Submission Specialist(Still a Bad Boy #2)(97)

I thought about that asshole at Luc Monette’s, that cunt of a boss she had and what Lorenzo had just said about her. It felt like any offence against Kendall was an offence against me. She was mine.





Chapter 19

Kendall

This was the best time of my life. Nothing else was even worth comparing.

Every time Jace had a spare moment during the working day, I was at his office. As far as Mr. Kinsley or anybody else knew, I was there to get more information for my article, but in reality I was getting fucked in every way imaginable.

Bent over his desk, on the floor, against the wall, on the couch. I was even hiding under his desk sucking his dick when somebody came in and talked to him for a few minutes. Jace ended up cumming in my mouth while he was on a phone call.

He held his hand over the mouthpiece, I assume, and told me to swallow every drop like a good little girl. You bet I did.

I licked my lips just thinking about it. This was what life was supposed to be like. This was the fantasy that the movies, the commercials, the schools, the everything, sold to you.

The contrast from that colorless existence was like night and day. Every time I saw Jace, I saw his expression shift. He went from cold and calculating, to warm and hungry… for me.

It was a crazy feeling. It wasn’t just that he had my back and would stand up for me if I needed it, it was like my happiness mattered to him. My presence made him happier. For the first time in my life I felt like, no matter what the rest of the world might think of me, I mattered to somebody.

It certainly didn’t hurt that that somebody was sexy enough to make my panties break the sound barrier as they dropped. Literally temporarily losing the power of vision because of the intensity of the orgasms? That didn’t hurt either. It always came back.

I laughed at that thought, and then held my hand over my mouth, looking around the office to see if anybody had overheard and thought I was being a weirdo. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention, so I shook my head to clear it and went back to trying to outline my article on Jace Barlow, the man behind the millions.

With all the time I’d spent with Jace, I had so much material that had never even been hinted at in anything written about him before. Easily the most fascinating stuff was his early life. Even with his memories faded and incomplete due to the passage of time, it was an extraordinary start for an extraordinary man.

Before that car crash it was all so normal. Mom, Dad and little Jace could have been any family in the country, but then everything changed.

He was in the car when it crashed. He remembered his dad was driving, his mom was in the front passenger seat and he was in the back. He remembered the way they looked back at him and that his mom had a big swollen belly.

He can’t remember for sure, but he had this vague idea that he was going to have a baby brother or sister that day. Instead… pain, loud noises, blackness and more loud noises. Then the group home, and instead of growing to four, his family shrunk to one.

When I asked him about the group home, it was always a bit of a stumbling block. He’d start sentences, only to cut himself off and go off on a random tangent. Inevitably, he’d end up with a far-away look in his eyes and his fists bunched up as if ready to beat the hell out of something.

There was so much anger in him, it flared up sometimes like when that couple made that big scene at Luc Monette’s. Jace could be downright terrifying, there was no denying it. Nobody who seemed to have known him for any length of time dared to push his buttons.

I knew that was the kind of thing Mr. Kinsley would have wanted me to dig deeper on, but when Jace was with me and I saw that other side of him, I couldn’t bring myself to aim for an article that made him out to be the bad guy. That side of him was like me, although it had known pain more intimately than I had. To write that article would be like hurting myself.

That’s why I wanted to concentrate on what made him the man he was. That was the story I wanted to tell. That was what Mr. Kinsley had asked about in the first place anyway. Where does he come from?

I already had a feeling that this article I was writing would give the paper, and me, national attention. Mr. Kinsley seemed to have that feeling too, which was why I thought he was tolerating how little information I extracted out of each meeting with Jace.

It was also why, at long last, Mr. Kinsley had agreed to pay me something. It wasn’t a salary per se, but a couple thousand dollars for ‘expenses’ went a long way. At least now I wouldn’t have to sell the earrings Jace had bought me just to make rent.

My case for payment was strengthened by the fact that I thought I had just about everything I needed to write out the first full draft of my article. The last time I met with Jace, I asked if we could visit the group home where he grew up, and he had reluctantly agreed. Mr. Kinsley thought that was a great idea, that it would give me the chance to add a lot of tone to the piece.