Page 37 of Possessive Mr. Pen

“Ifthis,” I grind my hardness into her softness, “isn’t enough, then how do I prove I’m fine?”

“A trip to the hospital,” she deadpans.

I can’t resist the temptation.She’s in my arms.I need more.

With one hand on her lower back, I skim the other up to support her head and nuzzle the side of her face.

“I don’t have time for the hospital,” I whisper into her ear.

She flattens her palms on my sides but doesn’t push.

“You do if—”

“I’m not going, Hilary.”

For a moment, all I hear in my voice is the lost, scared, and hurt little boy who woke up alone in a sea of strangers at a crappy emergency room after watching my mother die.My lust morphs into a need for comfort, and I bar my arm around her back and drop my face into the crook of her neck and shoulder.Breathing in her raspberry and vanilla scent calms my nerves and weakens my memories.

She stiffens.Uncertainty wafts from her as she senses the change in me.After a few moments, she relaxes and softens her stance.

“Take off your shirt,” she demands.

I smile against her shoulder.

“Are you trying to take advantage of me, my gladiator goddess?”

She huffs and pushes against my sides.I grunt in pain.

“No, I’m trying to see how black and blue you are under the suit.Take it off.”

I tighten my hold on her and burrow deeper into her neck.She sighs.

“What are you doing?”she demands.

My groan as she wriggles carries both pain and pleasure.

“Get off me so we can move to your office.”

“Whatever you say, my warrior queen,” I murmur into her neck.Goosebumps rise on her flesh.I can’t force myself to let go.

Her presence soothes me to my wretched soul.She’s the only one besides my mother who has ever comforted me.Holding her like this is the first time I’ve felt even a modicum of relief since she saved me so many years ago.

“Mr.Pen,” she scolds.

I growl and steal a lick of her throat.

“Connor,” she snarls.

Even angry, her voice is mesmerizing.

I take one last inhale, squeeze her to me, and brush my lips against her skin before lifting my head and dropping my arms.

Another coughing fit hits me, but the phlegm barely holds a hint of pink.

She grabs the folder, opens the door, and stands in easy view of the busy hallway as she waits for me to recover.Refusing to leave the bloody mess in a conference room trash can, I bundle it inside a clean tissue and close my fist around it before striding past her.

Like it’s any other Tuesday, she trails behind me and returns the greetings aimed our way.

No one bats an eye when she enters my office and closes the door behind her.