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He ignores me and tells Margery, “Back off.”
The secretary’s behavior changes drastically. She parks her butt back on her chair and smugly says, “I called it! If my brain could still send signals to my face, you’d see the smug smile on my lips.”
I chuckle and she winks, or I think she does. Her face really is a mask of Botox.
“Nice hickey, by the way.” I think about the one I left on Rague’s thick bicep, but she must be talking about the big, purple mark on my neck.
“Everybody else said it was impossible, but I didn’t. Tell me, cupcake, how did you do it?” she asks eagerly.
“Do what?” I’m confused.
“Tame Ethan Hunt. Catch Lupin the third.” She flicks her eyes to Rague and then back to me
I frown.
“Find the Genie in the bottle. Beat Donkey Kong.” Is she talking about Rague? Does she think we are together-together?
“Get Mario’s Super Star. Climb the magic beanstalk…and how long and big are we talking about?”
“Enough. Work.” Rague’s booming voice cuts her off.
“Yes, boss,” she replies in a mocking way. She isn’t afraid of him in the least. “Your desk is filled with papers to sign. Martin is waiting in your office. Jeff is working on the Appletons’ house because Landon is sick. Mitch is running a bit late, car problems.”
“Give him the name of my mechanic, he’ll give him a good price if Mitch tells him I sent him. Does he need a ride today?” Wow, Rague seems to care about the people that work for him.
“No, Jose is picking him up. Oh, and someone’s gotta do the elementary school thing again.”
Rague just looks at her.
“You know the place where all the screaming, disease-carrying little demons like to go?” Margery adds with a look I imagine she’d make when coming across something dead on her doorstep.
I snort. I guess she doesn’t like children. Does Rague like them? Despite his blank expression, I can easily imagine him with a couple of brats. He’d be a very protective and attentive father.
“Send Jose,” he says, guiding me toward the first door on the left. The place is a normal-looking office with a touch of green and yellow on the furniture and walls. Everything looks new and shiny.
“No can do. He did it three times in a row, the poor soul. Everybody else is too busy. Tag, you’re it.”
Rague grumbles. “Text me the date and time.” I try to smother my smile but can’t hold it in when I see Margery doing the same. Gigantic, broody Rague towering over a class full of tiny kids? I wish I was a fly.
“I like you, cupcake!” Margery yells from behind me. Rague keeps walking, dragging me with him.
“It’s mutual,” I answer back before the door to his office closes behind me, and Rague introduces me to Martin.
Chapter 9
RAGUEL
At noon, I’m driving toward my mothers’ house once again, but this time, I’m heading for the base, where my brothers are.
What happened in the kitchen earlier, Ollie’s sweet words, his affectionate eyes, and soft touch on my cheek—and the way I fucking jerked back—is still playing in my head. The moment was ruined. All the lightness was gone. I saw the hurt on his face. I hated it. Ollie tried to hide it with a joke, but his laugh sounded empty. Then he ran away from me with the excuse to brush his teeth. I broke the back of one of the kitchen chairs when I grabbed it to stop myself from following him and reminding him who he belongs to.
He didn’t ask me why I flinched. Because he knows about past traumas. The burns on his pecs are just like the long scars on my back, they molded us into who we are. They made us stronger, warier, angrier, but they are also part of the agonizing memories that will never go away.
All the way to work, he was his usual cocky self, smirking and joking around, listening to the podcast while I grunted unhappily. He kept his hands firmly and respectfully on his lap, and instead of making me feel better, it did the opposite. It’s like I’m pushing him away without wanting to.
Yesterday, when I finished talking to Rami in my office, I didn’t like seeing the guest bedroom door closed. We never sleep together. Never fuck in a bed. And I want to. I so badly crave to see him squirming on my king-sized mattress, under my two-hundred-and-fifty pounds while I force him to take my cock—force is the wrong term, since he’s always drooling for it.
Anyone else would be wary around me because of my size and attitude, but with Ollie, things seem natural and right. He fits perfectly in my life. It’s the early days, but I know he’s mine. And if he doesn’t know it yet, he will. I’ll show him. God fucking help me, I’ll tie him to my bed and fuck him till he gets it.
