Free Two Strikes by Holley Trent Page B

laughing.
    Giselle halted near the staff kitchen entrance and turned slowly with one of her black eyebrows raised in warning.
    “Hello, gorgeous.” He loped to her, and she let him pull her into his embrace. They rocked side to side a few beats before she pushed him back, swatting at his naked chest.
    “I’ve already got two strikes,” she whispered, cutting her gaze toward the kitchen. “Unlike some people, I don’t come from money and have to work for a living.”
    “I keep saying it’s a shame a woman like you has to work at all. You should be horizontal on a chaise somewhere, being spoiled.”
    “And naked, I bet.”
    “Of course, naked.” He trailed his gaze down her outstanding curves—disguised somewhat by her structured uniform components—and then back up to the quirk in her lush lips.
    His cock jumped inside his leather pants in memory of what that woman could do with those lips given incentive.
    “I don’t see why you don’t just quit this job and come service me full-time.”
    “We’ve discussed this,” she said. She looked down at her gold nametag, pinned over her right breast, and straightened it. “We’d kill each other within a week.”
    “Not true. I’d let you be on top sometimes, if you’d like. I won’t even fight about it.”
    “You topping from the bottom? No thanks. I’d like some autonomy. Control of my orgasm.”
    “You know me too well.”
    “I’ve known you half my life. Goes with the territory.”
    “True.” Max had met Giselle their first day of ninth grade at the Catholic school they both attended. She’d been sent to the Mother Superior’s office because her blouse kept popping open from the strain of breasts that hadn’t been there when her mother had ordered the shirts. When she’d walked down the aisle toward the classroom exit, she’d winked at him and giggled.
    Like the dork he was back then, he grinned back, made some crude comment, and was promptly sent to the office, too, for being disruptive . They’d bonded outside that office while waiting on the Mother Superior.
    They’d been friends for years before they had sex—a desperate let’s be each other’s firsts sort of scenario when they were eighteen and he was set to move away for college. He didn’t see her again for five years, when he found her pushing that same cart down the halls of The Beaudelaire during a Den weekend. That’d been two years ago.
    “I need your help, G. I’ve got a wallflower submissive.”
    She rolled her dark eyes and blew out a breath. “I thought you liked a challenge.”
    “Challenges are things like round two of Jeopardy and ten-mile hikes in rough terrain. This isn’t a challenge. This is mission impossible. I get enough of those at work. I don’t want them when I’m at play.”
    Her lips quirked up. “You exaggerate so fucking much. Did you talk to Ms. Gibson? See why she selected her?”
    “I was on the way to her office, but when I saw you, I thought maybe we could put the virgin through her paces. Together.”
    She put up her hands. “Wait. No. She’s a—”
    He shrugged. “Might as well be. I suspect she talks a good game, but when push comes to shove, she’s not so great under fire. She turned the most delightful shade of red when I stepped into the room, and I hadn’t even picked up my crop.”
    “You are pretty intimidating, Maximus . I’d probably want to run from you, too. Scary-ass motherfucker.”
    Her face was such a placid blank, he couldn’t tell if she was bullshitting him. She’d certainly never given him any indication of fear of his person. Of his crop? Well, yes, that. Of course, that.
    “You think I’m scary, Queen G?” He fondled the stretch of skin exposed by her gaping buttons, and dragged his fingertip beneath her bra band.
    She drew in a breath and scanned the room behind her.
    “No one’s there, G. Answer me.”
    “No, of course I don’t think you’re scary,” she whispered. “But I could see why other women