His Secretary: Undone

"Spread your legs."

He’s at least several feet away. I do what he asks, taking a wide stance, as much as the skirt allows. I hear a tiny rip, and I realize I’ve pushed things a little too far.

I jump when I feel his hands on my hips, very suddenly. From the sound of his breathing, he must be kneeling behind me. I feel something strange, cold metal, I think, sliding against my skin.

Snick.

The skirt, and my brand new panties, flutter away.

I gasp. "That was expensive!"

Seriously? That’s all I can think of, at a time like this?

"I know." He’s chuckling. "I paid for it, remember?"

His breath tickles me, brushing past the inside of my thigh. My whole body stiffens.

"If you’re a good girl, I’ll buy you ten more," he whispers, before I feel him kissing me deeply, right on my quivering pussy. I let out a keening moan, trying to figure out where the hell he is, what angle he’s coming from. His hands clasp around my shins, helping me stay upright, and he’s clearly in front of me now, but I don’t know when that happened.

No one’s ever actually kissed me like this, just as if he’s kissing my mouth, except it couldn’t be more different. His lips rub against sensitized flesh, his tongue sliding and exploring inside me. I’m trembling, once again utterly astonished at his ability to make such a simple, commonplace act feel totally unlike anything I’ve experienced before.

I’m shaking all over, and I don’t know how long it’s been, hours or minutes? Probably minutes. Maybe seconds. Hell if I know.

"Sir?" I whisper, urgently.

He makes a muffled noise, but he doesn’t stop.

"Sir!" I whimper. "Please – I have to ask you something."

He pulls back, slowly, kissing my thigh as he does. "Yes, princess?"

My chest contracts painfully. Terms of endearment sound so good, coming from him. Even if they’re a tiny bit sarcastic. I lick my lips, trying to find my voice again. "Do I have permission to come?"

I can hear him grin. "When I’m doing this? Always. Unless I tell you otherwise."

I let out a sigh of relief, but he doesn’t immediately return to his task. "So you’re close, hmm? Again?" He leans in close, nipping at the soft skin by the crease of my thigh. "It would be fun to tease you, like you teased me earlier. Do you know how long I spent talking myself down from that? I didn’t want to jerk off. I wanted to save it for you. And I did, eventually. But I had to stroke it a few times. I had to. Even though I knew it would be almost impossible to stop, I couldn’t help myself." He sighs. "But you’re such a good girl, asking permission, it’s not fair to make you wait any longer."

I moan, my inner muscles contracting just at the thought of him with his fist clenched around his cock, forcing himself to stop. Then his mouth is on me again, and I tumble into ecstasy.

He makes it seem so easy. It would be infuriating, if it wasn’t so wonderful.

"I love the look on your face when you can’t tell where I am," he says, his voice delectably sex-roughened. "But I miss seeing your eyes."

With that, he unties the makeshift blindfold, letting it slither to the floor. I blink a few times, and when I open my eyes all the way, he’s lying on the bed.

"Climb on," he says, with a halfway grin.

With my hands bound, my balance is thrown off more than it usually would be, in the afterglow. I focus on climbing up, straddling him, and his hands on my hips steady me. His cock slides in like it was meant to be there. I sigh, almost forgetting that he’s getting a damn good view of me from the least flattering angle possible. But he clearly loves it. As much as he’s trying to keep on a stern Dom Face, probably the way he imagines Dirk looks while he’s getting fucked, he can’t quite erase the edges of a smile. That I can’t believe this woman’s really on top of me right now smile. That I’d be high-fiving myself in a mirror right now, if there was one handy smile.

"What so funny?" he wants to know, gripping my thighs so his fingers sink into the soft flesh.

"Nothing." I want to lean down and kiss him, but with my hands tied in front of me, I can’t figure out how to work it. "You look smug."

"You’re goddamn right I’m smug," he sighs, his hips arching to meet me. "Took me five years to crack this one. I’ve got the right to be."

I laugh. He hasn’t actually been trying to fuck me for five years, has he? I would have noticed. Surely.

"I love the way you come for me," he says, suddenly. Seriously. "Almost on command. You know I always dreamed of training a woman to do that? Ever since I found out it was a thing. But you’re at least seventy percent there."

"It’s just with you, you know," I tell him, because it seems pointless to pretend otherwise.

"I know," he half-whispers. "I can tell by the look on your face. Every time, it’s like it surprises you."

With a little grin, his fingers find the spot where we’re joined. Touching me just the way I want. Just the way I need.

We hit that peak almost at the same time, bodies undulating, almost laughing a little, at ourselves – at each other. He unfastens the belt, and I lean forward, letting my hair brush against him. He makes a face as it tickles his nose.

Our fingers intertwine, like our bodies are determined to be as close as possible, even if our hearts and minds are still stubborn as hell.

And for right now, I’m tired of fighting.

Chapter Eleven

One thing I failed to notice, when I went over the schedule, was that the big send-off party at the conference had a theme. A costume theme.

I’m staring at it now.

The infographic looks like something out of Boogie Nights, and it says 80’s Prom Night in big neon letters.

"I think they got some wires crossed here," I point out. "This is clearly a ’70s design. Also, a bunch of writers don’t know where the fucking apostrophe goes."

Adrian shrugs, picking at the fruit salad that came with his room service breakfast. "I think it officially goes before the S now," he says. "Language is a living, breathing thing, you know."

"You would smack my ass so hard if I let that slip by in one of your letters." I laugh at him. "If you’re not going to eat the fruit, stop poking at it. I’ll finish it."

"Fine." He pushes the dish across the little table. "So is that an official thing, now? I can spank you at work?"

I grin at him, taking a bite of cantaloupe. "You’re my boss, Mr. Risinger. You can do whatever you want."

He lets out a noise that’s half-laugh, half-groan. "I’ll end up arrested if you keep saying things like that. We both will."