Mallory pulls back, stands. Smiles at me as she grabs a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.
"You," I point at her after I get myself situated.
"I swear I didn't plan that," she says playfully, drinking the water.
I stride to the office door, turn the lock. Nobody would've barged in, but still. I need the door locked for what I'm about to do.
"Get on my desk," I instruct.
Mallory blinks at me, doesn't move. "We have work to do, Hugo."
"I know," I answer, stalking toward her. "I need you sated."
Mallory doesn't move. So I move her. Even twenty-eight weeks pregnant, I lift her. Put her on the desk, haul her forward. "Pull my hair," I tell her. "And give me those soft little moans of yours."
I could stay with my lips on Mallory's thighs until the end of time, but she's so ready, so turned on from beingon her knees for me. It doesn't take long before she's threading her fingers through my hair, doing her best to quiet those moans.
"Attagirl," I tell her, coaching her through it as she squirms on my desk, back arching while I lap at her.
I don't stop until her legs are shaking, until she's begging me to give her a break. Pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, I pull her panties up, and her dress down. Help her into my desk chair, because her muscles are too weak.
Pulling the second chair from around the front of my desk, I settle in beside Mallory. She leans over to kiss me, and I more than happily oblige. We taste salty and indecent. I love it. I love her.
"Now I feel ready to dig," I say when we separate. "How about you?"
Mallory smiles at me. She's so gorgeous, it's almost painful. "I feel ready for a nap, to be honest. But I'll work, instead."
Chapter 42
Mallory
It's noteasy sitting beside Hugo after what we did. Especially because after the buzz wears off, I'm ready for more. Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones, but I'm not so sure. In fact, I'm positive that's not it at all. Perhaps it never was.
It's him. Hugo. I want him with an unbelievable ferocity, in every way. Even sitting here, smelling his scent, makes me soft. Warm. Gooey. I am basically a s'more for this man.
"My dad was not the most organized keeper of paperwork," Hugo admits. He sighs and rubs at the pleat between his brows. There's a mountain of papers to sort through, sitting in a spot on the desk my ass only recently vacated.
"All these old invoices? Why keep them?" He shakes a handful. "Some of these are from twenty-five years ago."
We work for a solid two hours. Not surprisingly, I need to pee. Hugo tells me where the officebathroom is, and I go in search of it. I locate it easily, and run into Claudette on my way in. She sends me a polite smile, one I return when an idea strikes me.
"How long have you worked at Summerhill? Just out of curiosity," I add, hoping she doesn't take it as anything but a simple query.
"Going on ten years. I took over for my father when he had his stroke. He was the mill manager for as long as I can remember."
"I'm sorry to hear that happened to him."
"He's ok. Lost some motor function, but it was well past time for him to retire. If he didn't love the De la Vegas like family, he would've stepped away sooner."
"The Summerhill community seems like a close one."
"We really are." She smiles proudly. "Aside from those who come here for seasonal work, we have very little turnover." Thumbing behind herself, she says, "Speaking of work, I better get back to it."
She heads the opposite way. I finish up in the bathroom, hurrying back to Hugo.
"Tell me about the people who come here for seasonal work," I say, whirling into his office and closing the door with a flourish.
Hugo looks up from the papers he's sorting through. He sits back in the desk chair, rakes a hand through his hair.
