Page 44 of At His Beck & Call

Neither of us speaks as he cradles me in his arms, the intimacy of it a shocking contrast to everything that just happened. He strokes my hair, placing a gentle kiss on the top of my head as I collapse against him.

“Are you okay?” he asks after a while, our breathing beginning to even out.

“Mm,” I say, nodding. “Yes. “

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I say, not entirely sure if that’s true. My throat is killing me, but I don’t care. I’ve had more orgasms in three days than I’ve had in the past two years, and I feel totally blissed out.

“I was rougher than I intended,” he says.

I pull back, meeting his gaze as he examines me, his eyes moving over my face. “I didn’t mind.”

Then a slow smile spreads over his face as his hand moves back between my legs, and I suck in a breath.

“I could tell.” His fingers flirt with my clit as I shudder in his arms, and his eyes roam over the evidence of his release all over me.

“I’m sorry about your shirt. I’ll buy you another one,” he says. “I have something you can wear home.”

I laugh, looking down at myself. “I should definitely use your bathroom this time.”

A soft smile plays over his lips, and he kisses me gently on the temple. My heart clenches unhelpfully as I try to ignore the bubble of pure joy I feel at being held against his huge body.

“Go ahead. Take as much time as you need.”

Chapter 15

Oliver

Iwalk back to my desk, amused when Lissa closes the bathroom door behind her to clean up, as if I haven’t seen everything she has to offer already.

It’s not as if the image of her washing my cum off of her chest is going to shock me.

I have a few shirts I keep for when I’m meeting a client after work, and I go to the filing cabinet at the side of the room and pull one out.

I’m just placing it on the chair in front of my desk when there’s a loud knock on the door. I look up, startled, glancing at the bathroom and wondering if Lissa heard that, my chest tightening.

“Heath? You there?”

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

Please please please don’t walk out of my bathroom in your underwear, Lissa.

A throb of anxiety runs through me as I go to the door, hoping the office doesn’t smell like sex. I turn the lock as slowly and silently as I can.

Moving back, I check my appearance as quickly as I can and then go to stand beside my desk, picking up a letter on the surface, pretending to read it.

“Come in!” I call, loud enough that I hope Lissa hears me.

The handle compresses, and Warren Sutcliffe walks in. His coppery hair is slicked back against his head to hide his bald spot, his long, crooked nose bright red from allergies. His eyes search the room with interest as he closes the door behind him.

Is that an accusation in his gaze, or am I getting paranoid?

His eyes run down the length of me in a very deliberate way, and I resist the urge to check I haven’t stained my pants. I already checked them three times, but it’s pretty dark in here.

I raise my voice again.

“What can I do for you?” I ask, taking a seat as he saunters around the room, looking at the bookshelves.