Page 1 of Good Girl
ONE
Tristan
Christmas music is driving me insane. Why is it that we hear the same few songs played on an endless loop until my ears feel like they’re about to bleed? Doesn’t anyone ever make new holiday music?
“Good morning, sir,” Mike says, and I greet him with a forced smile as I pass by his office heading to my own.
Walking past Linda’s desk, I snatch the jar of candy canes she keeps on there then push into my office. As soon as my door clicks shut, I collapse into my chair and loosen my tie, feeling the weight of the holiday season pressing down on me. Setting the jar on my desk, I unscrew the lid, pop a candy out, rip the wrapper off, then shove the offensive sweet into my mouth, hook end first.
I have a deep-seated aversion to Christmas. I can’t understand why it has to stretch on for weeks. Year after year, there’s a massive buildup of excitement, followed by a disappointing anticlimax. And no one wants to work. Instead, they engage in endless gatherings, seizing every opportunity to drink and overeat. Jesus Christ, I’m a fucking Grinch, but when you grow up in poverty, without a family to celebrate with, Christmas can feel like a cruel reminder of everything you lack.
A light knock at my door momentarily draws me from my negative thoughts. “Come in.”
The door opens, and Poppy pokes her head through, a curtain of silky caramel waves falling over her shoulder. “I brought you cocoa.” She smiles, entering. Delight mixed with a heavy dose of lust barrels through me when her large green eyes soak me in. She bites her plump bottom lip, presumably to hide her amusement when I balk at the cocoa offer.“I’m playing, it’s a black americano with an extra shot.”
I like the way she’s teasing me. And my dick likes the sight of her teeth marks dented in that bottom lip.
I want them to be mine.
Poppy has been working here for three months while Robert, my very male, very not fuckable assistant, recovers from knee surgery. To keep from becoming a cliché asshole who fucks his staff, I always made a point not to hire female assistants. With a loan from my best friend and dream to make something of myself, I built this company from the ground up. CZH holdings is now a unicorn company, still self-owned and valued at over $1 billion. I won’t let anything tarnish my business, I worked too hard for it. So any in house fucking is forbidden. Even though I want to spread Poppy out on my desk and eat her pussy until she drips down my chin, I won’t. Because sweet, pretty Poppy, with those large green eyes, small button nose, and luscious, juicy lips, is way off limits. No matter how much her creamy skin beckons for me to turn it red with my handprints.
I bet she’s never been spanked before. I once bumped into her while she was out with her fiancé. He looks like the preppy type who would recoil at anything not vanilla. I wonder if he fucks her slow, whispering sweet words into her ear until her breath hitches and she comes on a soft moan.
“You’re stress sucking again.” She taps the end of the cane protruding past my lips with her bright-red fingernail. The redis new, she usually has a pale color on her nails. Not that I’m a stalker or anything.
Stress sucking.Vance would get a real laugh out of that terminology. Standing so close, her scent encompasses me, and I bask in it. She smells sweeter than the candy, like cherries and vanilla.
I want to lick her all over.
“Do you need anything else?” she asks as I shift my lap under the desk so she doesn’t see the semi-hard cock wanting to break free and dive down her throat. She’d look good with tears on her cheeks. There would be no softness with me, just hard, punishing, raw screams. “Sir?” She folds her arms over her ample chest.
And there’s one of my favorite words.
Christ.
Clearing my throat, I grit my teeth. “No, nothing else. Thank you, Poppy.”Unless I break my rule and you want to stress suckonsomething.I wave a hand to the door for her to leave, watching her curvy ass sway in a silk skirt as she does and berating myself internally for my thoughts.
She wears appropriate office attire but always pairs her outfits with ridiculously high stilettos, which don’t match her innocent demeanor and drives me fucking nuts. Poppy is the damn reason I’ve taken a liking to these holiday candies. They stop me from saying and doing something I maynotregret. Dammit, Iwasstress sucking, and I’m pretty sure Poppy wouldn’t be a sucking type of woman.
I did my research on Poppy Clark. She’s from a small town and has had the same boyfriend since her junior year of high school. Her folks are good, hard-working, churchgoing people. I would spontaneously combust if I ever set foot in a church.
No, Poppy Clark is not the type to choke by my hand or my cock. She’s a missionary position, bored housewife in themaking. And that’s a damn shame. When my phone begins ringing I’m grateful for the distraction until I see my best friend Vance’s name on the screen. “What do you want?” I bark, sipping my coffee.
She does know how I like my coffee.
“Why are you so moody? Still pining after your temporary assistant?” His dark chuckle makes my stomach tighten.
The asshole has some kind of sixth sense. “Fuck off.” I snap, adjusting myself because I’m getting blue balls.
Pressing the button to alter the glass that makes up the walls of my office, they shift slightly in color. No one has ever asked why they do it, but they must have noticed they can no longer see inside this room.“So that’s a yes.” He snorts. “And you should watch your tone with me,” he warns.
I rise to my feet and walk over to the now one-way glass, looking out across the work force floor. No one knows I can see them, and they can’t see me, giving me a sick kind of thrill. It’s not becoming to spy on your staff, but I like to edge myself, and not just in the bedroom.
From what I’m told, I’m well-liked by my staff. I wonder if it’s because they see the version of me I allow them to see. If they dug a little deeper, would they be so relaxed around me? “Are you watching her right now, Tristan?”
Forgetting he’s on loudspeaker, I jolt at his question, not missing the amusement in his tone. “No.”
“Liar,” he growls, causing the hairs to raise on my arms. Good thing he can’t see how accurate he is. “What is she wearing?”
