Make Me (Broke and Beautiful #3)(30)

Huh. He’d been using the ten-year model in the meetings, but maybe he should reevaluate. This was Russell’s opening to inform her he’d been working on bank presentations for months. Presentations that had ultimately failed. She had no way of knowing how important securing the loan was to him—he’d never shared it with her or any of his friends for a good reason. If no one knew his ideal future hinged on being approved, no one could pity him if the bank stamped a big, red DENIED on his forehead.

Furthermore, if he revealed any of that to Abby, she wouldn’t feel the need to coach him. And right now, with her bare thighs angled toward him, giving him hope of a panty flash, he was keeping his mouth shut. To his detriment. Because he was an Abby masochist. An Abbychist.

Russell turned his head, so their cheeks were pressed together, giving him a lungful of white-grape sunshine. “We’ve got office space picked out over in Hollis. It’s small, but there’s a lot out back for storing equipment and supplies.” Voicing his plan, even partially, felt odd. But good. “Instead of paying rent to a landlord, we’d use half the loan to purchase the building. We’d rent out the top two floors to cover the mortgage, so most of our profit will go back into the business.”

“That’s great,” she breathed, shifting against his side. “Will you hire more employees?”

“Some.” Jesus, it was hot as hell in there and she smelled so good and that skirt had ridden up a little too high. “Mostly, we want to give our part-time guys a full-time gig. We’ll probably hire a secretary to search for jobs soliciting bids and submitting them for us. Alec and I would rather get our hands dirty than sit at a computer.”

“A secretary?” Abby tilted her head back and met his gaze. “Like a girl?”

“Now who’s the chauvinist?” Her eyes sparkled up at him in the darkness, and breathing became a challenge. “I’ll put you in charge of hiring the secretary. How’s that?”

Her mouth curved into a smile. “I’m thinking a cheerful grandmother of ten named Martha. Or Deloris.”

“Does Martha or Deloris bake?”

“Oh, yes. She’s a retired pastry chef.”

“Hire the woman.”

Abby laughed, and Russell felt it against his lips, but she sobered before he got his fill. “You liked baked goods so much, yet you completely ignored the cupcakes I brought over on Thursday.” He barely had time to register surprise that she’d brought up their afternoon together, before she continued. “I know. Abby doesn’t make people uncomfortable or discuss sore subjects. But I just defied my stepmother for the first time since I was a teenager, so I’m kind of on a roll. I guess . . . you just have to deal with it.”

“Okay,” he murmured, pride battling his shock. Somehow, this new development signaled impending disaster, but the determination on her face was so breathtaking, he couldn’t gather enough motivation to throw up a roadblock. “I never realized you were holding back.”

Her gaze dropped a moment before lifting again. “I don’t want to anymore.”

The husky change to her voice made his dick feel heavy. He felt like the coyote waiting for the anvil to fall on his head. Only Abby was way hotter than the roadrunner, with her tits rising and falling on shallow breaths. “Say what you want to say, angel.”

Something flickered in her eyes at the nickname. Fuck, he needed to be careful here, but the darkness and pulsing music had wrapped them in a fleece blanket where reality couldn’t intrude. The absorbent sound swallowed his groan when she wet her lips, her adorable ass shifting on the seat. “I want you to f*ck me, Russell.”

“Goddammit,” he breathed, feeling like he’d just run fifteen miles in the blistering sun. Barbed wire damaged his insides, neck to stomach. But Jesus, below the sharp pain, his cock had hardened to the point of agony. His hands punished the leather seat, so he wouldn’t reach for her, settle her on his lap, and enter her * beneath that flimsy skirt. Would she whimper and twist around, trying to get off? Or would she let him talk her through her first time? What if he damaged the trust she’d placed in him by causing her pain? God, that would kill him. Just the act of sitting there beside her, knowing what she wanted and not acting, was a torture he could barely withstand. He wanted to end the torture. Wanted so badly to show her what the word f*cking really meant . . . What it meant to him. . .

“Say something,” she said beside his ear, distress evident in her voice, slicing him to ribbons. “I can never tell what you’re thinking anymore.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes.” Her voice was firm. “I do.”

The part of Russell that craved self-preservation encouraged him to tell her. It would push her away until he could sort his life out, sort these urges out. But would he ever get her back if she knew? There were no guarantees. Still, didn’t she deserve to know whom she wanted to gift with her virginity? “Abby, I . . .” He swallowed a handful of nails. “Did you like it when I spanked you?”

She pressed her lips right up against his ear. “I liked it a lot.”

Christ. She couldn’t realize what she was saying. Didn’t know any better. “There are other things I think about doing. I’m not sure . . . a normal guy, a good guy would want to do those things to you, Abby.”