at the bay window to stare
outside.
The neighborhood really was incredibly cute. She was sure that a
number of people would complain that the houses down these roads weren't
build with a unifying theme, but it brought a charm that Danielle missed in
recent cookie-cutter developments.
Her attention wandered to the seat tucked into the window. Things like
this, for example, were becoming more and more of a rarity. There was no
space for these trinkets in modern homes.
Perhaps she had a romantic soul, but she'd take an old Victorian house
that creaked when a stiff breeze flew by over a glass box any day of the
week.
Something about the pattern of the cushions threw her off, however.
Given how the stripes were incorporated, the way they'd been placed into
the seat wasn't quite right. Danielle picked one up, cocked her head, then
turned it ninety degrees and nestled it back in place.
Better. The length of the stripes felt better when they were parallel with
the window rather than running into its frame. Danielle quickly arranged
the other two cushions the same way, then clasped her hands against her
chest and fought the urge to sigh. She couldn't explain why she took such
simple pleasure in making things feel good to her eyes.
"You're sure that you never studied interior design?"
At first, Victor's words didn't fully register, but as Danielle emerged
from her contemplative study she turned quickly with wide eyes. "What?
Oh, no. Not at all."
"Never once?" He frowned.
Danielle shook her head. "That wasn't really on the menu when I went
to college."
"What did you study?"
"English Literature."
"Huh." Victor set his book aside and rubbed his chin. "If you had been
able to study it, do you think you would have?"
Danielle considered who she had been in the past—a young woman
trying to stretch her wings before they could be fully clipped by her parents.
"Honestly? Probably not. Even if my mom hadn't been firm on what I was
allowed to major in, I don't think I would've seen it as a viable career.
Something like that requires a lot of drive, don't you think? You have to be
assertive and sell your dreams to a client, or be very good at charming theirs
into reality. I don't think I’m good at either of those."
"You, who just stood in my kitchen a few hours ago and told me exactly
what you believe I need to do, if we're going to have a healthy
relationship?"
She turned away, embarrassed. "It's very different when you care about
someone and know they're going to listen to what you say without shutting
you down."
"Fair."
Behind her his chair crinkled, and she tracked his steps as he
approached her. When his warm hands found her arms, Danielle leaned into
him immediately.
"I have a thought. And I want to know if you'll really consider it before
you say it's something you're not made for."
Danielle studied him upside-down. "Am I going to like the idea?"
He shrugged. "Possibly. Or you might be too stubborn to see it as a real
possibility."
"You know me too well," she murmured fondly. "Consider me properly
warned. What's on your mind?"
 Victor stared at the cushions she'd rearranged with such a frown that
Danielle might've thought she'd committed a faux pax by touching them in
the first place. But if he knew her too well, then she'd practically
memorized him. The thoughtful gleam in his eye hinted at the rapid
calculations he was running, so fast that she'd be shocked if his brain didn't
overheat.
When he spoke again, he was gentle. "I think it might be for the best if
you transitioned away from being my personal assistant into another role
with the company."
Danielle immediately pulled away, turning to face him. "What?"
"I asked you to think first." Victor tapped her nose with the tip of his
finger. "This isn't an ultimatum. This isn't me firing you. We agreed that
whatever happens is going to be a mutual decision. All right?"
Mollified, Danielle nodded. Though she wanted to beg, plead, rant, and
rave, she bit her tongue and opened herself up to what he had to say.
"You were right earlier. There's always going to be people who gossip
about a relationship like ours. In a perfect world, there wouldn't be such
frequent, disturbing abuses of power in the workplace." Victor's lips pulled
into a thin line. "I'd hope that I’ve fostered a space where everyone knew
that their jobs were never threatened by unrequited interest—that everyone
was safe and respected regardless of who was attracted to them, and vice
versa. But I don't know if that's possible in this current climate. And I
especially think that people will have worries about you being my personal
assistant."
Danielle glanced away. They'd already had sex in his office. They'd
taken great risks for no reason other than their own hunger for one another.
Any concerns that an employee could bring up were incredibly valid for
that reason alone. Even wiping away the fact that Victor was her one and
only boss, with no one else in the chain of command to keep him in check,
they'd violated necessary boundaries. Her chest burned.
Victor sighed. "I can't imagine anyone else filling your shoes.
Something about them will always be not quite right. But I also think, now
that I've gotten used to intertwining so much of my work with someone
else, that I'm in a better position to coach someone on what I need and what
I don't. So they might not be perfect. But they would be satisfactory."
"What does that mean for me?" Danielle asked softly.
 Victor held her face in one of his hands, maintaining a powerful
connection between them. "V.W. Hughes Furniture is growing. The new
connection with Renfield means we might suddenly explode onto the radar
beyond our town. There's facets of the business that we haven't been
exploring fully—and I think that's where you come in.”
He paused. “We already have a showroom for all of our furniture. But
what if you moved into a design consulting role for our clients?"
"You're out of your mind," she breathed. "We just established that I
don't have any training. It's a hobby—"
"You wouldn't have to be the only person in that job position.” He
quieted her immediately. While she squirmed in place, Victor went on. "We
could bring on someone with more experience in that area. They could train
you."
As much as Danielle wanted to hold her words back, her fears came
bursting out of her. "I might be redundant, then. What if the company
couldn't afford to have both of us on? What if no one wanted our services,
and you had to pick which one of us to let go? It'd be me. It would have to
be me. You and I both know it'd be senseless to get rid of someone who
could actually do the job in favor of keeping the amateur. And if you
wanted to talk about gossip that might come from that? Jesus. The nepotism
accusations would go flying."
"You're borrowing so much worry about something that hasn't even
happened yet." Victor took a deep breath. "This company is in an incredible
place. I've always been careful with our finances. We're growing, yes, but I
refuse to expand to the detriment of our employees. I'm never going to take
risks that might mean I have to fire people across the board. I am confident
that offering this service would be a huge boon for us."
"But—"
"And. And. You would have someone else supervising you. You'd be
working side-by-side with Sherry, who's managing the floor, right? It
wouldn't just be me. There'd be someone between us doing your
evaluations, giving you raises, all of that. An intermediary, so to speak.
You'd be downstairs in the showroom. I'd be upstairs in the office. We
wouldn't cross paths during our workdays—not unless we wanted to."
Danielle would be a fool if she thought this was the best solution. It
wasn't even the simplest. But if she forced herself to slow down and think
through it beyond her own lack of confidence in her own abilities, then she
had to recognize its merit.
Victor was technically the one making sure the entire ship kept running,
yes. But the more degrees of separation there were between the two of
them, the less possibility there was that they'd even speak during their
respective jobs.
Danielle met his eyes again. "You know that it's inevitable that someone
will still find something to complain about it—and any of the fallout will be
worse for me. Within a month, somebody will be saying that I spread my
legs to get this job in a new department."
"Then within a month, they'll be fucking fired—not because of
nepotism, but because that kind of sexist language isn't allowed in any
company that ever bears my name." The ferocity with which he spoke
nearly lit the curtains on fire.
Danielle let everything wash over her from head to toe. Fear. Hope.
Uncertainty. It was a potent cocktail that had her thoughts sluggish. "You
really think I can do this. That we can do this."
The inferno dripped away. As Victor looked her over, the adoration
poured off him. "I'd like to think that what you said before this all began is
true. We're adults. We're of sound mind. We respect the power dynamic
between us, and we work both through and around it. And...I know this is
selfish of me, but I would hope that something as exquisite as my feelings
for you would always be something worth experiencing. I don't want to
believe that I should regret caring for you so deeply."
Danielle's eyelashes fluttered, and her lungs fought to drag in a full
breath. Victor believed in her with a confidence she couldn't imagine. He
thought she was capable of standing on her own two feet in a new position.
He trusted her to learn, to grow, to flourish in such a role.
He wanted to see the world open up for her, with people who loved her.
Not just him. He could've said that he wanted her to quit—that she could
live here in his house, where she'd never want for anything. He could've
locked the door and deprived her of any freedom, and God help her, she
might've taken it.
Danielle had so much further to go in her healing from Nick. Touching
down here with a man who'd shown her that the healing was worth chasing
was vital. But she couldn't ask him to help her find all her broken pieces.
Not when he had his own that he had to locate.
 She'd never let herself consider therapy. It seemed like a messy,
expensive venture. Hopping from person to person, seeking the right one
who'd take her as she was and help her to a positive end… It hadn't seemed
worth it.
But she wanted to keep growing, she realized. She wanted to be the kind
of person who could call Andrew and ask if he wanted to go shopping, and
not be afraid that she'd suffocate if he said no. She wanted to learn tactics to
calm her aggressive hyperfocus loops before they hurt her. She wanted to
take this dream of creating beautiful spaces for people to find comfort in—
and make it reality. And more than anything, she wanted to know that one
day, Nick's voice wouldn't whisper insidiously in the back of her mind.
It turned out that having someone else who also wanted those things for
her was vital. People could say, you have to love yourself before anyone else
will, all they wanted—but that didn't make it true.
Sometimes it took one amazing person to look someone dead in the eye
and show them all the good that they deserved first. And only then would it
feel possible to chase it.
Danielle grabbed Victor's shirt and pulled him down an inch. "Can we
stop dancing around it? Can we stop saying that we care deeply and say
what we're really thinking?" Tears flooded her eyes as she sniffled. "Can I
say I love you?"
Victor's brows shot upward. He was frozen in time, not even breathing.
His hands found her elbows and he drew closer still, voice as gentle as a
spring breeze. "Do you think we should? So soon? Is that wise?"
From anyone else, Danielle could have taken those words as a rejection.
As a child, she'd been raised on a specific diet of precisely what she
deserved in a man—someone who would drop everything for her, who'd
center his life around marrying her and filling her with babies, who'd raise
them up well in the suffocating clutches of the traditional regime that she'd
struggled so hard to escape. If a man wasn't willing to fall to his knees in a
rainstorm and beg for her hand in marriage, then did he really love her as
she deserved?
But she knew Victor so intimately. Years of studying his private silences
when everyone else had already gone home for the workday gave her tiny
peeks past the armor he'd worn.
He wasn't looking for a way around his feelings. This man, who'd
already broken away from one life partner, was so sensitive of what could
happen if they moved too fast—if he opened himself up to someone and
lost them.
As her emotions rushed down her cheeks, leaving streaks in their wake,
Danielle reached for his remarkable face and held him still. "I've spent a
lifetime being told what I should want. I suffocated for years under
someone else's control, believing I was lucky to get the scraps he gave me."
She breathed a bitter laugh and shook her head. "I've never felt safe to look
someone in the eye. Never. So if you've given me a home in your arms,
even if it's only for a little while, I want to be free to say exactly what I
feel."
Victor's hands ran up her arms, leaving fire and chills in their wake in
equal measures. A tornado was brewing in her chest, threatening to throw
her head over heels if she wasn't careful.
She was through with protecting herself.
"Say it," Victor murmured. "Say what you feel."
"I love you," Danielle blurted back. "I've loved you for so long. Every
little bit. I love how you wear your ties. I love how you tip everyone above
and beyond what they expect. I love that you're chasing a legacy instead of
wealth. I love how you want to put every person in that office above
yourself. I love that you know exactly how I take my coffee, even though
I've made yours for three years straight. I love that for all this time, you
haven't let yourself look at me for too long, because you knew I'd see
exactly what's in your eyes when you do."
Danielle came up on her tiptoes so their noses brushed together. "Now
you. You say it too."
He nuzzled her with a shuddering breath of his own, his eyelashes thick
and drawn low. "Danielle. I love you."
She grinned until her face ached. She would've been satisfied with just
that.
But he wasn't finished. "I love how you make sure everyone else is
taken care of—and I also love how ready you are to put yourself first now. I
love how you were never afraid of me, from day one. I love how ready you
are to heal from the wounds people left on you that you never deserved
rather than holding onto them like trophies. I love how you aren't afraid to
want me. I love that though you're afraid to take up more space in this
world, you're willing to try."
 Danielle bit her bottom lip. His words were a shot of adrenaline straight
to her heart, making it pound so fast that she thought it might burst. "What
if I can't live up to that? What if I try to be big, but find that I'm destined to
remain small?"
Victor took a moment to think before he replied. "I think that the fact
that you're asking that question at all means that you care about the
outcome. It means your healing and growth isn't a joke to you. You
recognize exactly how important it could be—and that means it matters.
And you're the kind of woman who always fight for what matters."
"You matter," she murmured.
"Exactly." The corners of his eyes wrinkled as he smiled. "And so do
you."
She was afraid to believe that. Something told her that she'd feel so
much more at ease if this was simply an older, wealthy man who wanted to
keep her in his bed and use her as he wished. But he wanted more. He
wanted her to flourish instead of stagnate.
She couldn't remember someone ever having that kind of faith in her.
And now she wondered if she'd simply been surrounding herself with the
wrong people for all these years.
Suddenly there were wings on her shoes, and she wanted to fly through
the sky and leave patterns in the clouds. She wanted to make the world as
beautiful as what she felt in her soul right in this moment.
But since she couldn't, she might as well let herself feel beautiful
instead.
Danielle pulled Victor in for a ferocious kiss, bleeding her adoration and
her hunger for him in equal measures through their lips. He crushed her
against his body, holding her with such intensity that his fingers pillowed
into her body. Whatever she was giving him, she felt him feeding it right
back into her—a constant loop of support, love, and desire that left her
dizzy.
Danielle broke the kiss for only a moment. "Take me to bed?"
"Yes," he growled in response. He stole the air right out of her lungs,
drinking from her lips until they were swollen and aching, then grabbed her
hand and guided her behind him.
Like a Eurydice to her Orpheus, she boldly studied him from behind,
heart thudding in anticipation. She felt very much like they'd both been
buried underground for years, suffering from the walls pressing in around
them but not knowing how to burst free from the strange world of death
they'd been suspended in. But if he was leading her back into the sun, then
it was because he couldn't live without her there.
He might not be serenading her in their long journey to his chambers,
but the songs he played on her heartstrings were exquisite enough.
As he took her down the stairs and through the living room, something
struck Danielle, and she couldn't help but laugh. "This is the first time we'll
fuck in a bed."
Victor chuckled as well. "Strange, isn't it?"
"A little. You've seen some of me, but not all."
Before she could feel a hint of self-consciousness, Victor squeezed her
hand. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. And getting to strip
you down and touch every inch of you is a gift."
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked at the floor, beaming all over again.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 21

T he sheets were still mussed from that morning, and Danielle

fought the urge to smooth them out just so they could ruin them
again. As it was, the moment they were at the foot of the bed, Victor
rounded on her and pulled her into his body once more. He pushed the hair
away from her neck and left hot, nibbling nips behind, just enough to leave
fireworks of pain on her skin—a quick burst of color that she felt all the
way down to her toes, then gone again.
"I wish I could cover you in my marks," Victor whispered raggedly.
Danielle pictured the look on Andrew's face if he saw her neck covered
in hickeys, and she grinned as she dragged her nails through Victor's scalp.
"Maybe you should do it where no one else can see," she teased.
In a flash, he was pulling her shirt over her head, the rougher edges of
his hands grazing along her soft curves. He threw it to the other side of the
room and paused, his gaze running indulgently over every inch of her torso,
from the generous rolls of her stomach to the heaviness of her breasts.
"You're perfect." Victor furrowed his brow in intense focus, his hands
hovering an inch above her waist as though he couldn't believe he was
really allowed to touch her. "How did we get here? Do I really get to have
you by my side?"
The weight of his desire pressed so many of her nerves out of her, but a
few old ones remained, keeping her on her toes. It didn't feel possible to be
wanted so fiercely—but she could see the truth right there in his eyes. "As
long as you want me."
"Always.” He came down on his knees.
Danielle's breath caught. "W-Wait, you don't have to do that—"
 "I'm not so old that I can't worship you like you deserve," Victor
drawled with a smirk. "Do you think you're the only person who likes
getting on their knees for the person they love?"
Her blush spread from her cheeks down her neck, and the sparks in her
gut began to be stoked into a more powerful fire. "No, I-I just..."
"Do you think I've been joking, all these weeks of saying how I want to
spread you out on my desk and eat you out until you're screaming?"
Her nipples hardened. She was so flustered that she put her hands over
her cheeks, as though it would hide her eagerness for him. "Victor, you're
going to kill me."
His grin spread, teeth gleaming like a hungry predator about to eat his
fill. "No. Just a little death. One or two or more. I think you can handle it."
"I really don't know if I can," she breathed with a giggle.
Victor leaned in and rubbed his beard over her stomach, eyes not
leaving hers. "Danielle."
"Yes?"
"Can I go down on you?"
It was so strange to be asked rather than turned over and used. Her
knees wobbled, and she reached behind her for the wall, making sure she'd
stay on her feet no matter what. "Only if you really want to."
Victor sighed, the hot air teasing over her skin and making her muscles
clench. "When I'm done with you today, love, you'll never wonder if I want
to ever again."
He ran his hands up the soft material of her pajama pants, over the hills
and valleys of her body, his pupils dilating further with every inch he
covered. His thumbs trailed over the swell of her breasts, tracing a long,
indulgent line just under her dark nipples, back and forth. While he left two
tender kisses on her stomach, his beard tickled her skin and stirred
goosebumps over every inch of her.
Danielle only had a few braincells left that were capable of responding,
but she caught herself ready to tell him that he didn't need to draw it out like
this. He could eat her out until he was content with how wet she was, then
turn her against the wall and fuck her until he was satisfied. It was easy.
But then she remembered yesterday and how indulgently she'd sucked
him off. The moment she'd had just the tip of his cock in her mouth, her
mind had quieted, lost in a thrilling fog where she could hover, indulging in
the taste and feel of him until she was satisfied.
 As Victor stood tall on his knees and blew warmth against one nipple,
she thought she read the same drowsy contentment in his own gaze. He was
hungry. He wanted her, yes. But he didn't just want her as a sleeve.
If she'd drowned in the feel of worshipping him, then he wanted to do
the same for her.
"Fuck…” Her other hand slid back into his hair.
Victor hummed, lips quirking, then drew her nipple into his hot mouth.
Now that the intensity of their tryst in the garage had cooled, when he'd
first feasted on her tits, she could better focus on this exquisite sensation—
the heat of his tongue, the agility of the small muscle, the softness of his
lips. He wasn't in a rush. While his hand captured her other nipple between
his thumb and finger and teased it higher, he grazed the length of his tongue
over this sensitive peak.
He was masterful. Just when she thought she might melt into a puddle,
he'd pull back, teasing her with only the very tip of his tongue, a hard and
direct sensation that left her squirming. Victor would circle the wrinkled
skin, avoiding the most potent nerve endings right in the center, keeping her
anticipating the moment they'd meet again—and then when they did, he'd
give her the most indulgent suck that had her tipping her head back and
moaning with abandon.
When his other hand rubbed her inner thigh, he took advantage of her
distraction to turn his head and sink his teeth into her stomach.
"Fuck!" Danielle grabbed a handful of his silver hair and released a
shuddering gasp, the pinpricks of the pain blurring into a blissful high of
endorphins.
Victor moaned as he sucked hard, leaving a potent mark right there on
her waist. When he pulled away to admire her work, he spoke, voice ragged
and thick. "Yes?"
"Fuck yes..." Her mouth hung open as she wrinkled her brow and
whined. "Shit... Victor, I want your marks all over me. I want everyone to
know who I belong to."
His breath caught as he bit her again, other hand moving to squeeze her
hip.
Danielle hadn't know how good it could be, barely staying on her feet,
telling someone what she needed, hearing them respond with equal
enthusiasm. What a silly thing she'd been missing out on.
 She was high on Victor Hughes's teeth and hands, and he'd barely even
gotten started with her.
He left hickey after hickey all over her body as she squeezed fistfuls of
his hair. Somewhere along the way, his fingers had wandered up her thigh,
right to the heat pulsing between her legs, and he curved his hand to run the
lightest, most teasing touch along her folds. Even through the layers of
fabric, she felt him—pictured those fingers pounding her deep, imagined
his thumb rolling over her clit. She couldn't figured out what to focus on
first.
On one particularly deep bite, he pressed five bruising digits into her hip
and cupped her pussy with possessive need, and Danielle cried out and
came up on her tiptoes.
"Victor, please!" she begged.
He lifted his head. "Tell me what you need."
"Anything."
"No, no." That dangerous, low tone licked tongues of fire all over her
bare torso. "You know what you want. You know how much you want it. So
be a good girl. Tell me. What. You need."
Danielle squirmed against the wall, unable to hold back one low whine.
"I-I...I need your mouth, sir."
His smirk widened. "Where do you need it?"
"Shit." She barely gave the word voice. She was frustrated, humiliated,
and delighted in equal measures. Danielle closed her eyes and took a few
quick breaths before she spoke again. "I need your mouth on my pussy, sir."
"And how long do you want my mouth on your pussy, Miss Higgs?"
If she wasn't desperate before, then the familiar title got her there. She
dripped in her panties, making an even bigger mess. "Fuck... Until I come?"
"Is that a question?" Victor dipped his head and ran his nose over her
pelvis, back and forth from one hip bone to the other. "Are you doubting
your ability to come on my tongue?"
"No," she hurried to reply. "Not at all."
"What about on my cock?"
"N-No. Fuck. I need it. I need your tongue, I need your cock, I need
everything you have." She was at the verge of tears again, every muscle
tightly wound against her swiftly growing arousal. It was that voice. That
damn voice had her by the chokehold.
 "That's my good girl…” His words were so potent that her legs wobbled
again. Victor grabbed her around the waist, pinning her in place. "Steady
there, sweetheart."
"I can't," Danielle babbled. "I can't. The second you touch me, my legs
are going to give out."
"Then let's get you more comfortable."
In a whirl, Victor brought her around and guided her to sit on the edge
of her bed. The moment she was safely in place, his piercing ice blue eyes
focused between her legs, and he tucked his fingers in her pajamas and
panties and dragged them down at once. Once he had them pulled free, he
tossed them over his shoulder.
"Look at you," he whispered, cocking his head. "How are you more
gorgeous than I imagined?"
It had been a long time since Danielle had stripped naked for anyone,
much less herself. So much of her masturbation took place in her clothes
and under sheets, and the last thing she wanted at Cherry Street was to
remove everything just to have to put it all back on again.
At Cherry Street, she'd wanted to be used. Here, she wanted to be seen.
Boldly, she spread her legs as far as they could go and reached up to
tousle her hair. "I'm all yours, sir."
"You are." That rich growl had her hole clenching, angry that it wasn't
yet filled. "And I'm yours."
She had one whole moment to grin before he leaned in.
It seemed that Victor was through with teasing her. He gripped her
thighs possessively, keeping them apart while he licked up every drop of
wetness she'd left behind—then chased the flow of arousal that so quickly
followed.
It shouldn't be possible that Victor could turn her on even more. But this
feeling of being locked in place for him to please her until she was
mindless, as if he had no other purpose in life, threatened to tip her over the
edge.
"Mmm..." Danielle leaned back on her elbows with a shiver. She closed
her eyes, eager to focus on every individual sensation.
That smooth beard rubbed through her inner labia, a constant tickle that
made her toes curl. Victor seemed restless initially, first running just the tip
of his tongue over her clitoris, then slurping it between his lips. But when
he circled the flat of his tongue over her clit in a slow, indulgent taste, she
bucked her hips, and he hummed and kept at it.
He pressed his fingers bruisingly into her thighs, and as she pictured the
ten tiny circles she'd find there tomorrow, Danielle moaned and reached for
her breast.
A vivid memory sparked before her mind's eye: playing with her nipples
as a thick cock pounded her, her hips held aloft with a powerful hand. She
sucked in a shuddering, audible gasp and wrinkled her brow. She wished
the two of them had crossed paths at Cherry Street sooner. They'd wasted so
much time.
But as Victor moved two fingers to gently press inside of her, she
clamped down on him with a groan and gave herself up to the present.
They'd made it here, however messy the journey was, and she was never
going to regret that. Never again.
"I'm so close…” She couldn't stop herself from grinding her pussy
against his mouth.
Another low moan vibrated through her folds, and Danielle buried her
other hand back in his hair. Right there. She was right there. Held hostage
by his tongue and his fingers, here at the edge of release.
Instinctively she held him against her pussy, and the higher groan that
escaped Victor was one she'd never heard before. He went just as boneless,
surrendering to her control, redoubling the efforts of how his fingers and
tongue fucked her in tandem.
When she broke, she squeezed her thighs tightly around his head, and
her shouted cry mingled perfectly with his.
She'd only just started to come down from the starburst of pleasure
when she realized what she was doing, and she let go of him and scrambled
back an inch. "Fuck, are you okay? I'm so sorry."
Victor grabbed hold of her and pinned her into the mattress, hair ruined,
eyes wild, and lips glistening. "Never, never apologize for taking over." He
sounded half-feral.
As he yanked his shirt over his head and sent it flying, Danielle's eyes
widened, and she drank in the sight of his body for the first time. The silver
hairs on his chest contrasted against the dark ones leading into his pants,
trailing down from a soft but strong belly. The swell of powerful definition
in his arms led to taut forearms and the rough hands that she'd admired for
so long. "Jesus," she whispered.
 "If you know what you want, and you need to take it from me, then do."
Victor half-stood so he could kick off the rest of his clothes, then grabbed
hold of his cock, giving it a few tugs. Slick precum kissed its slit, and he
gathered it with his thumb and spread it down his shaft. "I know how much
you love feeling used. But if you ever want to use me right back, you can."
It was something Danielle had never really imagined. Her being
submissive and pliable made sense—it had ever since she first started
exploring her adolescent sexual fantasies. But her being able to take charge
in bed? Beyond just trying to turn someone on with filthy words and
promises?
Unfamiliar sparks spread right under her scalp. She'd have to chase
those desires later, probing them all the way to the end.
As much as the air around Victor seemed to vibrate, he slowed himself
just enough to cup her face and kiss her. She was unfamiliar with the sharp
musky flavor on his mouth, and she impulsively ran her tongue over the
swell of his bottom lip, then sucked it between her own.
Fuck. She loved how she tasted, mixed with the distinctness of Victor's
kisses. Suddenly she wondered how they'd taste mixed together, his cum,
her wetness, and she squeezed fistfuls of the sheets in a rush of hunger.
"You're going to be the end of me," Victor murmured huskily. "Fuck. I
need you. I need to be inside you with every fiber of my being."
"Please. God, please.” She didn't know how she could wait another
minute.
Lightning sparked in his eyes. "Let me grab a condom. Get comfortable,
love. I want to see you under me in my bed, just like I've imagined."
"Have you?" Danielle scooted backward until her head was on his
pillow. "How much?"
"Roughly every night, since we took the plunge." Victor walked around
the bed to his nightstand and opened it, pulling out a condom. He shot her a
playful look. "Maybe once or twice on my lunch break."
"You're kidding."
He chuckled. "Not a bit."
"I could've been rubbing myself off in the bathroom this entire time
instead of being noble?"
Victor winked, then ripped the condom wrapper open. "I'm sure you'll
catch up with me in no time."
 Victor propped one knee on the edge of the mattress as he rolled the
condom over his cock. He moved slowly, smoothing the layer into place,
his eyes locked on hers while he fisted his cock.
Danielle lifted her brows. "You're not going to tease me by playing with
yourself, are you?"
"I could," he murmured, lips quirking.
"When I've been such a good girl?"
"You have." His smirk stretched out.
Danielle pouted and sat up on her elbows. "When you have a perfectly
good girlfriend to fuck?"
"Are you going to make me come over there?" He quirked a brow, tone
still perfectly measured.
She wanted to explore the thought that she could be in control. She
really did. But she wasn't sure what the best way to do that was yet. Instead,
inspired by the way he teased over the flushed head of his cock, Danielle
reclined and reached between her own legs.
Victor's smile was immediately snuffed out, replaced with huge eyes
and a low sound of interest that he didn't seem to be in control of. His other
hand strayed down to cup his balls, rolling them between his fingers. "You
make a powerful argument, Miss Higgs."
Danielle spread her pussy lips, then teased one finger slowly through
her folds. When she sucked that digit inside her mouth, memorizing the
taste of herself even more, he caught his breath and climbed onto the bed
with her.
As Victor nestled between her thighs, his movements slowed, and he
hesitated with one elbow pressed into the pillow by her head. A long few
seconds passed as they studied each other. Their wandering gazes finally
locked and held firm.
"I love you," Victor murmured.
Danielle nodded, eyelashes fluttering. "I love you so much, Victor."
His eyes dropped to her mouth, and as he leaned in for a kiss, he guided
his cock inside of her.
She was becoming so familiar with his body so quickly. She welcomed
him deep, and her hands ran down his back, intimately learning the curve of
his shoulder blades. As their pelvises met, he stilled, and Danielle tightened
her embrace so their chests pressed tight together.
She swore she could feel his heartbeat right against her skin.
 Danielle would've been content to hover here all night, with the weight
of his body on hers and the scent of sex and pheromones swirling around
them. Already her mind was overflowing with adoration, so content in his
hold.
But when Victor slowly eased out of her, then thrust balls deep all over
again, she bucked under him with a moan and deepened their hungry kiss.
This was new. Potent. The rhythmic slap of their bodies filled the air,
and she learned the pace he kept, meeting him so eagerly in the middle
every time. Victor tilted his head, their slick lips caressing each other
lovingly in a new angle, and Danielle dug her nails into his back.
She'd heard of making love. She'd thought it was something that
belonged to people who were made to be worshipped rather than used. But
she hadn't realized it could work like this either. She didn't know she could
hear the wet sounds of his cock burying inside of her pussy and feel so
filthy and aroused—but also swear both of their hearts were opening up, as
though they were going to combine.
Who knew someone could make love and fuck at the same time?
Victor broke the kiss, lifting only an inch away. "Is this what you need?"
he rumbled.
"What?" Danielle could barely think. She was too caught up in the
perfection of how he fit inside her. How am I supposed to use words right
now?
Victor chuckled despite himself. He buried his face in her neck and
nipped her earlobe. "You never learn," he teased, then went on. "Is this what
you need to come on my cock?"
Suddenly she remembered, flung back in time to Cherry Street all over
again, when she'd been a flustered stranger unsure of how much she could
ask for. She laughed and bit his ear right back, reveling in how his hips
stuttered in response. "Do you want to hit my g-spot?"
"You know I do," he hummed.
"Come on." Danielle put her hands on his chest to push him back
slightly, then placed her feet on the mattress and grabbed her pillow. The
moment she had it shoved under her hips, she pulled him back in. "Fuck me
now."
Victor held her by the waist and tilted his head as he stared where their
bodies met. He eased out of her in a slow, teasing drag, then pressed back
inside.
 The new angle made her nerves sing, and Danielle stretched out under
him with a languid grin, her fingers finding the headboard overhead. "Fuck.
Fuck, right there, sir..."
"Yeah?" Victor came up on his knees to get a little more leverage, and
his next thrust grazed perfectly against her sweet spot.
"Fuuuck..." Danielle felt her expression contorting into one of ecstasy.
She reveled in the shockwaves shooting through her muscles, radiating so
brilliantly from her core. "Oh, fuck, don't stop."
"Never." He tightened his grip and regained his rhythm, hips snapping
until he was pounding into her all over again. "Jesus. You're fucking
beautiful, Danielle. You're such a fucking good girl."
She lost grip on language all over again, mouth hanging open through
greedy sounds of pleasure. She was so present in her body, feeling how her
tits bounced with every thrust, how her soft curves shook and rippled with
each moan she let loose. If the old lessons she'd been taught about her body
being a temple were right, then she adored how she was being worshipped
and desecrated all at once.
Victor moved one hand to her pelvis and held her in place while his
thumb moved back to her clit. He studied her, learned the precise pressure
she wanted against her little button, and kept at it while he fucked her
senseless. "That's it, love. That's it. Don't hold anything back. Let me see
every bit of you."
She couldn't hold back even if she tried. Sprawled out under him, not
hiding a thing, she let out a sob. So vulnerable. So full. So perfect. Tears
rolled down her heat-blotched cheeks, and for the first time, she didn't care
if he saw her losing herself or not.
This time when she came, he buried himself as he deep as he could go
and cried out just as loudly as her. They broke together and surfaced
together, fingers intertwining. And if they wept while drowning in each
other's kisses, then so be it.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 22

"O h my God," Andrew gushed once he, Danielle, and Sherry were all
settled into the spacious corner booth for lunch. "You're fucking
glowing. How was your weekend of sin?"
Sherry gasped and rounded on Danielle. "You had a weekend of sin and
didn't even tell me?"
Andrew preened. "It's not my fault that I'm the favorite friend."
"No fair! I haven't had a chance to be the favorite friend!"
Danielle, pink-cheeked and still shifting to find a position that didn't
ache after yesterday morning's glorious shower sex, cleared her throat. "My
weekend was fine. Thank you for asking."
Bread and water was delivered, and the three of them descended on the
bounty. The moment of pause while they all ordered their meals was just
long enough for Danielle to regather herself. She was fully capable of
having this conversation about her and Victor, and about her career plans to
come.
But there was also fear. If these two found fault with her actions, she
wasn't sure how she'd bear being at work anymore. She needed to know she
at least had allies, if not friends.
They'd been chasing her for lunch plans for years now, never tiring,
never calling her snobby for turning them down. What if they suddenly
decided they wanted nothing more to do with her?
"I feel completely out of the loop," Sherry said once they were left
alone. “The last time we got lunch, you were telling us that you weren't
seeing anybody. And now you're running off with someone for a whole
weekend?"
 "It was a surprise for me too." Danielle squirmed one more time before
she forced herself to stay still. She was thirty-two years old. She could have
this conversation without dancing around like a child. "It was an incredible
time. Really, it was." She smiled despite herself. "I actually have a
boyfriend now. I still can't believe it."
Andrew picked up his glass. "Hell yes!" He clinked it against hers, as
though they were drinking champagne. "I told you. I knew he had a thing
for you."
"Who?" Sherry was beaming brightly too, her eyes sparkling.
"Danielle's mystery lover." Andrew glanced between the two of them. "I
don't know if we know who he is, actually. I mean, I guess we wouldn't. As
far as I know, the only overlapping acquaintances we have are all from
work."
Her face grew even hotter. Oh boy.
Sherry bumped Danielle's arm. "Is that why we're here? Are we eating
out to celebrate you getting eaten out more often?"
"Jesus Christ." Danielle covered her face to muffle her laugh. "You two
are absolutely shameless."
"Guilty."
"Guilty!"
Danielle fought to regain control of the conversation, difficult as it
might be, and put both hands on the table. She splayed her fingers against
its surface—a desperate attempt to ground herself. "I actually asked you
both to lunch today because I've got something new coming up." She met
Andrew's eyes, then Sherry's. "I'm going to be transitioning into a new role
for V.W. Hughes Furniture.”
They were silent. And then they both leaned toward her.
"Are you fucking serious?" Andrew asked, not even having the good
grace to lower his voice. "How the hell is Mr. Hughes going to live without
you?"
"I can't believe he'd let you go." Sherry shook her head. "He's going to
be useless, if he doesn't have you coordinating his day."
Danielle snorted. "You both give me way too much credit—"
"Absolutely not!" Sherry touched her arm. "You really have no idea
how indispensable you are to him, do you? Do you think he would've been
able to close that deal with Renfield if you hadn't been there?"
 "That is ridiculous. All I did was bring him his water bottle and wish
him a good day."
Sherry scoffed. "Not just that day. Before that. Do you honestly believe
you haven't been a necessary helping hand every step we took toward that
deal? You're the reason Mr. Hughes has never worked himself to death. You
keep him level. You keep him calm. You shift his focus to where it's most
important at that moment in time." Sherry put her hand on her chest. "I
believe with my whole heart that if you hadn't been here these past few
years, he would've put himself in the hospital from ulcers."
Danielle looked between them both, eyes huge. She'd never thought
about it that way. She was a personal assistant. It was her job to not only be
useful, but to be perfectly invisible. Everything that she did behind the
scenes was so Victor could take credit.
But she'd been seen. And more than that, she'd been appreciated.
She didn't know what to say.
Andrew ripped his roll in half and shook his head. "He must be
absolutely wrapped around your little finger, if he's going to let you out of
that office. He's gotta know better than anybody that he can't get by without
you."
"Well." Danielle let out a sharp breath. Adrenaline seared her veins. "I'm
not going far. Just downstairs. I'll be with you, actually, Sherry. Victor's
putting together an interior design consulting service, and he wants me to be
one of the designers. I'll need training at first, of course. God. I'm tempted
to take a few online classes somewhere just to be sure I'm up to the
challenge."
She was deep enough in the throes of her anxiety that she didn't notice
right away how deathly silent the table had become. When she finally lifted
her gaze from the table, both Sherry and Andrew were staring at her with
their jaws dropped.
"What?" Danielle asked.
"Victor?" Andrew whispered.
Danielle slapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, God."
Sherry's eyebrows lifted into her hairline. "He's Victor now?" While
Andrew still seemed stunned into silence, Sherry's tone twisted into a
playful curve, and she leaned into Danielle with a widening grin. "Tell me
more about Victor, Danielle."
"I was supposed to do this a lot more gracefully," Danielle bemoaned.
 "Oh, no, no need to be graceful." Sherry propped an elbow on the table
and put her chin in her hand, grinning at her like a little gremlin. "Tell us.
Spill. Don't be shy. I live for this."
"There's nothing deep to spill. Really. I promise." Danielle took a long
drink of water, letting the icy liquid cool her nerves as best as it could. She
was already in the thick of this. She might as well let it out. "Mr. Hughes
and I are...seeing each other."
"How long has this been happening?" Sherry prompted.
"Not long. We only made things official this weekend."
Andrew sat straighter. "So you two have been...unofficially messing
around for longer?"
Something about the even cadence of his tone didn't sit quite right with
Danielle. Andrew was such an explosive, emotive man. Seeing him so
forcibly neutral was unsettling. "Not long. A couple of weeks. I'd have to
look at a calendar to do any more precise math."
Andrew was still staring her down, his lips in a straight line, but
Sherry's gentle tug at her wrist drew Danielle's attention away. "That sounds
like a fairy tale. The reserved, cold, wealthy businessman falls for his
sweet, charming, winning assistant. They should make it a movie." She
sighed, her gaze wandering out the window, where she could see whatever
whimsical fantasy was playing in her mind.
"I don't know if it's movie material, per se," Danielle admitted with a
nervous chuckle. "We just...fell. It's a tale as old as time."
Sherry covered her hand with her own, her smile going softer. There
was such a genuine, gentle acceptance in her gaze that Danielle relaxed a
little more into her seat.
But the silence still carried a heaviness, and Andrew had yet to say
another word. By the time Danielle and Sherry looked his way, his
expression was set firmer.
Sherry spoke first. "Andrew. You look like you have something on your
mind."
"No, No, I just..." He wrinkled his brow and tented his hands in front of
his lips, gathering his thoughts. After a few more seconds, he made hard
eye contact with Danielle and didn't look away. "Danielle. I have some
questions, and I want you to feel like you can be honest with me. Okay?"
Suddenly she felt as though she was in trouble with a teacher. Her spine
went ramrod straight. "I'll do my best." Given what ridiculous statements
often came flying out of his mouth, she couldn't exactly guarantee that
she'd answer anything he asked.
Andrew leaned across the table, and with his voice as low as a lullaby,
he spoke. "Are you safe?"
Out of anything he could've said, that was the last thing she expected.
Danielle stammered, shaking her head to clear it. "Am I what?"
"Safe."
"Yes." That wasn't a question she had to think hard about.
Andrew chewed his bottom lip, then went on. "Mr. Hughes is your boss.
He's been your boss for three years. The amount of hours you two have
spent alone together with no one else in the building... I just need to know.
You consented to this, right? Has he ever made you feel pressured?"
"No." Danielle shook her head again. "Never once."
"And you're being honest when you say that?"
Danielle's chest ached. Here she'd been so worried about feeling
rejected by these two, and Andrew was worried sick about her. If she'd ever
doubted she had people on her side of the court, here was her proof
otherwise.
Danielle sniffled before any tears could come to her eyes and leaned in
as well. "Until those couple of weeks ago, nothing happened. Never once.
We've both been professionals and adults." She hesitated. "Did I have a
little crush on him? Yes. Absolutely. And apparently, he had feelings for me
too. But we'd never so much as brushed shoulders before...things changed."
Andrew opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. "And it changed
in a way that you both felt comfortable with?"
As hilarious as a story of the two of them meeting at a glory hole might
be, Danielle thought that perhaps that little tidbit might be best kept to the
both of them. "It was a pretty sudden shift. Kind of like a sea change. For
three years, everything was exactly as it should be—and then something lit
the match, so to speak." Danielle lightly cupped his hands between hers.
"You want me to tell the truth? You're sure?"
"Whatever you're comfortable with sharing, yes," he murmured.
She smiled. "I was the one who made the first move."
Andrew blinked. His lips also quirked faintly. "Really?"
"Really." Danielle nodded. "Mr. Hughes was smart. Ethical. Deeply
focused on the reality of two people in our position being anything more
than superior and employee. He reminded me that he had the power
advantage between us—that it might not be wise for us to change anything.
I mean it when I say that if he hadn't been so concerned about making sure
we both knew what we were getting into, I probably wouldn't have felt so
safe to push us into the open water."
After another pause, Andrew chuckled. "I never would've thought you'd
take the initiative like that. Wow. Good on you."
Danielle laughed and covered her mouth to try and quiet it.
"And you!" Andrew playfully shoved Sherry's hand off the table. "Why
weren't you asking these questions? You were just along for the ride? Not
even a little worried?"
Sherry stuck her tongue out at him. "If you don't think Mr. Hughes is the
most emotionally constipated man on the face of this planet, then you don't
know him at all. I can't believe he even knows the words, do you want to go
on a date?"
The way Sherry mimicked his low, gravely tone had Danielle
desperately trying to keep her giggling inside, both hands now suffocating
the sound before it could escape.
"I can't believe I have to be the dad here," Andrew scoffed. "You
actually have kids, and you're still making me be the responsible one. I feel
icky. I have to take a shower."
"You'll manage." Sherry winked at him. "You're just getting old, that's
all."
Andrew gasped. "Take it back. Right now!"
As the waiter appeared around the edge of the booth and began
distributing their food, they grinned. "Sounds like everyone here is having
fun. Are we celebrating anything?"
"We are, actually!" Sherry picked up her glass again, and eyed the two
of them. "We're celebrating our friend Danielle moving into a fancy new
position at work."
Andrew plucked up his own water and lifted his chin high, as though he
was a posh guest at a banquet. "Yes we are. To Danielle."
"To Danielle," Sherry echoed, meeting Andrew's hand in the middle of
the table.
Danielle flushed, but this time it wasn't from embarrassment. It was
from the knowledge that she truly, deeply felt cared for—and that she
wasn't questioning it or explaining it away. It wasn't just Victor who had her
back. It was these two, who'd been craving her friendship all along, and
who seemed like they were going to fight for her to the end.
She joined the toast with a newly full heart that had grown twenty sizes.
"Thank you. Seriously. Thank you so much—"
"And to Danielle and Victor," Andrew interrupted, his tone turning coy
at the mention of her lover's name.
"Danielle and Victor!" Sherry's own voice was flirtatious, dripping with
heat.
Okay, so now the blush was embarrassment. But Danielle found it was a
lot easier to handle when she was laughing with her friends.

OceanofPDF.com
 EPILOGUE

"N ow, I want you to keep an open mind," Danielle said gently as she
walked Mr. and Mx. Henderson through the showroom, heading
toward the quieter area in the back where she was able to conduct most of
her business. "This is just an idea. But it's one that I think might surprise
you."
The taller Mx. Henderson frowned, their heavy brows furrowing. "No,
of course, I understand. And it's not that I doubt your intuition. It's just..."
Mr. Henderson put his arm around his spouse's waist. "If we've been
planning a black-and-white bedroom from the beginning, I can't imagine
why you found yourself looking at other colors for the furniture at all."
Danielle smiled. She adored this couple. While Mx. Henderson was
sweet and even-tempered, their husband was always ready to fight for them
—to give them space to express their thoughts without worrying about
being too much. In the end, if they were still too nervous to say precisely
what was on their mind, he'd speak with a certain sagely confidence, as
though he was tapped straight into their consciousness.
In a way, it was actually adorable—even if the two of them were ready
to fight her.
"No, of course, you're right. And at the end of the day, I'm here for your
vision. Nothing else. But I knew you were planning on putting a settee at
the foot of your bed, and the second I saw our carpenters working on this, I
knew I had to share it with you." Danielle beamed over her shoulder. "If the
answer is no, it's no, and we'll keep moving forward."
As calm as she was keeping on the surface, this was a huge deal for her.
Her first solo interior design clients? All these hours of training and
observation put into practice? It meant more than she could put into words.
She still wasn't sure her intuition was worth trusting. Maybe it wasn't.
Maybe she'd bring the Hendersons to the back, and they'd take one look at
this object, and they'd immediately walk back out again. Hell, she'd be
pleasantly surprised if they spit in her face before they left.
But she'd meant what she said, too. The moment she saw the elegant
curve of the dark wood and the care taken with the cushion's design, she'd
thought immediately of them.
Every day was a new lesson in believing in herself—and she was proud
of how far she'd come, even if she had a marathon left to go.
Danielle guided them into the more isolated area of the showroom, out
of sight of browsing clients. She turned to face them and walked the last
few steps backwards so she could study their expressions.
The moment they both saw the settee, their eyes widened. They
bloomed. And Danielle clasped her hands to her chest.
"It's certainly not black or white, is it?" Mr. Henderson asked.
"No." Mx. Henderson moved in closer, rubbing their chin. "But that
shade of wood... It'd fit right in, wouldn't it? Black walnut?"
"Mm-hmm." Danielle nodded. She stayed back a bit and allowed them
to look their fill. "Tell me what you're thinking. Give me that brutal
honesty."
The settee's golden cushion was lush and rich, delicate buttons punched
into the velvety fabric to create perfect, equidistant dimples across its
surface. The legs crossed in an X beneath it. The low height, Danielle knew,
would be perfect for how they preferred their bed frames to be.
But what she thought wasn't what mattered right now. Only the clients.
The two of them murmured as they circled it, their words meant for
themselves and not for her. While Danielle forced herself to stand perfectly
still and not let herself get distracted, her entire body ached. She wanted to
run circles around the room and burn off all this anxious energy.
Mx. Henderson finally met her gaze again. "What do you think the best
way to incorporate this would be?"
Danielle pursed her lips in thought. “Well...a couple of matching pillows
on the bedspread would be a good start. And I think if we also included a
lamp with some hints of gold, and maybe one or two other decorative
pieces around the space, then everything would come together beautifully."
 The Hendersons studied each other. They were a younger couple, but so
wonderfully suited. The wedding bands gleamed fresh on their hands. As
they had another one of their near-telepathic communications, Danielle's
heart ached in a way that she adored. The moment she wrapped this
consultation up, she had plans of her own to see to.
A pause. Both of them settled on the settee. A handful more seconds
passed as they shifted, bounced, and checked its sturdiness against their
frames.
That part, Danielle wasn't worried about. She'd gone from loving Victor
Hughes to believing so deeply in the artistic vision of everyone involved
with V.W. Hughes Furniture. Every piece that they designed and crafted
would stand the test of time.
The Hendersons looked up at her, and Mr. Henderson huffed with a
slow smile. "Okay. So let's see where you can take this."
Danielle fought back the urge to squeal. Professional. She was a
professional. "Yeah?"
"Absolutely." Mx. Henderson bounced a little more, letting a gleam of
excitement shine through. "I can't believe how comfortable this is. It's
beautiful. A work of art. And now you've got me imagining these cute little
sunbeams all around our bedroom, and I think I love it. No. I know I do."
"I'm so glad." Danielle wouldn't express how much their words meant to
her, but the emotions that burst deep inside her were so powerful that she
wouldn't be surprised if she was glowing.
After she'd walked the Hendersons back to the sidewalk, she let them
disappear out of sight before she did a quick, giddy dance.
"Good news?" Sherry asked brightly.
"The best news. God. I nailed that. I can't believe I was right."
Sherry laughed. "You've gotta believe in yourself a little more, ma'am.
You've got a hell of a lot more in you than you think."
"I know. You're right." Danielle waved her hands at her burning cheeks,
trying with futility to cool them down. "I'm working on that as much as I
can. I know I've been seeing my therapist Jenny for a few months now, but I
still wish I could just wake up and believe in myself. All this time and effort
is exhausting," she drawled.
"Hey. You're on your way." Sherry put her hands on Danielle's shoulders
and grinned. "And I'm so proud of you."
 "Thank you. I am. I am on my w—" Danielle cut herself off with a gasp
as she checked her phone. "Shit, I'm late to meet Victor for lunch. I needed
to be on my way a whole five minutes ago. Sorry, I've gotta run."
As Danielle hurried toward the back stairs, Sherry called after her. "Are
you, me, and Andrew still good to hang out at his place tomorrow night?"
"Absolutely!" Danielle jogged backwards a few steps just so she could
wave at her. "I can't wait!"
She climbed the stairs with great determination, heart fluttering. She
was proud of all the work she was putting into herself, yes. Plans twice a
week with friends, her newfound hobby of embroidery, and therapy every
two weeks all coalesced into a happier, healthier version of herself than
she'd ever been. Add in the help Jenny was providing regarding Danielle’s
new ADHD diagnosis, and the world had opened up for her in thrilling new
ways.
Stealing weekends and a handful of lunches with Victor every week
hadn't cooled their ardor. If Danielle had it her way, she'd be able to see him
far more often. After all, they'd gone from sharing forty to fifty hours a
week to far, far less.
His nights were equally as full as hers, though. With time allotted for
his own therapy appointments, along with the hiking group he escaped into
nature with, he was finally beginning to loosen up with more people than
her.
She was proud of him. Even still, the thought of getting him all to
herself for the next forty-five minutes was enough to make her soul sing.
She could be pleased with how their separate healing and growth was
progressing, and also miss his handsome face.
As she entered the familiar office, Andrew was on the phone, and he
flicked his eyes up and down her sundress with a dropped jaw, quickly
followed by a smile and a supportive wink. He gestured down the hall, a
silent way to let her know Victor wasn't occupied, and Danielle gave him a
brief wave before she darted away.
Her replacement, Flora, was typing away at her desk, and she looked up
with a flustered smile. She was still adjusting to the rapid pace of Victor's
schedule, bless her, but she was doing her best. "Hey, Miss Higgs. He's right
inside." Flora dropped her voice to a whisper. "Please help him relax.
Please. This upcoming meeting with Renfield next week has him on his
fourth cup of coffee today."
 "Of course," Danielle murmured with a sigh. "I'll do my best."
“Thank God.”
Danielle let herself into Victor's office, and she waited patiently after
closing the door behind her. His forehead was wrinkled in concentration,
and the glasses on the edge of his nose reflected his screen. She imagined
he was finishing up an email.
When Victor looked up a few moments later, he swore under his breath
and put his computer to sleep. "Shit. I thought you were Flora. I'm so
sorry."
"And here I was, worried about being late for our lunch date," she
teased.
"After looking forward to it for the entire morning, of course I get
caught up in one tedious email exchange." Victor huffed in amusement. He
tucked his glasses away as he stood, then came to meet her, hands extended.
As he drew her into a sweet, lingering kiss, Danielle melted. She'd never
get tired of the taste of him.
"Shall we?" he whispered.
She smirked. "Unless you'd rather spend the hour doing far more
interesting things."
Victor quirked a brow. "Twice in one week? How adventurous of you."
"I aim to please, sir."
He let out a low sound, then shook his head. "Reservations, Miss
Higgs."
She stuck her tongue out at him, then let him lead the way to the
elevator, still hand-in-hand.
As they rode down together, Danielle tucked against his side, and he
held her close, unashamed. "Are you ready for this weekend?" Victor asked.
"God, absolutely. I've missed you so much this week." She blew a
raspberry. "I still have to do laundry so I can pack."
"Maybe we should do away with that."
Danielle snorted. "Laundry? Yes, please."
"No, packing." Victor looked down at her. "What do you think about
moving in with me?"
The world stopped. Suddenly it was only the two of them on the entire
planet, and Danielle's heart was thudding. "Really?"
"Sure." He frowned. "Was that too abrupt? I should've bought flowers or
something, shouldn't I?"
 "No! No, it's fine. It's perfect. I-I'm just..." She blinked rapidly, trying to
rein in the thousand thoughts that wanted to fly out of her mouth. "Shit.
You're not...worried it's too soon?" Her stomach tied itself in knots,
worrying about his response.
He fought his smile, but the gleam in his eye spoiled his secret.
"Danielle, it took us three years to admit we cared for each other. I think
we're allowed to breeze through another few milestones."
Her gut untangled. Suddenly her heart had wings, and it fluttered around
her ribs, as excited as a butterfly. "But your privacy. Your space. I value
that, Victor. I never want you to think I'm trying to take it from you."
"My house is cold and lonely every second you're not in it." Victor
cupped her face and leaned in, holding her gaze intently. "I always count the
days until I get to hear you singing in the shower again. Danielle Higgs, I
love you. And getting to share my space and my life with you will only
make that love grow."
She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shirt. "I
love you so much. Yes. Yes, I'll move in with you." She tipped her head,
chin against his chest, and grinned from ear to ear. "Is tomorrow too soon?"
He wrapped his arms around her so there wasn't an inch left between
them, his face softening into sheer adoration. "The next second wouldn't be
too soon."
As Victor crushed her against him in a feverish kiss, she went boneless
against him. The elevator door opened, hesitated, then closed again.
For now, lunch could wait.

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 WA NT M O R E ?

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 AVA I L A B LE N OW

Strings Attached
It’s Complicated #1

"D ick. Dick!" April slapped her feet furiously on the floor as her
character veered off course from a well-timed red shell. As she
slammed into a wall, she watched while Gavin's character charged
triumphantly across the finish line. "Fuck you!"
Gavin threw his head back with a bright, tinkling laugh, then fended her
playful smacks off easily. "You almost had it. Next race—"
"I would've had it if you hadn't thrown that goddamn shell!" But as
angry as April tried to seem, she couldn't hold the reins of her wrath for too
long. The annoyance charged off into the night, leaving her in her makeshift
pillow nest on Gavin and Jillian's living room floor.
Gavin quirked a brow with a smile. "Come on. If I let you win, you'd
hate me just as much."
April opened and closed her mouth, then stuck her tongue out at him in
a very mature display. "Shut up. I'm getting another drink."
Gavin held up his own wine glass in silent entreaty, and she took it
without thought.
April knew her way around their home as if it was her own. As she
stepped through the long entryway that would take her to their enormous
kitchen, she reflected on how different their circumstances were. Gavin was
a master with anything hands-on. He was a brilliant technician who could
fix any kind of broken medical equipment without batting an eye, and he
made incredible money from it. Pair that with Jillian's high position at her
advertising company, and the two of them seemed to have more money than
God.
Enter April and her barista position, and how she ate ramen for three
meals a week.
April surveyed their well-stocked wine cabinet with a sigh. Waiting to
find a career that she was passionate about was something she wasn't
ashamed of. She'd rather make a thousand caffeinated beverages a day than
work somewhere that sucked her soul out of her.
But, goddamn, she had to admit that the perks of a well-paying job were
pretty damn obvious. She doubted Gavin and Jillian had eaten any ramen
that didn't come from a specialty restaurant since college.
April allowed herself a single pout, then plucked her and Gavin's
favorite bottle of wine from the cabinet and refilled their glasses.
When she returned to the living room, Gavin was texting someone, and
she let herself have a rare, sentimental moment to study him. He'd never
really gotten the hang of handling his messy red hair, and even now it was
tousled over his forehead. But he'd grown into the shape of his body. He'd
always been long and lanky, and oftentimes if he was tagging along with
Jillian and April and their various athletic friends, Gavin would shrink into
himself.
Dysmorphia, April believed it was called. What he saw in the mirror
was never quite what he expected.
She wasn't sure if it was his growing confidence in his job, his marriage,
or his self-love, but he wore his skin much easier now. His hunter green
sweater fit him to perfection, from wider shoulders to narrow waist, and his
dark sweatpants fit his legs tighter rather than his years of khakis that hung
off of him.
He glanced up, sensing her stare, and April smiled as she approached
and held his wine out.
"My savior," he murmured with a grin of his own. "Bless you."
"I'll need another three or four before I stop yelling at you for beating
me." April settled back into the pillows and blankets, stretching her long
legs out in front of her. "But we'll start here."
 Gavin put his phone away and twisted himself to face her. That was
something April always appreciated—when she hung out with Gavin, she
never felt like she was taking him away from something more important.
Whether Jillian was with them or not, he always made it clear that he was
delighted to have April there as well.
Perhaps it was silly to value that. They'd been friends for almost twenty
years now. They should find an easy comfort when they were together. But
April constantly prepared herself for the eventuality that Jillian and Gavin
would outgrow her.
Tonight, though, Gavin was smiling at her, ignoring both his phone and
the game in favor of enjoying her presence, and she would greedily soak
that up.
"So work wasn't the most fun today." Gavin knew her well enough not
to turn that into a question.
April let her vision wander across the wall, all the way to the closed
curtains. "It was fine."
"Liar."
"No," she fired back.
Gavin crossed his legs, one over the other, and stared her down. "Look
at me and tell me you had a good shift at the cafe."
April stuck her bottom lip out.
"April..."
She drank half her glass of wine in one fell swoop, then turned so their
knees touched. She met his ocean blue gaze and took a deep breath. "I just
hate men. Okay?"
Gavin burst out laughing. "What a surprising turn of events."
"Maybe not all men." April swirled the red liquid and rolled her eyes.
"Maybe only the men that I meet on a day-to-day basis."
"Which happens to be pretty much all the men you actually know,"
Gavin continued, slowly lifting one of his brows.
"Not you," April offered quietly.
"I know not me." His voice dropped similarly, a smile still across his
full lips. "Never me."

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 A L S O B Y S U Z A N N E C L AY

Chiaroscuro
F/F — Light D/s — Age Gap

Painting Class
Figure Study
Life Drawing

Rough Play
M/M to M/M/M — New Adult — Friends to Lovers

Playing Around
Playing House

Monstrous Desires
Various Pairings — Monster Romances

At The Crossing
The Price on Her Head

It’s Complicated
M/F1 & M/F2 to M/F/F to M/M/F/F — Friends to Lovers

Strings Attached
OceanofPDF.com
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Suzanne Clay (she/they) is an asexual enby with a great love for writing erotic romance, and enjoys
spending her time confusing people with that fact. They live with her wife and two cats, and, when
not writing, Suzanne enjoys reading, playing video games poorly, and refusing to interact outdoors
with other human beings.
You can find more of her work at their website, https://suzanneclay.com/

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