Page 43 of The Assistant
“I said no,” Harper meekly replies.
“Good girl,” I say as I kneel down and lift her hips toward me. I don’t spare a moment shoving the length of my cock inside her. She gasps and sinks into the leather seat as I pump myself in and out of her, hard and fast. Her entire body shakes with each thrust, and I push myself as deep as I can go. “You’re all mine. Nobody else will ever get to fuck you like this. Nobody else gets to claim you like I do.”
She tries to respond, but all she does is whimper as her body is completely taken. I slam myself into her as hard as I can, letting my frustration take a hold of all of my movements. After a minute, I lift her up from the chair and force her to the ground on her stomach.
I arch her back just enough to get perfect access to her pussy, and I slam my cock into her again. I don’t hold back. All I can think about is how some old fuck thinks he’s going to be the one to do this to her, and how I am defiling her in every way possible.
“Oh my god, yes!” Harper cries out through shaky breaths as I pound myself into her, feeling how her pussy clenches around me. She drinks all of me in, and it only takes a few moments before I’m coming inside her. I grip her ass cheeks as I do and squeeze them tight, watching how they turn red under my grasp.
When both of us are finished, she lies on the ground for a few moments, trying to collect herself before she eventually sits up. I watch her get dressed with a satisfied smile, knowing this is what I was supposed to protect her from. If only Malik knew he trusted the wrong person with her.
Claiming Harper is easy. She knows that she’s mine. The hard part is going to be convincing Malik of that. Turning him down may very well be impossible.
But I have to try. I just have to come up with some kind of plan to get Harper from him safely without costing me my life. But all I can think about is what Xander told me.
I know that this is going to end with one of us dead.
Chapter 22
Harper
Wakingup back in the penthouse feels different after North Woods. Ever since Dawson spoke to Xander, there’s been a weight on his shoulder I haven’t been able to explain. At first, I told myself it had something to do with business. Maybe some kind of deal gone wrong, millions of dollars slipping through Dawson’s fingers. But now I’m not so sure.
If it were just a business deal, I would know about it. Dawson wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut. It’s my job to stay up to date and know about these things, and from everything I researched about Xander while we were on the way there, I couldn’t find any business dealings between him and Dawson. Something else is going on, and I know better than to ask about it.
Dawson slides out of bed before me, and I take a few moments to linger in the warmth of the blankets. It’s Friday, which means, for most people it’s the last day before the weekend. For me, I’m always on call. Even though I don’t technically have to work on anything Saturday or Sunday, the odds of Dawson giving me abunch of random tasks to do around the house are high. He likes to keep me busy.
When I eventually slide out of bed, I walk into the kitchen to the smell of freshly cooked bacon and an array of breakfast foods set out on the counter.
“Maggie, you’re incredible,” I say as I grab a still-warm piece of bacon and bite into it.
“I only make the best for the two of you,” Maggie replies with a warm smile that melts my heart. I can’t help but think about how lucky her children must be. They got to grow up with a mother who exudes so much warmth and positivity. I’m sure they got to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with their family, completely gorging themselves on home-cooked meals Maggie spent days preparing. After meals, they would all sit around the living room and talk to each other, sharing stories and reminiscing about family vacations. Growing up, that’s all I ever really wanted.
“It smells amazing, Maggie,” Dawson says as he strides into the room, freshly showered and dressed in a navy blue business suit. I can’t help but admire how the blue seems to make his green eyes appear more vibrant. At the same time, I’m well aware of the fact that he probably knows that. All of the stylists at the boutique likely told him.
I busy myself making plates for the both of us, piling them high with scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast. Dawson gratefully accepts his as he takes a seat at the island to start eating. Maggie cleans the breakfast mess while we focus on business.
“You’re going to have a pretty busy day,” I warn him, pulling out the iPad and briefing him on his schedule as I do every morning.“Max Garrison had a meeting on Wednesday that I rescheduled for lunch at Jamba today. It was the soonest we could squeeze him in, and?—”
“You’re working from home today,” Dawson says between bites of food. I watch him as he takes a couple more bites, trying to stay casual about all of this, but I know something else is going on.
“Okay. I’m waiting for an explanation about why,” I say, setting my fork down on the plate as I look at him.
“Trust me, I’m capable enough of looking over my own schedule. I saw that most meetings are out of the office, so there’s no need for you to come in.” Dawson shrugs and resumes eating as if this is no big deal. I suppose it isn’t, but he’s wanted to keep such a close eye on me for so long, I can’t help but wonder what’s really happening.
“So, I’ll just stay here?” I ask, somehow not believing it.
“Yes. But don’t get used to it because I’m going to have you back in the office first thing Monday morning,” Dawson says with an amused laugh.
Honestly, I’m a little relieved. Whenever I’m working close with Dawson, he’s always watching me like a hawk, and I feel like I have to be at the top of my game. Maybe, just maybe, I can have a somewhat relaxing day here. Sure, he’s probably still going to be monitoring the work that I do from the office, but as long as I get stuff done, I should be fine.
Both of us finish our breakfast, and I change into business attire, knowing how important it is to Dawson that I dress professionally regardless of where I am. By the time I’mchanged, Dawson is already out the door and on his way to the office.
I can’t help but buzz with excitement, knowing I can rush to get everything I need to do early, then spend the rest of the day lounging and drawing in my room without consequence. As long as I answer the phone when Dawson calls, I should be good.
I spend the first part of the morning going through emails and responding to press inquiries and requests for meetings with business partners. Dawson’s schedule starts filling up for the next couple of weeks, and I send him a few text messages to inform him of the big meetings he has coming up.
After that, he gives me a bunch of tasks, including going through his closet and finding anything that’s over a year old to donate next week at an annual clothing drive the business has. The amount of suits he has is almost disturbing, but I keep that thought to myself as I research the brands and models of suits. When I’m confident all the ones I’ve selected are at least a year old, I put them all in a box that I labeled for donation and leave it in the living room as instructed by Dawson.
