"And now that Dubois Fashion has been dissolved, I want to take those profits and use them to start Whitecliff Charitable Foundation. I also want to match those funds with a personal donation, but most importantly, I want you to run it and to choose where those funds go. You, Bree, with your big, beautiful heart."
"Oh, Max, I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything today," he said quickly. "I just want you to think about it. I want us to form this from the ground up. Once everything is set up, you could work from home, from the office, or a combination of both. I can set you up with your own office here at the house. We can renovate my office at the company into a double office and work together. You can have a separate office at Whitecliff. Hell, if you even want your own office complex away from the main building, we can do that, too. Whatever you want." He paused. "Whatever you need."
Flabbergasted.
I knew the word, knew what it meant, but I'd never truly experienced it until now. When I'd been working on my MBA, landing a job like this had been my ultimate goal, but with this offer, a pang of sadness reverberated throughout my heart. I loved managing Red Light Lingerie. I'd landed the job fresh out of grad school, the ink on my MBA still wet. Running a company for one of the most recognizable corporate organizations in the world had put me over the moon, so yeah, I'd miss the job terribly.
I'd miss Aimée and Chad more, though.
Over the years working together at Red Light, Aimée and Chad had become my family. During my convalescence, they'd picked up the slack and kept the place running smoothly. Aimée had stepped up and taken over my position, and she was doing a fantastic job. Chad was doing everything he could to pick up any other slack. So yeah, I loved them dearly, and I'd miss them. But could I genuinely pass up an offer to run the charitable arm of one of the world's most renowned companies?
Then again, if I took it, would I be forever haunted by the possibility I'd only been offered such a prestigious opportunity because of my relationship with Max?
Closing my eyes, I buried my face in his chest and just held on. If I took this job, I didn't want my decision to have anything to do with fear, Théo, my attack, or questions about whether Max's decision to hire me was dick-driven. There'd be time to weigh all the pros and cons later.
I lifted my head and placed a palm softly to Max's cheek, to his handsome face. "You're so good to me, Maxwell Penn. I just wanted you to know that. Sometimes, I think you forget."
Guilt swam in the blue eyes I loved, and his hand dropped again to my flank. I swore I could hear the gears in his head churning, but I didn't want a rehash on his usual response. I knew he harbored an intense amount of self-hatred because of my attack. He thought it was his fault because his past, his shadows, set the stage, but I didn't blame him. I couldn't. I loved him too much to ever blame him for actions that were out of his control.
Did his past play a role in the series of events that ultimately had Théo Roux walking into the poolroom with that letter opener? I'd be stupid to believe otherwise, but Max hadn't been malicious. More importantly, he hadn't been in control of Théo's actions—only Théo had. One day, I might get Max to accept that, but I had a feeling we had a long way to go on that front. So, I did what I—we—so often did when emotions threatened to overwhelm: distract the other with our bodies.
Wrapping my arms around him, I pushed onto my toes and took his lips in a hot, desperate kiss—a kiss Max took instant command of. He buried a hand in my mess of brown hair, grabbed on tightly and giving the strands a tug, forced my face up so he could kiss the ever-loving shit out of me. It was the only way to describe it. And me? Well, I let him, willingly surrendering to his breathtaking control.
Maxwell Penn wasn't just a billionaire business mogul.
He wasn't just my boss and my boyfriend.
He was my Dom.
A familiar tingle sparked between my thighs, and I relished the heady rush of surrender, lost myself in the passions he so effortlessly conjured. Being with him, succumbing to him, surrendering to him had become some of the only times I felt like myself anymore.
Max was such a beautiful distraction. He overwhelmed me on good days, and on bad days, he was my respite from the storm. I loved it. I loved him. More than that, I needed him like I needed coffee—for a coffee addict like me, that said a lot.
Breathless, I pulled back so I could look at him, this man who was as broken as he was beautiful. "Take me to bed, Sir," I murmured. "One more morning off, and then, after lunch, we'll go to Whitecliff and talk more about this job offer."
He opened his mouth to answer, but his house phone interrupted. Not his cell, which I thought was odd. Not many people had Max's unlisted home number, and he preferred it that way.
To my knowledge, the only people who knew were me, Max's long-time housekeeper, his executive assistant, his head of security and his two oldest and dearest friends, Karen and Garrett Lanyon. Wait, my mother had it now, too. Max had given it to her after I'd officially moved in, but she still usually called me first. His executive assistant and head of security both usually called Max's cell first, and his housekeeper was upstairs cleaning. That likely left one option.
I couldn't help the smile curling my lips as I thought of Garrett and Karen. Garrett had been Max's best friend since childhood, and Karen was Garrett's wife—and Max's lover before I'd come along and joined their strange, sensual family. Max and Karen were still lovers in a way, like Garrett and I were lovers.
The four of us had a quasi-sexual relationship that was complex and satisfying in ways I was still trying to get my head around. We had clear boundaries. Karen and Max, as well as Garrett and I, were free to engage in fun bedtime romps, but there was never any full-on intercourse across couples. Max had insisted on that, and apparently, before I'd come along, that arrangement hadn't been the norm.
Max got off watching his lovers orgasm. Didn't even matter to him whether he was the one invoking the orgasm or not—that changed slightly with me. Oh, he still enjoyed watching others with me; he'd just drawn one harsh line, though: assuming we both agreed, men could play with me but no cock except his had access to my pussy. Ever. No exceptions. He and he alone had that pleasure, and I was perfectly okay with that because he offered me the same. No other woman's pussy would have his cock, either.
I gave Max a playful push toward the phone. "Go tell Karen or Garrett you'll need to call them back. You, Sir, are about to be very busy orgasming me into oblivion."
He grinned. "Only if you're a good little sub."
"Aren't I always a good little sub, Sir?" I crooned in the purring lilt he liked.
"You are indeed. I've trained you well in the art of submission."
"Indeed you have, Sir." A shiver danced along each of my vertebrae. It always did when the dynamic between us shifted from that of equal partners to a Dom and his willing, needy sub—and yes, when it came to my Dom, I was needy.
Early in our relationship, the idea of being so needy had bothered me. I didn't like a man—well, anyone, really—holding so much power over me, but my neediness didn't bother me anymore. I loved Max, and he loved me. The way he made me feel, emotionally as well as physically, was more potent than any drug I could imagine. He always left me wanting more of him. All of him. What was so wrong with that? Not a goddamn thing in my book.