Page 70 of Painted Truths

Crouching down so that we are at eye level, I brush my thumb back and forth across her plump and deliciously swollen bottom lip, my eyes following the movement, completely entranced.

I’ve had more than my fair share of blowies, but my Peaches’ mouth is out of this goddamn world; hot and sure, it wasn’t the most skilled head of my life, but her enthusiasm was invigorating. The idea of her sucking another man’s dick makes me want to smash someone’s face with my fists. Mine may not be the first in her glorious mouth, but I’m going to make sure it’s the fucking last.

“I can’t miss it.”

Stilling my thumb with her hand, she kisses it gently, the unfamiliar yet affectionate gesture making my chest tighten momentarily.

“Henry,” she says my name like she’s addressing an infant, “pull on your big boy pants and get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She sits up, having taken it upon herself to decide playtime is over, and knowing just how stubborn this woman can be when she puts her mind to it, I hold out my hand to help her up before leading her to the private, oversized bathroom off of my office.

She stops dead on the threshold, taking in the sheer size and decadence of the room. I put in a lot of office hours, so no expense was spared when creating my sanctuary.

The entire room is white and chrome, with a rainwater shower that could fit six people easily, a free-standing claw-foot white tub sits off to one side, and glass doors lead to a modest enough steam room. There’s a small selection of workout equipment to our left, including weights and a treadmill.

Shaking her head, she moves further into the room, and like the junkie I am for her, I follow at her heels.

She stands in front of the huge, gilded mirror above matching white Jack and Jill sinks, taking in her tousled hair and red smeared lipstick. I step forward to stand close behind her, placing my hands on either side of her waist.

“Take however long you need. I’ll have a driver meet you downstairs to take you home when you’re ready.”

Accusation flashes across her eyes, mingled with pain as she spins to face me, shoving me backwards as she does.

“I get paid to be here till five, so why the fuck would I do that, hmm?” She all but hisses the words at me.

Feeling my brows knit together in confusion, I tilt my head, taking in my spitfire for a moment.

“I don’t understand your anger, Peaches.”

Covering the distance between us, she pushes her forefinger against my chest, stabbing me repeatedly with the offending digit.

“Don’t. Don’t you ‘Peaches’ me, Henry DeMarco. I refuse to be used as your little sex toy and only to get rewarded with the rest of the day off, you hear me? I won’t…”

Gently but firmly, I place my fore and middle fingers over her lips, cutting off whatever she was about to say before meeting her eyes with mine in an intensely penetrating stare.

“Olivia, whatever you think I was insinuating is not the case. Firstly, this is not about sex. Secondly, it’s not about work, or rewards for sexual favours at work, which, by the way, isn’t how I roll.”

I remove my fingers from her lips, confident now that she doesn’t need to be silenced as the tension drains from her body and her eyes begin to soften.

“Third, I want this. Whatever this is. I want you, and that means no more Alex or anyone else scratching itches that I am more than ready, willing, and able to scratch. You get me? You are mine.” My voice drops an octave. “And mine alone.”

Her breathing hitches as she slowly nods once. Twice.

I allow myself a brief, smug smirk at her desire to please me.

Good girl.

“And lastly, Peach, I want you to go home and get ready because I’m taking you out tonight.”

Her impossibly deep blue eyes light up as a broad smile spreads across her beautiful face.

“Like, on a date?”

The hopeful hesitance in her voice makes my heart swell as warmth fills my chest with a feeling I’m not entirely familiar with.

Dropping a kiss on her delectably flushed cheek, I inhale her scent in deep lungfuls. She smells like rainy days and wildflowers and something else, something entirely Olivia. And I’m addicted to it. Hook, line, and fucking sinker.

My lips move to her ear, my stubble rubbing along her cheekbone as I whisper, “Yes, Peach. Exactly like a date.”