by Olivia Myers
Still, in all his years of reveling in flesh, he had never once felt the intense, burning pleasure that raced up his spine and tightened his balls as he pumped between Cassandra O’Hare’s soft, pale thighs.
It was more than just the tight, hot, wet squeeze of her rippling channel, too. It was the clutch of her fingers in his hair, her nails pricking gently against his scalp. It was the flex of her feet behind his knees as she tried to pull him back to her each time he withdrew, and the damp press of her breasts against his half-open shirt.
Her nipples were hard points brushing his chest. He could still taste the lingering sweat and salt of that eager, puckered flesh on his tongue. He could happily spend hours licking and sucking and biting at her full, heavy breasts and long, stiff pink nipples.
Cassandra mewled into his mouth, her swollen flesh clenching around his pistoning cock. Rhys wasn’t overly religious, but his dick felt like it had died and gone to heaven.
He wrapped a hand around her waist, getting a palmful of her plump buttocks, and yanked her closer, grinding his pubis against the engorged nub of her clit as he sank back into her to the hilt.
He’d thought she looked enticing fully clothed, but now…?
Spread out over her desk with her upper body bare and flushed and marked by his mouth, her thick honey-blonde hair in a tangle around her shoulders, soft belly trembling and jumping, lips red from his kisses, green eyes sparkling with need, and her porcelain thighs spread wide as he thrust between them, she was a fucking goddess.
Rhys untangled her hands from around his neck and urged her to lean back on the desk. He gripped her round hips tightly in his big hands as he slid in and out of her, burying his cock in her wet, hot flesh over and over.
Each hard thrust made her gasp, and made the soft flesh of her breasts, belly, and thighs quiver and ripple. He loved seeing the evidence of their fucking wash over her body like a wave.
They both watched his cock, slick and glistening with their combined juices, move between the swollen lips of her pussy, their breathing loud and ragged in the otherwise silent room.
He caught the flutter of her lashes, the arch of her alabaster throat, a second before he felt her tighten even further around him.
“Yes!” he hissed between his clenched teeth. “Come for me, little rabbit. Come for me!”
Cassandra’s mouth fell open, her eyes sprang wide. Rhys watched the orgasm move through her, felt the curl of her feet and the tensing of her thighs. Her hips jerked and rolled, pressing herself tighter to him, pulling him deeper.
Her back arched, her shoulders widened as she lifted slightly from the desk. The flush on her chest and the upper slopes of her heavy breasts deepened. Her eyes narrowed, but didn’t close all the way, as if she wanted to watch him still, even as her body fell into the raptures of orgasm.
She squeezed him so perfectly, the silken hot ripple of her inner muscles milking the length of his cock as if she’d been designed to fit him.
Then she called out his name and he felt his other self stretch beneath his skin and he was lost. All of him.
His pounding rhythm grew ragged and rapid as he sought to bury himself deeper. His heartbeat thudded against his chest so hard it shook his whole body, and his ears rang. Still, he could hear the bellowing roar that sprang from his throat as he threw his head back.
Pleasure ripped through him, from the soles of his feet, up his spine, to the very top of his scalp. His testicles drew up almost painfully tight as his throbbing cock spurted endlessly into the sweet, quivering heat of his whimpering little rabbit.
Rhys had no idea how long the orgasm lasted, but it felt like forever. He slowly drifted back to himself as the faint double beep of the intercom in his office sounded.
“Mr. Maddox?” Ursula’s usually inflectionless voice was tinged with an edge of unease. “Is everything all right?”
Without opening his eyes or lifting his forehead from its comfortable resting place against the soft, damp skin of Cassandra’s still-heaving breasts, he flailed one hand outward until he found her phone.
He skimmed the buttons quickly before finding the one that he thought was the reception intercom.
“Everything is fine,” he managed to rasp, his throat rough with satiated lust and his beast’s lingering triumph. “Please hold any calls or appointments that arrive for me or Ms. O’Hare, Ursula. We…need to take care of something.”
Rhys let go of the intercom without bothering to hear her response.
Now that the overwhelming need that had swamped him when he smelled her arousal earlier was slaked (at least for now), he was beginning to realize what a colossal mistake he’d made.
This was his business. She was his assistant. Temporary or not, she was an employee under his care. And he’d…
He’d been behaving himself, damn it. Despite the lure of her scent and her lush body and the mix of trembling fear and arousal that filled his head every time they were in the same room, he’d managed to not so much as utter a single suggestive word since they’d met. He’d remained professional.
Until this morning.
He had only himself to blame. He’d been going out almost every night since Warren had sent Cassandra O’Hare, the tempting little rabbit, right into his lair. He’d hoped to find someone else with whom he could quench the fire of desire that burned within him.
None of the many women he’d surrounded himself with had roused him in the slightest. Even the women who had previously graced his bed and were very satisfying companions failed to cause even the faintest spark of interest.
Last night, he’d forced himself to call Annette. He hadn’t seen her in over a year, but the brash brunette had always driven him crazier than any other woman he’d known. It was one of the reasons he’d stopped contacting her. He didn’t do feelings, and the craving he’d felt for Annette’s body was too close for comfort.
She was as beautiful as ever. The high, sharp cheekbones, strong nose, and full lips that spoke of her Eastern European ancestry had graced the cover of more than one magazine before she’d decided she wanted to be the one designing the fashion instead of wearing it.
And yet…
Rhys had found her just as charming as he had a year ago, just as exquisite. Only his appreciation of her physical attributes was distant, the way he might appreciate a particularly well done piece of art. He felt not even a flicker of the desire that he’d once worried would consume him and tether him to her permanently.
Even when he’d kissed her soft (had they always been so overblown and pouty?) lips, he wasn’t stirred. However, just thinking about the way Cassandra tapped one buffed fingernail against her own curved lower lip while she contemplated his calendar, or how her green eyes sparkled with amusement when he teased her and requested his roast beef sandwich ‘extra rare’, or her breathy sighs drifting from the adjoining office, heated his blood like the heart of a volcano.
Rhys had left Annette at her own doorstep with nothing more than that single abortive kiss. Then he’d gone home to his own, cold bed, unable to resist the dreams of his plump, gorgeous secretary trembling with need.
He’d awoken more aroused than he’d gone to sleep, pent up from months of waning interest in the women he spent company with. That, coupled with his seeming inability to distance himself from his lust for Cassandra O’Hare, had left him surly and off-kilter.
That was the only explanation for how he’d managed to mess up so badly.
He buried his face between the warm, soft mounds of her breasts for a moment longer, making her squeak, and drew in a deep breath.
It was the middle of the morning and they were at work. He was her boss.
He had no viable excuse for having her pinned half-naked (all naked, really, except for her skirt bunched around her waist) on her desk. He had no excuse for kissing her, for literally tearing off her clothes — her panties were shredded and he wasn’t sure about her bra — and fucking her. No excuse except, god, he’d wanted to…
and she had wanted him to, as well.
But Rhys didn’t do relationships because they were messy, and he couldn’t think of anything messier than getting involved with a subordinate, relationship or no.
He grimaced as he straightened, reluctant to pull away from all her soft, welcoming warmth. He felt a deep, sharp pang in his chest as his spent shaft slipped from her.
Which is when he registered the fact that he hadn’t taken any precautions at all. Rhys blinked down at the glistening moisture clinging to his skin, the faint traces of the cum he’d flooded her with.
“Shit.” He tucked himself away, feeling his throat heat with embarrassment and shame. “Ms —” He stumbled over what to call her, awkward now as he realized just how badly he’d screwed up.
“Cassandra, I… uh… Are you on The Pill?” Rhys forced the words out through lips that still stung from the force of their kissing, heart hammering for an entirely different reason. There was the pill, and then there was ‘The Pill’, also known as Formula 426. It was birth control specially designed to be resistant to shifter sperm, their fertility being what it was.
Dragons were notoriously potent, which was why Rhys had never, ever forgotten to take every precaution available to prevent unwanted conception.
How could he have forgotten now?!
Cassandra’s flush, which had begun to fade from her milky skin, returned in a wash of coral. Her eyes slid to the side and she worried her swollen lower lip.
“Don’t worry,” she said after a moment. She straightened slowly, shoulders back as she drew her rumpled blouse over her bare skin. He mourned the loss of the sight of her luscious breasts even as he appreciated her making it easier for him to focus on the matter at hand.
She met his gaze with emerald eyes. “I started taking Four-Two-Six when I first came to work at Chimera. Just in case.”
Just in case she slept with one of her shifter co-workers. Warren employed a lot of them.
The thought made Rhys’s lip curl back from his teeth, but he swallowed the snarl that accompanied it. Territorial aggression was useless at the moment.
“Good,” he ground out instead. “That’s good.”
He took another step back, lifting hands that shook slightly to redo the buttons of his shirt that Cassandra had practically clawed open earlier in her haste to touch him.
Despite the monumental orgasm he’d just had minutes before, the mere memory of her touch made it twitch.
He dropped his eyes from her flushed face and concentrated on smoothing his clothing. It was useless, really. He could make himself look like nothing had happened fairly easily, but he was still drowning in her scent. In the scent of them together.
Rhys scowled.
From the corner of his eye, he watched Cassandra finish buttoning her own shirt and hop off the edge of her desk. She nervously tugged her skirt down, covering the triangle of wet blonde curls above the dark pink lips of her pussy.
He was surprised when she cleared her throat and began to speak.
“Once again, I find myself needing to apologize for my unprofessional behavior, Mr. Maddox.”
Rhys’s head snapped up at the embarrassed, slightly wobbly tone of her voice. She stood much as she had that first day, hands knotted in front of her, eyes on the floor between their feet. Only this time, her lips were swollen from his kisses, her gleaming blonde hair was mussed from his hands, and she smelled not only of peaches and cream but lust and him.
“What?”
He hadn’t meant to snap the word, but she flinched anyway. He couldn’t believe how perfectly ridiculous this morning was going. From surly and aroused, to just aroused, to experiencing the most earth-shattering sex of his life, to…
Honestly, he wasn’t even entirely sure what was happening now.
He’d meant to be the one apologizing, reassure her that what had just happened had no bearing on her job, and then make sure she understood that it would not be happening again.
No matter how much that last thought made his beast grumble in his chest.
“I know you’re aware of the effect you have on women, sir. I just think, perhaps, neither one of us was prepared for how, um… potent you are in terms of, well, me.”
Her cheeks were bright pink. Rhys stared down at them, trying to understand. She was talking as if she’d attacked him. He snorted, drawing her gaze to his face.
“I assure you —” Little rabbit, his beast whispered. “Ms. O’Hare, you once again have nothing to apologize for.”
“But —”
He cut her off with the slash of his hand. “There were two of us here just now, in case you need reminding.” He lifted one brow and was rewarded with the upward curl of her lips.
Rhys almost reached for her, to pull her back into his arms and kiss that mouth again. His beast practically purred at the thought before the rational, human part of his mind asked him just what in the hell he was doing. She was still his employee, at least for the moment, and he still didn’t do relationships.
Looking down into Cassandra’s heart-shaped face, he knew she was the type who’d want a relationship. She didn’t normally fuck her boss on top of her desk. He’d bet his considerable fortune on that. She probably had gentle, caressing, languid sex in bed. She no doubt called it “making love.”
And she deserved that. He wasn’t such an ass as to think she didn’t, or that it didn’t exist. It just wasn’t for him. Which she needed to know. He braced himself for tears, or anger. (Not a lawsuit though, not Cassandra.) He sighed. He no doubt deserved both for giving in to his own selfish desires.
Warren was going to kick his ass.
He coughed. “That being said, I should apologize.”
Cassandra’s brow furrowed, but he continued.
“I’m your boss, even if only temporarily, and I shouldn’t have crossed that line no matter how tempting —”
He cut himself off before he went down that road. The last thing he needed was to start thinking about how tempting she was. He’d have her back on the desk if he did that. In his desperation to keep from blurting out just how very much he wanted her, he said the first thing that came to mind.
“Even if I wasn’t your boss, I shouldn’t have given in to this. You’re a beautiful, sexy, interesting woman but I don’t do —”
“I understand. Sir.” Her voice was steady as she interrupted his rambling and when he met her gaze, her eyes were dry. She even smiled, though it was nothing like any of her nervous smiles.
It was wide and bright and reminded him of how Bridget used to smile at him. It hadn’t looked fake on her, but it looked all wrong on Cassandra’s round face. He scowled as she scooted around him and plucked her bra from the back of her chair.
“This was a momentary lapse on both our parts. Understandable, but over. We have a professional relationship, nothing more. Do you mind if I use your washroom? I’ll need to clean up.”
He blinked at her, his brain still sluggish with the aftereffects of that orgasm. It took a minute to process her words. Or, some of them anyway. He swept his hand at the open door to his office, and the washroom beyond.
“Of course. Feel free.”
Her smile didn’t falter at all as she gave him a brief nod and turned on her heel. (When had she put her shoes back on?)
“I’ll be just a minute and then we can see what needs to be rearranged for your afternoon.”
Rhys scowled at her back as she slipped from the room, not sure what to do with the sensation burning under his ribs.
She was being perfectly reasonable. No anger or tears or recriminations. And despite how wrong the smile was, he didn’t smell anger or fear or upset on her now. She still only smelled of herself, and him, and spent lust.
His beast, the green and gold behemoth always lurking under his skin, shifted in dissatisfaction.
He should be pleased. He was pleased. He’d gotten everything he wanted without there being any negative consequences. So why was his dragon threatening to
tear through his flesh?
Rhys stomped into his office, threw open the washroom door, and glared at the steam billowing from behind the shower curtain.
“Cancel the rest of my day. I’m going flying.”
The words were more of a guttural grunt than anything, but he knew she heard him because of the sing-songed, “Yes, sir!” that drifted out.
He didn’t even bother stripping off the several thousand dollars’ worth of bespoke suit before shifting and launching himself from the edge of the balcony and into the air.
***
Cassandra hummed as she hit ‘Send’ on the email Rhys had asked her to make sure Martin in Accounting got before ten.
Well, ‘asked’ was putting it nicely. More like commanded from on high.
She couldn’t figure out the sexy, enigmatic CEO. More than just being part man, part dragon, Rhys Maddox seemed to have multiple personalities.
For the first week after the bone-melting encounter on her very own desk, he’d alternated between being stilted and overly polite and broodingly snappish. She knew he was unsure how to take her acceptance that nothing more would happen between them.
Cassandra didn’t think he’d overstepped a line. At no point in their encounter had she even thought about him stopping, let alone attempted to get him to do so. There had, as he’d said when she’d attempted to apologize, been the two of them there, after all.
And she may have only known him a few weeks at that point, but she knew he wasn’t the type to use his position in the company to control her or coerce her in any way. If she’d been a permanent employee, people might have attempted to complain about him picking favorites, except as his assistant she already got the highest non-management salary and benefit package regardless of whether she slept with him or not.
It’s not like he’d hired her because they were sleeping together.
Which they weren’t. It was just that one time. That one, amazing, toe-curling, never-t0-be-forgotten (or, likely, topped) time.
