Page 166 of Holding On To Good

“Please, please, please,” she chanted, breathless.

The moment he reached around and touched her clit, she erupted with a ragged moan, her body quaking, her pussy clenching and milking his cock. But he wanted more so he kept his hand there so that each thrust had his finger sliding against her again and again.

She lifted herself onto her palms and looked over her shoulder at him, eyes wide, his name on her lips as she shuddered with another climax.

Holding her gaze, giving her what she’d given him, he held her hips again, his movements fast and fierce as he emptied himself in her, coming so hard, his head swam and his knees went weak.

They collapsed on the desk. Realizing he was probably squishing her, he eased back, took off the condom, tied it off and tossed it in the trash—reminding himself to make sure he emptied it when they left.

Tugging her with him, he shuffled back until the backs of his legs hit his chair. He sat, pulling her onto his lap. She curled against him, her head on his shoulder and he smoothed her hair back. Kissed her temple then kept his mouth pressed against the delicate skin there, her pulse a rapid tattoo against his lips.

Fantasy fucking complete.

And more than worth the wait.

Chapter Thirty-One

“So,” Hayden said, swiping a fry from Reed’s plate, “you and Verity Jennings, huh?”

Reed glowered at her. He didn’t want to hear Verity’s name. Didn’t want to talk about her. He didn’t even want to think about her or the way she’d looked last night when he’d told her she wasn’t worth it.

Wasn’t worth his time. His attention.

Wasn’t worth even the slightest bit of effort.

Fuck.

Stomach turning, he set down the burger he hadn’t even taken a bite out of yet. “There’s no me and Verity.”

His shitty tone probably wasn’t the best idea since Hayden was, technically, one of his bosses. Though not the one who signed his paycheck or had the ability to fire him.

Just make his life a living hell if he pissed her off.

You didn’t mess with Hayden Stabinski. A lesson he learned the hard way when he’d come onto her on his eighteenth birthday. Yeah, she was ten years older than him and three times divorced, but she was also a total smoke show. Sometimes a guy had to shoot his shot.

Even if it meant having a gorgeous woman laugh in his face so hard and for so long, several of their coworkers and at least half the patrons in The Cockeyed Chameleon that night asked what was funny.

Luckily, she’d been crying/laughing by that point so she couldn’t get the full story out.

Not until later, anyway.

Didn’t matter. He’d survived her handing his balls to him and the razzing he’d gotten from Patton and Mel and more than a few customers. He’d survive her getting pissy over him acting like a dick to her, too.

Besides, he wasn’t technically working at the moment, he was a paying customer, so he could talk to her however the hell he wanted to.

And he was smart enough not to tell her that.

Or to snap at her again.

What could he say? He liked his head on his neck and his balls hanging right where they were.

“That’s not what I heard,” Hayden said in a singsong tone as she dragged her fry through the ketchup/mayo combo on his plate.

He narrowed his eyes and slid his plate out of her reach. Hunched over it and forced himself to pick up the burger again, this time taking a big bite before she got any ideas about eating that, too.

Which made her grin at him like he was just too damn adorable for words with his scowl and growl and shitty ways.

He chewed. Swallowed. Took another bite.

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