The Wish by Becca Steele

Author:Becca Steele [Steele, Becca]
Language: eng
Format: epub

4

Marcus

Groaning, I rubbed my temples, a headache forming. I pressed Send, and the email with the attached contract winged its way through cyberspace to my associate in New York. Looking through my list of remaining tasks, I realised I was ahead of schedule, with all outstanding issues finally dealt with. I could make a start on the more mundane tasks I’d been putting off, then continue them the following day.

An image appeared in my mind. Ashley. The look on her face as she came, riding my cock, would be forever burned into my mind. Head thrown back, Santa hat on her head, my cock pounding in and out of her as she moaned in ecstasy, she was like some kind of X-rated version of a Christmas elf. There was something about her—something different to all other women. I wanted more. I needed more. Whatever the reason was, I couldn’t seem to get her out of my head.

Focus.

Somehow, I managed to lose myself in my work. Until she appeared in my mind, again. Her sexy smile, those waves of blonde hair, that hot as fuck body, her sparkling personality… I glanced at my wristwatch to notice only fifteen minutes had passed. My concentration was shot to pieces—now I’d stared thinking about her, she was invading my thoughts in increased frequency.

Time to call it a day. Home for a dram or two of Scotch, and an early night, before coming back here Christmas morning to continue. I shut down my computer and called down to the security team to let them know I was leaving, and to call me a cab. Rising from my desk, I pulled on my thick overcoat and turned to leave.

I saw a flash of red out of the corner of my eye.

Ashley’s Santa hat.

Moving to the table, I bent down and picked it up from the floor. We’d both forgotten about it—it must have been knocked from the table the night before. I’d been so fucking wrapped up in her, that I’d only become aware of my surroundings when her phone started chiming.

I ran my fingers over the soft fur lining, thinking. I glanced at my watch, then at the hat, then with a growl I strode towards the lift and stabbed the button for the ground floor.

“Trafalgar Square, please,” I told the cab driver. She’d told me she stayed until the end of the carol service, then made her wish, and it was almost nine p.m. The carols would be long finished by now—I might not even get there in time before she left.

I had no idea what I was doing. This wasn’t me. I didn’t chase after women. Didn’t need to. But there was something compelling me to go to her, like nothing I’d ever felt before.

The cab sat at the back of a long line of traffic, that snaked along the road as far as I could see. Why were there so many people around? Didn’t they have homes to go to?

“Is there a back way you can take?” I leaned forward to speak to the driver, knowing his answer already.

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