Page 4 of Mr. Hall's Sunshine

“I was going to say, ‘Mary was a mistake’. A monumental mistake, and I don’t care that her baby isn’t mine.” He kisses the top of my belly once, twice, then rolls his eyes up to meet mine, sending shivers up my spine. “I’m glad it’s not mine since it just sped up our long-overdue divorce.” He drops his voice low and shockingly confesses, “I started the process the day after your interview. But it took too long to get everything in order, and then you…” He loosens one binding arm from around my back to palm the underside of my belly. “You, sunshine…I made the ultimate mistake with you,” he whispers, despair written all over his face.

“What the fuck?” Cue the waterworks that leave me literally shaking in my foolish shoes, my chest heaving with the force of my cries. Fucking hormones! Why does it feel like my heart is breaking when not even two hours ago I all but hated the man? When I was counting down the days until I’d be free of him for six whole, blessed weeks?

“No, no, baby. Not like that. Whatever you’re thinking, that’s not what I meant. Please don’t cry, sunshine.” He scoots forward on his knees, using his impressive bulk to back me up farther until the back of my knees butt up against the edge of the couch. He peels down my maternity skirt, working it over my pregnancy-induced bubble-butt, then down my legs, along with my ugly-as-sin gray granny panties.

And I let him for some reason. I don’t even protest when he palms the back of my knees and forces me to shift my feet apart a few inches.

“My mistake”—he dips down and kisses the darkened line from my belly button to the top of my regrettably untrimmed, red-haired mound—“was not divorcing her long before I met you so that when you walked into my life, I’d be able to claim you, drag you down to the courthouse right after your interview, and give you my last name. To be the one who put this baby in your gorgeous belly.”

“Claim me?” I squeak out and fist my hair, disbelief coloring my tone. “You wanted to claim me, like some kind of obsessed book boyfriend?”

He nods and nuzzles his nose against my pubic mound, inhaling deeply like a predator scenting its prey, spiking my heart rate. “I should have had Barry taken out before he could be the one to impregnate you,” he says with a muffled voice, then dips lower to push his tongue between my pussy lips that are still inexplicably wet. He groans and says, “I thought about it. Christ, how I thought about it. Nearly every day. That’s how crazy you make me.” Then he laps at me, forcing me to spread my feet even wider apart so he can drive his tongue farther between my lips.

My jaw drops, and I grip his shoulders when he drags his tongue up to massage my neglected clit. My eyes threaten to roll back in my head at the sublime sensation, but I can’t help but gape at the man who has been nothing but a pig-headed jackass up to this point as he confesses to some kind of deranged fantasy he’s had of me.

What in the absolute fuck is going on?

I jolt when he trails a fingertip up the back of my thigh and between my legs, dipping it shallowly into the entrance of my pussy from behind. Oh, how I want to sink onto that finger, to rock my hips and take it deeper inside me, but I need to know…

“If you wanted to ‘claim’ me, then why did you treat me like absolute dog shit from day one? What kind of man does that?”

“The kind of man who wanted you to quit so you wouldn’t have to endure what a miserable bastard I am any longer,” he says, voice laden with regret, even as he starts pumping his fingertip in and out of me, teasing me. “To save you from me. To save me from having to look at your beautiful face every day, from having to choke on my monumental mistakes day after day. I told myself I could forget about you, at least for a little while. I could let you move on with your life until my divorce was finalized. Then I could finally claim you, marry you, treat you like the queen you are.”

“That’s…that’s bullshit,” I say, incensed, though I make no moves to stop him as he drags his hand around to my front and sinks two deliciously thick fingers as deep as they’ll go into my pussy. “Oh, sweet Jesus, that feels good,” I moan, then pick up where I left off. “And this ‘he picks on you because he likes you’ bullshit that adults tell little girls is just that—bullshit. If…if you wanted me so much, then you shouldn’t—wouldn’t—have treated me the way you have every time I had to do my job and talk to you.”

“I know. I know! Mistake after mistake after mistake that just compounded over time. I’m so sorry, baby. So fucking sorry for treating you like that.” And then the tears that had been threatening to fall from his eyes all this time finally do, wetting my skin as he rests the side of his head over my belly, even as he continues to fuck my pussy with his fingers. “I’m so sorry, sunshine. My beautiful, breathtaking, sunshine queen.”

Now we’re both crying. Sobbing, really. I’m feeling everything all at once—the pleasure of his fingers, anger at the way he’s treated me, anguish at hearing how desolate he’s been as his mistakes piled up. Then there’s also the swelling of my heart at knowing just how much this big and strong and smart and successful and beautiful bastard of a boss wants me, is obsessed with me, might even love me when no one else does.

I know I should ignore every bullshit justification for his behavior. Let it go in one ear and out the other, and then file an HR complaint of my own (fat lot of good that would do since he owns the company). I also know I would tell a girlfriend she should spit in a person’s face and leave them in the dust if someone did that to her. Hell, I’d help her with the spitting and the leaving.

And yet…I find myself having already forgiven him, and it has nothing to do with the way he’s holding me and touching me so intimately. It’s probably supremely stupid of me to forgive him for everything he’s done, but I can’t help it. I never wanted to hate him. Don’t even know that I really did, or else I would have found other employment long ago, back when I could have hidden my pregnancy and been hired somewhere else, right? Had I been holding out hope for some kind of explanation of change in him all this time?

“This baby,” he chokes out between tears, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts, “should have been mine.” And then he tips his head back, a fierce, determined look overtaking his handsome features, squaring his jaw, flaring his nostrils, and baring his teeth. “Fuck biology. This baby will be mine. Is mine.”

What the—

Chapter 4

I squeal in surprise when he surges to his feet, spins me around on my heels with his hands on my hips, and demands with a growl, “Knees on the couch, sunshine.”

And I do it, already missing his fingers inside me. Without consciously choosing to do as he says, I scramble to kneel on the couch before my brain can catch up to the rest of me.

“Brace yourself, baby,” he says, once again gripping my wide hips.

Again, my body moves before my brain tells it to, leaning forward and straightening my arms to hold onto the back of the couch. I arch and tilt my hips, deliciously aware that I’m essentially presenting my pussy to him like a bitch in heat.

And then I scream long and loud, the sound so primal and raw that it makes all the little hairs on my body stand on end when he forces his fat cock between my wet pussy lips. So fucking wet or else I wouldn’t be able to take his enormous size without an ungodly amount of pain.

“Fuck me, sunshine. I love you so much!” he bellows just as loud as me, and I’m sure the whole office floor, if not the entire building, can hear us screaming with each snap of his hips, each deep drive forward of his monster cock through my channel.

“Oh god! So big, so big. I can’t believe—” I moan from deep within my chest when he hanks my hips back sharply to meet his next savage thrust that has spots dancing along the edges of my vision.

“Fucking perfect for me, sunshine. Taking every fat inch of me when no one else can. Your pussy, your body, and your heart were made for me. Fuck, I love you. I love you!”

I can’t make sense of what he’s saying as, over and over again, he pulls out of me until just the tip remains at my entrance, then surges back inside so that I feel every incredible, veiny inch of him rubbing along my inner walls. My screams and moans eventually give way to full-on sobbing at the intensity of the pleasure he forces upon me with each snap of his hips. I’ve never experienced this level of pleasure, and I feel like my whole body is on fire as I speed toward an epic climax.

“Oh god, Mr. Hall. Again!” I beg after a particularly brutal thrust.

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