Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
We stroll past my secretary’s desk in silence, yet the moment the doors shut with us inside the travel space, I firmly remind, “Please, be conscious of your hands during the meeting, Pint-Size. You’ve been rubbing your mark on and off all morning and enduring it within the confines of my own office where I can constantly readjust my cock is one thing; however, displaying enough lumber to house frost giants for their brill in the middle of a budgeting assessment is another.”
She devilishly snickers behind a sip of her beverage.
“Cami.”
Her green gaze peers up to me, trouble traipsing through it. “Ptur.”
Hearing her purr my name leaves me with no choice but to lower my tablet to block my stirring cock. “I’m serious.”
“I understand.” The dinging of the doors releases us onto the busy conference room floor and right before stepping out, she quietly coos, “Sir.”
Minx.
Right?!
Trouble.
Always.
Love.
Yeah, me too, big guy. Me fucking too.
Crossing from where we are to where we need to be is done effortlessly. Between my size and my presence, beings simply part a path to avoid getting in my way, something that my smaller mate can easily benefit from and appreciates given the small wink she delivers over her shoulder.
Pride unexpectedly pushes my shoulders back while simultaneously swelling my shaft back to the point I really, really don’t need it to be.
Upon our arrival outside of the largest conference room in the building, I’m greeted by Tilda Gibson, a tall, blonde, gibbon shifter, that has a nasty habit of letting her position as lead symposium liaison go to her head and an even nastier habit of trying to cross the firm boundary I have between supervisor and subordinate. “Mr. Draak,” she enthusiastically coos, clutching her stack of leather portfolios closer to her chest, “you look stunning in your suit today.” Her stare sweeps my frame in a way that has Platinum gagging in annoyance. “Your pocket square is extra superb.” The additional compliment causes him to exude a specific scent. “And your cologne is…,” disappointment settles into her dark chocolate brown gaze, “is making a bold, undeniable statement.”
Shifters expel a certain scent when they’ve found their mate to basically tell others interested to fuck off.
I didn’t think that shit would ever be useful.
I was wrong.
Often.
Fuck off.
“Proper felicitations of course will be in order in a short time I suppose,” she poorly hides her disappointment behind her smile, “however, for now, congratulations on the change of life status.”
I nod my gratitude at the same time I take the leather-bound offering. “Thank you, Miss Gibson.”
Cameron’s slight irritation can be felt by me but thankfully not seen by the unsuspecting female guarding the doorway. “Hello, Miss Gibson.” Her palm is offered upward. “Miss Pennington, head of HR for all of DL & Co.” Hearing my Fated Mate’s business title prompts Tilda to shake it. “I’ll be attending today’s budget assessment as well, so I’ll need one of those folders.”
When Tilda manages to take her hand back, it’s clear she’s in a bit of pain by the wince she briefly flashes, an expression that has both me and my ancient half chortling over.
Jealous.
She’ll never admit it, but yes. Pint-Size is definitely not a fan of someone else fawning all over me.
Flattered.
As am I.
“I didn’t um,” Tilda shakes out the aching hand a bit before running it through her slick strands, “I didn’t take that into account when creating the portfolios.” She nestles the stack closer to herself. “I wasn’t aware nor anticipating your presence.”
Ignoring the disdain that the statement is spoken with is impossible; however, rather than retaliate in a nature that would satisfy her orc side, she simply flashes a professional smile. “I understand.” Cameron peers up to me, green eyes glazed in possessiveness. “Sir, would you mind sharing yours with me?”
The throaty rumble that the title, the stare, and sly claiming conjure is hard to choke down. “It would be a pleasure, Miss Pennington.”
My unbonded other half offers me a sweet grin prior to flashing a smug, victorious smirk at the gibbon shifter.
After guiding her a bit further into the room, I lean down beside her ear to whisper, “You can relax, Fated Mate. I have never and will never have any interest in her.”
Cameron’s shoulders noticeably relax and the tension that was starting to swell around my neck dissipates.
It takes every ounce of restraint I can collect not to place a hand on the small of her back to physically direct her the direction I want her to take at the same time I announce, “I sit at the head of the table.” Gesturing is done in the other actions place. “We’ll have Miss Gibson acquire another chair and, in the meantime, I’ll simply stand.”
“I can stand, Mr. Draak.”
Her exasperation is loud, but my dominance is louder. “You will sit, Miss Pennington.”