Page 39 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

CONNIE

I t must be past noon judging by how my stomach grumbles, but I’m steadfast in ignoring my hunger until I catch up on the emails I’ve been avoiding all week. Maybe I should make my life easier and hire a personal assistant.

A quick rap on the open door of my office plucks me out of my thoughts. I glance up distractedly. Then do a double-take when I land on blue hair and a heavy scowl. My body moves before I have time to think, springing up from my seat.

“Huxley.” I say his name almost like a question. Or maybe closer to an accusation. Definitely not an invitation. “What are you doing here?”

His expression is cold and impassive, as if he wants to be anywhere but here. He takes one step inside, his hands stuffed deep inside his bomber jacket.

“I’m just here for my last paycheck. Thought I could get it from Whit but …”

He shrugs, letting his words trail off while his gaze skates over me like I’m barely there. I bet he regrets not setting up his direct deposit right about now.

I thought I knew what I would say the next time I saw him, but my mind blanks the longer I stare at him. All that’s left is the conflicting ache of yearning, mixed with a heavy dose of white-hot anger.

“You could at least look at me.”

My commanding words hold more power than I expect, hitting him like a bullet to the forehead, and we lock eyes almost immediately.

Although I’m nowhere near prepared for the animosity I find in his gaze. His jaw muscles are so tense, it’s as if he’s suffering just by sharing space with me.

His guard is up, and mine is too.

“You never gave us a chance,” I say, keeping my voice calm and steady.

He gives his head a quick shake while his eyes narrow, shooting me a confused look. There’s so much happening behind his eyes, but he doesn’t say a word. He just glares at me until he chuckles so coldly that I feel the chill ripple down my spine.

He then turns around to close the office door as if seeking more privacy. Something about it makes the hair on my arms stand up. I feel the cold blade of apprehension press against my throat. Huxley turns back to face me, eyes hard.

“Or maybe I just knew you’d do something like that,” he grits out.

“Something like that?” I repeat under my breath.

I don’t even see the blinding anger coming; it just consumes me with no warning, like an old friend showing up unannounced.

“You know what?” My voice crescendoes, and I take a step toward him, my hands tightening into fists, nostrils flaring. “ Fuck you .”

Huxley’s hard expression wavers for a split second, and I relish in it, stepping even closer.

“You never actually trusted me or even deigned to give me the benefit of the doubt. I’m sorry?

!”—I level my hands with my shoulders and look around the office as if addressing an invisible audience—“Did we not have a breakthrough? Did we not share something that was actually fucking real? But as soon as there was a whiff of a threat,”—I stab him in the chest with two fingers—“you push me away without a second thought? Not just that but you go and fuck someone else?”

The hurt part of me hopes he’ll object. Tell me he never did such a thing. That it’s all in my head, but he only winces, lips sealed shut. My face is now inches from his, our eyes locked in a battle of wills. It only makes me more delirious with anger, so I go in for the kill.

“I guess you’re just like him, aren’t you?”

I don’t need to say his name for Huxley to know exactly who I’m referring to. His nose flares with a sharp inhale. We’re standing so close that I can feel his chest heave up and down as his cheeks turn red.

The silence that settles between us feels like falling into ice-cold water, painful and paralyzing. It’s so quiet in here that we both hear my phone start to buzz on the desk behind me. Huxley is the first to move, his eyes slicing down to look over my shoulder.

His reaction is almost imperceptible. I can barely make it out, but when his green eyes crash back into mine, I suddenly know who’s calling me.

God, of course.

That asshole’s timing has always been perfect.

Huxley’s voice is dangerously calm when he speaks.

“Answer the phone.”

At first, I don’t move, my mind racing. I know a dare when I hear one, especially coming from him. And the twisted part of me delights in it; the messy part of me that revels in this toxic back-and-forth cracks a smile, setting fire to my veins.

Huxley takes a step forward, making me stumble backward next to the desk.

“Pick. Up.”

I don’t break eye contact, and as soon as I reach for my phone, Huxley’s hands are on me. His warm, seeking lips are on the curve of my throat, his fingers opening the button of my jeans. I feel utterly pulverized by his touch, but I clear my throat and answer Oliver’s call.

“Hey,” I say as innocently as possible.

I hear Oliver’s voice answer, but I can barely think. Not while Huxley is pushing me against the desk, his deft fingers urgent and demanding as he slips his hand into my panties.

I concentrate just hard enough to hear Oliver say, “I’m heading to the airport, and I just wanted to call to tell you again how nice it was seeing you last night.”

Huxley isn’t being gentle when his fingers drag down my slit, pushing two fingers into me. No. He’s staking his claim. But I’m so fucking wet that I invite the rough intrusion with a small hitch of my breath and a hand against his nape to steady myself.

I quickly reply to Oliver before he thinks the call has dropped. “I had a nice time too, I love that place.”

I don’t even know what I’m fucking saying.

Only that it’s riling Huxley up, and the urge to have him snap makes my mouth water.

His free hand squeezes my breast, his body pushing me hard against the edge of the desk, making the legs screech on the floor.

His fingers are soaked with my arousal as they pump hard into me while the heel of his palm grinds hard against my throbbing clit.

“Yeah,” Oliver says with a warm laugh. “I loved the company even more.”

I match his laugh, closing my eyes, but it sounds dangerously close to a breathy moan when it leaves my lips.

“When’s your flight?” I ask casually, trying to move the conversation along.

Huxley lifts his head, his darkened gaze a storm of anger and need and desire. I can practically see the flames dancing behind his eyes.

“3:30,” Oliver replies, “Should get to LAX by 7 or 8 tonight.”

I keep my gaze locked with Huxley while Oliver drones on about time differences and flight schedules, my nails now digging into the base of his neck. Pleasure is shooting through me from every fucking direction, and I need to end this call before I get caught.

It’s as if Huxley sees me plotting my next move because the next thing I know, he’s flipped me around and bending me over. I let out a small oomph at the manhandling and cringe internally as I hear Oliver fall silent at my suspicious sound.

“What are you doing?”

I feel Huxley roughly tug my jeans down with two hands, and my skin turns electric like a deadly live wire.

“Oh … uh …”

I race through finding an excuse for my breathlessness as I turn my head around just far enough to watch Huxley. His eyes are stormy but unmistakably hungry as he pins me with his stare, pressing a hand against the small of my back and ripping the condom foil with his teeth with the other.

“I’m on the treadmill,” I finally say. “I’m just about to hit five miles.”

“Oh, I thought you’d be at the Remi,” Oliver says, his voice still a little suspicious.

Like I give a fuck.

Not when I feel Huxley’s cock push against my entrance, and I bite my lips on the moan surging up my throat.

“Just taking a late lunch,” I squeak as I feel Huxley’s strong hands grip my hips, his cock sinking even deeper. I let my head fall, my forehead now pressed on the desk. “Felt like expelling some nervous energy.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Oliver says. “Exercise is always good.”

As soon as Huxley starts pumping in and out with brute but steady force, I know I won’t be able to keep this up for much longer.

“Anywaygottogohaveasafeflighttalksoonbye!” I blurt out the words as fast as I can and barely let Oliver say his goodbyes before ending the call and slamming my phone on the desk.

I slap my open palm on the desk.

“ Fuck ,” I hiss in mind-numbing pleasure, then push myself up to look back at Huxley.

To my horror, I hear Oliver’s muffled voice coming from my phone. “Hello? Are you okay?”

Oh for fuck sakes.

“I’m fine!” I squeak and hang up.

For real this time.

I swivel back to Huxley. His expression has turned arrogant, the curl of his lip utterly lethal.

I think he’s about to say something but instead, he pulls me up by fisting the back of my sweater.

He meets me halfway, his body curling around mine as I keep my weight up with two flat palms against the desk.

He slows down his rhythm, sinking his cock to the hilt while his mouth hovers near my ear. Reaching his arm around me, he slips his hand down my center and finds my clit.

“Tell me again how I’m just like him.”

His tone is vicious, but it only makes the pleasure ramp up inside of me. That and the deliriously slow slide of his cock now matching the teasing circles around my swollen clit. My mouth falls open, my moan so high-pitched it’s almost silent.

“Did he ever fuck you like this, huh?” His voice is but a dark, threatening whisper, his body a looming force behind me. “Like he fucking hates you but can’t get enough of you?”

The word hate echoes in my ear but it somehow just heightens the raw sensation of his cock sinking deeper and stretching me wide.

I can’t manage to form a single coherent thought. I’m a babbling mess, my orgasm rising, rising, rising. Huxley’s teeth sink into my neck, the bite just hard enough for the invisible elastic band to finally snap, and I come on a long, keening moan.

Sliding his hand away from my clit, he grips my hips with two hands and fucks me with vengeance, like his life fucking depends on it. My orgasm drags on and on until I feel Huxley still behind me, his fingers digging into my ass as he comes.

In a blink, everything quiets. The small window of bliss we just experienced is still cracked open, still full of promise, as his forehead falls between my shoulder blades.

While he catches his breath, hot against my back, his hands smooth over my skin near my hips.

It feels like the most intimate of gestures compared to what we just did.

I sense the moment Huxley realizes the same thing, his hands suddenly falling still, his head lifting away from me, and the window slams shut.

As soon as he pulls out, I push myself up from the desk and turn to face him.

He’s avoiding eye contact, throwing the condom in the trash, and zipping up his pants. I do the same, pulling up my jeans as the silence turns awkward. I hate it just as much as I hate how conflicted I feel right now.

We should be talking about this.

We should be squashing whatever is happening between us once and for all.

But my stubbornness keeps my lips tightly shut.

I expect Huxley to storm off, but he lingers near the closed door, and for a second, I think that maybe he’ll be the first to address the elephant in the room.

He sighs as he runs a palm over his buzzed head, his eyes finally sliding to mine.

“My paycheck,” he says.

I clear my throat. “Right.”

His stupid, fucking paycheck.

Opening the top desk drawer, I riffle through a pile of loose papers until I find it and wordlessly hand it over.

He slowly pulls it out of my grasp and shoves it into his coat pocket.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

He turns to leave but stops. He seems to deliberate before he takes a large step toward me and grabs me by the neck. Pulling me into him, he kisses me. It’s hard and quick and over before I even realize he’s done it.

He leaves without saying another word, leaving me standing there, breathless. I bring my fingers to my mouth, the force of the kiss still lingering on my lips.

What the hell was that ?