by Leda Swann
Ruthlessly she squelched the memory of Robert Barron’s face, the touch of his hands on her, the feel of his body against hers. So what if her promotion was gained at the cost of his reputation? He did not deserve to be remembered fondly.
The door was shut behind her before she registered the presence of another man in the room.
“Bonny.” The voice was Robert Barron’s. Incredibly, he sounded happy to see her.
She felt the blood drain from her face and her knees started to buckle under her. He had found her. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her.
“Beagle? You know Mr. Barron?” The nasal whine in her boss’s voice had never grated on her so badly before.
“You’re Beagle?” His face visibly whitened. “You’re the reporter?”
She nodded. “Bonny Eagle. Beagle to my friends.”
Robert Barron was looking at her as if she had just crawled out from under a rock. “I guess I hardly qualify as one of those anymore.”
She would not feel guilty for exposing him as he deserved. She would not. “I guess not.”
“You wrote those lies about me. Even after…?” His voice trailed off as if he could not bear to finish.
“There were not lies. They were the truth.”
“You need to check your sources better, Bonny. Though I guess that is exactly what you were trying to do that night I found you.”
“I’m a reporter. I don’t write lies.”
“They were all lies, Bonny.” He took the papers from the editor’s desk and handed them to her. “If you had hung around a bit, maybe you would have gotten around to reading these papers, too. They weren’t hidden. You would’ve found them if you’d looked. But I guess once you had the dirt on me, there was no point in staying any longer.”
Then, with a sorry shake of his head, he turned on his heel and walked out.
“What was that all about?” her boss asked, as the door closed behind him.
“Nothing,” Bonny replied abstractedly, ruffling through the papers he’d handed her. She backed out of the door and into an empty meeting room, shutting the door behind her.
Ten minutes later she was still there, her head in her hands, kicking herself for the worst mistake she had made in the whole of her messed-up life.
Robert Barron was no Scrooge. Far from it. Sure, he was knocking down one of the slums and rebuilding it, but no one was going homeless. Not only was he housing all the old tenants in temporary accommodations while the rebuilding was taking place, but every old tenant had the promise of a brand-new townhouse when they were finished.
It was a Christmas gift to the city. His Christmas gift to those who needed it most.
And she had publicly pilloried him as a greedy, grasping tycoon, out for what he could get.
Her sense of shame completely enveloped her. In her ignorance and arrogance, she had done him a huge wrong. Only the burning necessity she felt for setting it right again could get her back on to her feet.
Feeling lower than a worm, she crawled back to her desk and started tapping away. It was three o’clock in the afternoon before she was finally finished to her satisfaction.
“Publish it tomorrow morning,” she said, dumping the sheaf of papers on her boss’s desk as she walked out the door.
He let them lie there, not even glancing in their direction. “What is it?”
“A full retraction. A chance to set things right.”
* * * * *
It was the night before Christmas and Bonny still felt like a louse. A complete and total louse.
The retraction had been printed earlier in the week, exactly as she had written it, and Robert Barron’s reputation was more glowing than ever before.
But she hadn’t been able to get over the look in his eyes when he’d realized she had written that story about him. It was the look of a man who had taken a chance for the first time in five years and had sand kicked in his face for it.
A retraction and a public apology wasn’t enough for the hurt she had caused him. She still owed him compensation, and she would never be able to enjoy her Christmas with that hanging over her.
Nervously she slithered into her black leggings and tied the laces on her black sneakers. It was time to go cat burgling again.
* * * * *
Robert poured himself another brandy and swirled it around the glass. Christmas Eve. A night just like any of the other three hundred and sixty-four nights of the year. Only it was different. It was worse.
Christmas had been a difficult time of year for him since Lisa had died. It was almost unbearable this year.
This year he had taken a chance of getting to know another woman, the first woman who had heated his blood in years, and she had been nothing but a journalist after a story. She’d fucked him senseless for a scoop and the chance of a promotion, leaving him feel used and dirty.
He took a swig of brandy, feeling it burn its way down his throat. He’d learned his lesson there. No woman would get through his defenses so easily again.
A slight rustle behind him was all that warned him. Before he could even put the brandy glass down, there she was in front of him just as she had been the first night, dressed all in black with her glorious black hair tied up in a ponytail.
Another swig of brandy to settle his nerves and disguise the shaking in his hands. “Do you need another story?” He waved an expansive arm around at the papers on the desk. “Go ahead. Help yourself. Whatever you write it can’t be any worse than your first one.”
“I didn’t come to take anything. I came to apologize. And to give you something.” She handed him last Monday’s copy of the newspaper.
He brushed it away. “I’ve seen it.” Not that he’d read it. It was enough to know that his demands had been met and his reputation was still salvageable. It didn’t take away the hurt. Nothing could take that away.
“I meant every word that I wrote. I am truly sorry. When I found the paper that confirmed my worst suspicions, I was heartbroken. I thought you deserved to be pilloried. I had no idea there was so much more to the story than that.”
“Whatever.” Even now, knowing that she had wanted nothing from him but a story, his body could not help but react to her closeness. He yearned to take hold of her and draw her into his arms, to slip his hands under her T-shirt to feel the warmth of her body, to hold her close to him.
“Please, forgive me. I wronged you terribly.” Kneeling in front of him, she looked up into his eyes. “Is there nothing I can do to make things right between us again?”
He shrugged. There were no words to describe how badly she had hurt him. Wounds like that did not heal over with a mere apology.
“You told me that first night that I ought to be on my knees in front of you asking what I could do for you. I’m on my knees now.”
Weariness suddenly overcame him. There was no use prolonging the pain of seeing her. “There is nothing I want from you.”
Her hand reached out and touched his cock, hard in his pants with the nearness of her. “Your cock wants something from me.”
“So I want to fuck you,” he said crudely. “That hardly makes you unique among women.”
“So fuck me then.”
“What?”
“You want to fuck me. So fuck me.”
He shut his eyes so he could not see the temptation that lingered in front of him. “Go away, Bonny.”
“I’ll still respect you in the morning.”
“Go away and leave me alone before I do something I’ll regret.”
“If I leave now, I’ll always regret it.” The words were a mere whisper.
And then came the touch that he both craved and feared—the touch of her hands on the fastenings of his trousers.
“Bonny.” He didn’t know if he was warning her off or egging her on.
“Shh.” She had his trousers open now, his cock springing forth at her touch. “Let me do this for you. Just sit back and enjoy yourself.”
Then she took him
into her mouth and he was lost. Glued to the chair, he could only moan as she sucked on him, licking up and down the base of his shaft and around his balls.
A boy of sixteen would have lasted longer than he could. When she took him in her hands and started to pump the base of his cock while she sucked on the head, he could not hold back. Though he tried to stop himself, he came with a rush into her mouth, his cum shooting out of him forcefully.
Still she sucked on him, milking every last drop of cum from his cock until he was totally limp.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, as soon as he had regained his breath enough to speak again.
Her head was on his knees as she looked up into his face. “Of course I didn’t have to. I did it because I wanted to.”
His orgasm had only taken off the edge of his hunger for her. Already his cock was stirring again, wanting to lose itself inside her pussy. Damn it, he would take what she was offering and worry about the consequences later. Standing up, he took her by the arm. “Come to bed with me.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
In no time at all, they were both naked. “Lie on your back,” he instructed her. He wanted to appreciate every inch of her in case it was the last time he had the opportunity.
She lay there as he explored her body with his mouth and tongue, laving her breasts and licking her nipples to hard peaks.
By the time his mouth made its way to her naked pussy, she was already soaking wet and her breath was coming in short pants. That was one thing she couldn’t fake—the evidence of her desire for him. Her cunt was dripping juice on to the sheets beneath them even before he started to lick her there.
His cock was as hard as nails again at this evidence of her desire. He licked her until he could tell by the tiny tremors in her clit that she was close to coming.
All of a sudden he rolled away from her and lay on his back on the bed. “Come and sit on my cock. Ride me like you would ride a horse.”
Straddling herself above him, she slowly lowered herself on to his cock, taking her time about enveloping him completely. Impatient, he grabbed her hips and thrust up into her, burying himself deeply into her.
Up and down she rode him, each stroke with her pussy making his cock harder.
Hands on her hips he urged her on faster and deeper, until there was nothing in his world but the feeling of her pussy sliding up and down on his cock.
He wanted her to keep riding him forever, fucking him with her pussy until he died of it.
All too soon, the tension built up to an unbearable pitch. She gave a cry and he felt her pussy muscles convulse around him as she came. He held himself deep inside her as she came, letting her milk every last drop of pleasure from his hard cock. Then, with a last thrust, he shot his second load of cum for the evening deep into her pussy.
Bonny clambered out of the bed she had shared with Robert Barron. He had forgiven her, she was sure of that now. He was too much of a gentleman to hold a grudge.
But she was only Bonny Eagle, an investigative journalist even further than ever from a promotion to senior reporter after this last debacle, and he was Robert Barron, multimillionaire property developer and darling of society. What on earth would he want with her?
Still, she would not leave him on Christmas morning without a word. Life was nothing without hope.
Grabbing a pen and paper from his desk she scribbled a short note and left it on his pillow. Then, with one last kiss to his sleeping forehead, she sneaked away.
As soon as the door closed softly behind her, Robert reached for the note she had left on his pillow. Please God he hoped that she felt something for him. His heart might not survive being ripped out of his chest one more time.
A name. A phone number. An address. And an offer of Christmas dinner that evening if he was hungry and had nothing better to do.
A smile broke out across his face. He would be there with bells on and an appetite that had little to do with roast turkey with all the trimmings and a lot to do with the woman who had invited him.
Wild reindeer wouldn’t drag him away from Bonny’s place tonight. Together, they would make this Christmas one to remember.
Epilogue
One year later
Bonny snuggled up next to Robert Barron on the couch as they gazed with satisfaction at the Christmas tree they had just finished decorating. “We got that done just in time,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Santa Claus comes down the chimney tomorrow.”
He hugged her closer to him. “Santa Claus gave me everything I wanted for Christmas last year. There’s nothing else I need.”
“As I remember it, you didn’t get much besides a Christmas turkey with all the trimmings.” And even then, they hadn’t spent much time on eating their Christmas dinner. Not when they had each other.
“It was the trimmings I was referring to,” he said with a grin. “The trimmings were spectacular.”
“Mmmm, they were.” The memory of that night made her wet just thinking about it. “I think we should have exactly the same trimmings for dinner this year.”
“Your father is coming over,” he reminded her.
“Maybe we’ll have to keep the trimmings for later on,” she conceded. “For dessert.”
He fell silent for a while, fidgeting slightly as if he had something on his mind. “We’ve had a good year, haven’t we?”
“The very best,” she agreed. It had been a wonderful year for her. She’d earned a promotion to senior reporter for an exposé of exploitative labor practices in the city’s factories. And throughout the year Robert Barron had been in her bed and in her heart. When she had fallen in love with him she didn’t quite know, but he was now so firmly lodged in her heart that she couldn’t dislodge him if she tried.
Taking courage from her words, he fumbled in his pocket and brought out a small box which he offered to her with a shamefaced air. “I know I ought to wait until Santa brought this down the chimney for you, but I couldn’t.”
Her heart stopped as she accepted the box. Her fingers were shaking so much she could hardly open it. A large solitaire diamond winked back at her from its nest of velvet. Her mouth opened and she looked at him for clarification. Was this really what she thought it was?
“I love you, Bonny Eagle. I think I’ve loved you since you first broke into my house dressed in your ridiculous cat burglar outfit.”
“You do?” Happiness threatened to overwhelm her. “You really do?” She could not muster anything else to say.
Taking the jewelry box from her limp hands, he took out the ring and slipped it on to her third finger. “Will you marry me, Bonny?”
Was she dreaming? “You really want to marry me?”
“Absolutely I do.”
She launched herself at him, hugging him tightly so he could not see the tears that welled up in her eyes. “Then yes. A thousand times yes.”
“You have made me the happiest man in the world tonight.” Slipping his hand under her shirt, he fondled her breasts until her nipples were tight little pebbles of desire. Knowing the answer, he asked innocently, “Any chance of getting the Christmas trimmings a day early?”
About the Author
Leda Swann is a senior executive in a large corporate, the mother of four young children, and partner of a wonderful man. She likes scuba diving, swimming, and any other sport that involves getting cold and wet on a regular basis. She is also the author of outrageously sexy romances, keeps fur-lined handcuffs in her bedside drawers, and fights hard to remember to remove the silk ties off her bed head whenever her parents come to visit.
Leda welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502.
Also by Leda Swann
School For Virgins
Sunlit
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