Page 41 of Painted Truths

Bless her. She really has no idea of this man and his manipulations.

"Okay, Martha. That's great. Thank you. I'll see you at lunch, yeah?" And with that, without waiting for a reply, I fly from her office on winged feet, knowing exactly where I'm going.

Punching 26 on the elevator with a little more force than necessary, I'm entering Henry's office space before seeing anything other than the red haze behind my eyelids.

To say that I'm fuming would be to put it delicately.

Very, very delicately.

I don't remember the last time I've ever felt such unfettered rage coursing through my veins. What is it about this man that makes me so erratic—that makes me want to dance with the devil himself? How does he manage to bring such potent emotions to life in me?

He's in one of the glass board rooms with a whole room full of dull-looking business types, alongside Andrea, who looks spitting mad at the sight of me descending upon them. But I don't hesitate for one split second before I walk right in the open glass door, pointing a white glossed finger directly at Henry as I grit out, "Your office. Right now." Spinning on my towering heels, I march straight into his office, the entire floor staff staring at me.

The rumour mill will be running solidly on me and my actions for the foreseeable. And I couldn't care any less.

Henry arrives less than thirty seconds later, shutting the door and closing the electric blinds after him before sauntering around me to lean nonchalantly against his desk.

"No need to afford either of us any privacy, Mr DeMarco. I got your offer from HR," I snarl, "and I just wanted to let you know face to face that you can ram your 'promotion' right up your fucking ass. I'd rather clean public toilets with my tongue than work under you."

Having said my piece, I turn quickly, but not quickly enough.

He captures my wrist in his much larger hand, but rather than jerk me around to face him, he presses forward so that he is right at my back, my hand locked between us, and my front pushed up against his office door.

I can feel his rock-solid cock pressing forcefully against the top of my ass as we both breathe heavily, as though having run a marathon.

His breath is hot on my neck, forcing my heart rate to kick up yet another notch. His free hand lifts, running his forefinger along my cheekbone before he gently splays his palm across my neck. I gasp at the sensation, and he pauses his movements. For reasons that I can’t comprehend, I find myself relaxing into his hold, wanting more. And as though he’s heard my body’s silent assent, his hand continues down to palm my breastbone. He slowly inches further, stopping as he reaches the top of my breast to pass over my pointed nipple, lightly pinching it through the fabric of my clothes.

Goosebumps light up my whole being as I hum under his touch, and I can’t help but curse my traitorous body’s willingness to forget everything in his mere presence.

Get it together, you idiot.

He continues lower, his breath hot and heavy against my nape, sending another shock of goosebumps tingling along my spine. His chest is rising and falling at my back, almost as rapidly as my own.

"You know, Peach, you really are quite edible when you're angry."

Blowing out an unsteady breath, I whisper, "Stop."

At least pretend you mean it, Liv!

I don't think he's heard me anyway as he continues along my abdomen, lower and lower, before brushing lightly above my pubic bone, making me inhale sharply through my nostrils.

"And surely, you've realised by now…" His voice is a hypnotic drawl at my ear, holding me in place more firmly than his hands.

My hips jerk of their own accord as my face flushes red with the shame of desiring him this strongly, the utter bastard.

"I like to play with my food before I eat it."

Oh God quit pretending and just go with it, you hussy.

His pinkie finger moves lower, barely grazing over the top of my clit. His breaths become shallow, and I whimper helplessly when he rolls his hips forward into my ass cheeks as I press back against him.

Craving more.

Needing more.

I feel his hardness grinding against my rear as I'm transported to the time before there was any animosity between us.

A low moan slips unbidden from my lips as I lay my head back against his broad shoulder and close my eyes in delicious anticipation, allowing my heart to take the lead—to hell with the cost.