Page 6 of Possessive Mr. Pen

I groan as visions of hot, soapy water and soft, smooth skin play through my mind.

With an angry pivot, I stalk into the secondary bedroom and lock myself in the bathroom.Like a total creep, I lean my forearm against the wall adjoining the master bath and work my cock out of my trousers.

To the tune of pattering water as the goddess of my dreams cleanses her perfect body a few feet away, I stroke myself from base to tip and back.The punishing movements, especially dry, send streaks of delicious agony into my balls and up my spine.The pain radiates outward, infecting every organ and sensitizing my nerves.Pressure builds between my legs.I curl my toes in my ridiculously expensive shoes and tighten my fist.

A soft, feminine gasp breaks through the sound of running water.

My control snaps.Magma erupts from my balls, rockets down my shaft, and spurts from my tip.I curse and shuffle backward, barely avoiding dirtying my pants and shoes as my cum splashes off the wall and splats onto the floor.

Despite the soundproofing between us, Hilary’s sigh burrows deeper into my ears and blasts through my skull.The mix of satisfaction, annoyance, frustration, and disgust in the single exhale shouldn’t affect me in so many ways, but even as a second orgasm rips through me, so does shame, worry, and fresh fury.

She’s tortured me for eight years.

Eight fucking years.

For eight years I’ve kept her within arms reach and used her natural tenacity to mold her into the vicious, stubborn woman I need by my side, but until today, she kept herself untouchable.

The clear boundaries she set taunted me every second of every day.Knowing bliss wasright therebut wholly unavailable was pure hell on earth.

I found rapture between her thighs and heaven in her eyes during what unfortunately became a one-night stand, then I spent eight years pining after her like a teenage schoolboy.With every day she remains by my side, my control frays a little more.

She is my one weakness.The only thing I want more than revenge.

She’s mine.

Hilary Winthrop, the girl who stole the last few slivers of my decimated heart many, many years ago and the woman who became my one and only lover, is now a carefully curated weapon by my side.

She could destroy me and everything I’ve worked so hard to build, but without her, I’m nothing.

She turns off the shower.I end my ruminations with a growl, wipe myself off with a damp washcloth, and give the wall and floor a quick clean before checking my reflection and exiting the bathroom.Deciding I need to see her expression when she emerges from the master bedroom and wonders if I heard her pleasuring herself but not trusting myself to keep my hands off her if we’re locked in a hotel room alone, I prop open the front door and settle in the plush chair angled beside the couch in the living room with a full view down the hall to the master suite.

When a hard thump reverberates through the wall, I jump to my feet and take an alarmed step forward before catching myself.I curse my wayward body, fix my suit lapels, and force myself back into the chair with measured control.

After ensuring no one was in the hall to witness my failure, I adjust my cufflinks and regulate my breathing until my heart no longer threatens to jump out of my throat.

Hilary Winthrop is a strong, resilient woman.She’s proven throughout the years she does not need my help, and I’ve enforced her skills and capabilities as much as my role as her boss allows, but still my drive to protect and cherish her fights for dominance.

The thought of her hurt curdles my insides, but since I exited the master suite not long ago, I know she’s in there alone, so she isn’t in any true danger.My overreaction stemmed purely from my own emotions and is a heinous slip from my discipline and control.

It cannot happen again.

With my physical armor—my suit and jewelry—in place, I pull my mental defenses around me and don my cutthroat, cruel business persona.

The bedroom door opens.Hilary steps out in a dark green strapless gown.Molded to her curves with a slit halfway up her thigh, the dress instantly undoes my efforts of the last few minutes.My cock hardens in a painful rush.Despite the sinful cut of the gown, the color of the fabric and her flat, strappy sandals with ribbons crisscrossing up her long legs—as well as her understated hair and makeup—prevent the outfit from being overtly sexual.

She’s a wet dream in the flesh.

Even as she freezes like prey caught in a trap, lust pulses through my veins and saliva floods my mouth.I swallow.Her long lashes frame wide, startled dark chocolate eyes.

She blinks and gathers her composure with impressive speed.

I quirk a brow.A blush creeps up her chest and darkens her olive complexion.

“Mr.Pen, is there something I can help you with?”

Her polite inquiry grates down my spine even as my mind supplies all the filthy ways she could help me with the situation trapped in my trousers, but I lean my elbow on the armrest and prop my chin on my knuckles.

Unable to fully erase the hunger gnawing at my insides from my gaze, I trail cold, calculating eyes from the top of her head to the tips of her painted toenails before meeting her glare.