Page 58 of Mr. Perfect

I push her dress out of the way and grab her hips, forcing her back against me, forcing my dick deeper and deeper inside her, until the impact of our skin-on-skin contact makes a slapping sound that echoes off the walls of her office.

We come together. And it’s sweet, and thrilling, and erotic as fuck. She doesn’t scream—not exactly. But it’s close.

And I smile.

She might be leaving next week, but she’s not getting away.

I collapse on top of her back and kiss her neck. “You’re leaving early today, Miss Hatcher. I require your attendance down on the tarmac in twenty minutes.” I step back and rip the condom off as I walk into my office. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Chapter Twenty-Three - Ellie

Don’t keep me waiting.

Is that hot? Or not?

I can’t tell.

McAllister Stonewall certainly has an air of superiority about him. I’m sure it comes with the territory. Billionaire’s son, trust fund, accountable to no one.

But he did apologize and he did admit he was wrong. That counts for something. I’m not sure what yet. But something.

All week I’ve been thinking about him. But why? It’s not the money. I’m not rich by any means, but I’m not poor either. I’m a saver. I live in a Tech Center apartment to save gas on a long commute and because it’s kind of a dead area. A place to work, not to live. So the apartments are new, nice, and affordable.

And I really do believe in my book. I believe in my new career. I know that my life forward involves intimate one-on-one meetings with people who need guidance. My degree might be in communications, but I minored in psychology, and I’ve had enough people tell me my words make a difference to them to believe in myself. I think leaving is a good idea. I think I’ll be successful.

No. Mac’s money is not the source of the nagging desire that’s been floating around inside me all week.

It’s certainly got something to do with his good looks. He’s taller than Heath. Not by much, but it’s noticeable. And while his blond hair is technically short, it’s long in all the right places. Enough to give it that messy look that drives women wild. The just-rolled-out-of-bed look. The just-ran-my-fingers-through-it look. The just-lie-back-and-enjoy-it look.

But no. It’s not the way he looks. That’s not what’s got my attention.

I do like his bossiness. Which walks that fine line just between rude and fuck-hot. It’s definitely a contributor.

I guess it’s all of that put together that makes him seem so… perfect. Maybe too perfect?

The thing that really nags at me though—the thing that has been nagging at me since the day I first looked at him a little closer—is this missing past business. There’s something wrong with that. Like he was erased. How powerful does one have to be to erase themselves from the internet?

It can’t be done even if it appears it has been done.

The power, I realize. I like his power. I like the way he talks to me. The way he assumes I will just obey his commands. The way he holds me still when I feel like things are spinning out of control. The way he pulls me close.

Maybe this is just some stupid end-of-job fling. It probably is. But it’s fun. Like he said. It’s fun.

I have to contort myself to get my dress straightened out. The zipper is almost impossible to reach and while I don’t need to pull it all the way down to my knees again—mission accomplished there—I do need it to cover my round ass.

I chuckle a little at the thought. How I must have looked to Mac as I was bent over the desk, the dress unzipped to my waist, my white panties not enough to prevent him from getting a good look at the desire spilling out from between my legs.

Yes. It’s the power.

He’s self-assured. He’s confident. He’s commanding.

I like all of that.

I shuffle through my large pink clutch until I come up with a compact and open it.

Jesus. I looked well-fucked.

My cheeks are rosy, my eye makeup is slightly smudged, my hair is messy, and my lipstick is gone.