Dirty Rich(20)

Words don't begin to describe how sweet things are with Jax.

Or how intense.

He didn't want me to go to work yesterday, and it was all too easy to  give into him. I know his dominating nature is still there, waiting for  just the right opportunity to reappear, but my stay in the hospital  seems to have calmed him.

It's only temporary, I know.

I can't say I mind seeing this softer side of him. The way he's cared  for me over the past week is unlike anything I've ever experienced  before.

In the middle of our second day of full-time lounging in his enormous  living room, I was completely overwhelmed by the desire for movie  theater popcorn.

"Do you like going to the movies?"

I was curled up against his chest, tucked under his arm, and he twisted to look down at my face.

"I don't mind the movies," he said. "There are definitely a few theaters  I'd choose over others. Why? Do you want to go out? I don't know if-"

A look of worry crossed his face, and my heart warmed up to see him so  concerned that a trip across town to the movies might be too much for  me. It wouldn't have been, but I rubbed his arm and laughed a little.  "No, no. I just love movie theater popcorn. I'd watch three hours of  previews with a bucket of that popcorn and be so thrilled."

By the time I was finished talking he was pulling his phone from his pocket.

"Who are you-?" I laughed, still half disbelieving that this was real life.

"Michelle? Are you occupied at the moment?"

I couldn't hear her reply.

"I'll cover the fee if you go to the theater on Broadway between 83rd  and 84th right now and return with two buckets of popcorn. Fifty as a  bonus if it's here while it's still warm."

Anything.

He'd get me anything.

All my life, I never aspired to wealth like Jax's. It seemed like such  an impossible goal and such a burden at the same time, and I do see  that-how he takes his responsibilities so seriously.

In the middle of the movie we're watching-The Devil Wears Prada, in a  twist of irony-he puts his hand on mine. "If you could be doing anything  for a job, what would it be?"

"Wow. I haven't thought about that in a long time."

I'm silent for a few minutes while I turn the question over in my mind.

"I didn't start out loving fashion," I say finally.

"No?"

"No. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a writer. But I didn't think it  would pay the bills, so in college I double-majored in marketing and  creative writing. When I moved to NYC I got a job at Basiqué in  editorial, and I probably would have stayed there if my boss hadn't  recommended me to Sandra as a potential assistant."

"So you'd be a writer?"

"Maybe one day. But I always thought-this is so stupid, because the  Internet exists now-that it would be really fun to own my own publishing  company. Now it would be more complicated, having to come out with  digital books and all that, and probably nothing like what I'm imagining  it was in the old days, but … that's what I'd do."

"Read for a living."

"Yes. Read for a living."

That same evening, the salt from the popcorn still on my tongue, Jax's phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Hello?"

He hesitated, not wanting to move away from me, but after a minute it  was clear that whatever it was would take more of his attention.

"No," he said as he padded out of the room, leaving me to watch the  fifth movie of the day solo. "No, absolutely not. Have all five of them  conference in. Three minutes."

And yesterday in bed …

Damn.

He took off my clothing with such infinite care that by the end I was  trembling with anticipation. I threw my naked body at him, biting his  lower lip, tasting his tongue, rubbing up against his cock straining  against his pants.

"You're so hot for me," he murmured into my ear.

"Yes," I gasped.

He made a tsking sound with his tongue. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you self-control?"

The past year has taught me self-control more than most other experiences in my life.         

     



 

But this is a game that I so want to play with Jax … and I have a feeling he's going to take it to a new level.

"No," I whispered into his ear as he slid a hand between my legs,  pushing them apart and running a finger through the wetness there.

"No?" he repeated, a hint of a warning in his voice.

We weren't in the office, but I caught on instantly. "No, Mr. Hunter." I  rested my head against his shoulder while he stroked me, sending  pulsations of heat through my body.

"On the bed, on your back," he commanded, his voice quiet, and I fell  back onto the brand new comforter. The mattress bowed a few moments  later as, clothes discarded on the floor next to the bed, Jax climbed  into bed next to me.

He planted hot kisses from my shoulder to my wrist on each arm, then he  raised my arms above my head, pinning my hands against the headboard.

"Keep them here." His soft voice was laced with steel.

I kept my hands planted firmly against the headboard as he licked and  nibbled at my neck, dragged his tongue into the dip of my collarbone,  took each of my nipples in turn into his mouth, then brought his head  down between my legs until I thought I would die from the intensity of  the pleasure. Measured. So slow it nearly drove me insane. So when he  climbed up and centered himself between my legs and pressed his cock  into me inch by inch my nerves were on fire and I felt every curve of  him, every vein of his thickness against my walls, filling me, fucking  me, getting me closer and closer to the edge until I careen over in a  burst of light and heat …





I'm still thinking about his passionate lovemaking this morning, even while I'm about to disobey him.

The fact of the matter is, though, that no matter what we do in the  bedroom, I'm a goddamn independent woman. I can't deny that I needed  someone to take care of me the past few days, and Jax has been  incredible.

But it's time to go back to work.

My muscles still feel fatigued, so I don't even entertain the notion of  working out with Carl. I just get up early, when I know Jax is with his  trainer-I wonder who's meeting him at this hour of the morning-dress as  meticulously as always, and head out the door.

At the office Sandra barely acknowledges that I was gone, although a  frazzled redhead named Allison from the editorial department sees me as  her personal savior when I arrive and send her back to her regular job.

It's not until 5:00 that I realize sneaking out so early without telling Jax is going to come with a price.

It's on my calendar, so I show up for our daily meeting without a second  thought-that's how thoroughly I slip back into work mode, despite the  fact that I move a little slower at the moment.

The moment I see his eyes, I see the depth of his fury.

Three steps into the office, and I stop dead, his face a mask of anger.  He's by me in a flash, locking the doors behind us, and then he takes my  arm in his hand and walks me roughly over to the desk.

"Bend over."

A flush of heat runs through me all the way to my fingertips, and the energy that spikes through my core is molten lust.

"Yes, Mr. Hunter," I say and bend over, exactly how he showed me during our second meeting.

He shoves my skirt up and yanks down my panties, his hand hard against  the small of my back, and that's when I do it: I spread my legs wider.

Jax hesitates.

Leans down.

He whispers, "You knew I didn't want you to come to work."

"I came anyway."

"It's not safe, Catherine. Your health isn't-"

"Are you going to punish me for it?"

My breath is ragged in my throat. A pause.

"You want me to punish you?"

"I wasn't following instructions."

He takes in one harsh breath and then I hear the rip of his zipper, a  rustle of cloth, and Jax is slamming his cock into me, he's into the  hilt, and I'm throbbing around him, already on the edge of a climax.  This is what he does to me, what I want him to do, what I need him to  do-

"Harder!" I cry out.

He responds with a slap on the ass, stinging, sharp. "You don't give the  orders here." I thrust my ass back against him, urging him on, in,  deeper, faster.         

     



 

He doesn't disappoint.





Chapter 27

Jax





Catherine Schaffer is going to ruin me.

I don't know what I intended when I came to the Basiqué offices knowing  that she was here. A terse discussion, probably, that would alleviate  some of the pressurized worry building in my chest.

I saw her fall.

It wasn't that long ago that I came in early on some instinct, some  mystical sign, I don't fucking know, just in time to catch her before  her temple crashed into the sharp, modern corner of Sarzó's desk. Over  that first weekend we spent together I saw how she needed more and more  sleep to wake up every time, more and more time to recover, but she  refused to acknowledge it. I watched the storm brewing on the horizon  and I didn't give a damn if I got wet.