His Secretary: Undone and Unveiled (The Complete Series Collection)

by Melanie Marchande

  “I don’t care if you believe me or not, because it’s true.” He leans down and kisses me, savagely, not pulling away until I bite his lip. “Fuck,” he hisses, touching the spot where I hurt him. “You want to play rough, baby girl?”

  “Maybe.” I bite my own lip, trying to hide a grin. I’m better than an orgy of models and heiresses. I don’t think for a moment that he really meant it, but it’s the hottest thing anybody’s ever said to me, so right now, I really don’t care.

  “The safe word is red.” He grabs me and spins me around, pulling me flush against him. Grinding into my ass. His hand slides down my front and stops between my legs, pushing my skirt out of the way to cup me possessively. “Mine. Understand?”

  I nod, and he nuzzles my neck, nibbling at my earlobe. I shudder at the sensation, circling my hips, rubbing against him while I push myself against his fingers. We both moan in unison, and his teeth scrape my shoulder.

  “If any of those pretty boy model motherfuckers so much as touches you, I’ll knock their god damn teeth out,” he whispers. “And then I’ll fuck you for hours until you remember that you’re mine.”

  “Tempting,” I gasp, as his fingers push my panties aside and quest deeper. “But I’d rather skip to step two and avoid the violence.”

  His other hand grabs my breasts, manhandling one and then the other, feeling my nipples desperately stiff like pebbles under my lacy bra. It does absolutely nothing to hide my reaction, and for once I’m grateful.

  “That firefighter,” he murmurs. “The one who was looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. Would it be like this with him?” He curls his fingers inside, and I cry out. “Would your body react like this for another man?”

  “No,” I whimper. “Please, Adrian…”

  “Sir,” he growls. “You will address me with the proper respect.”

  “Please, Sir.” He’s the only thing holding me upright now, as his thumb glides along my clit and suspends me on the edge. I don’t even know what I’m asking him for, but he does.

  “Come for me.” His thumb moves in little circles, making it impossible not to obey.

  Gasping and shuddering, I clench around his fingers. It’s hard and quick, the intensity taking me completely by surprise.

  “Mmm…thank you, Sir,” I whisper, as he pulls his hand away. He turns me around to face him, his eyes black with arousal.

  “Good girl.” He’s pressing the tip of his thumb against my mouth and I suck him in, eyes closing, laving him with my tongue. I taste myself on his skin, and it’s electrifying. “Someone’s finally learned the meaning of gratitude.”

  I look at him through hooded eyes. When he pulls this thumb away, I lick my lips in appreciation. “Let me show you how grateful I am,” I purr.

  “Oh, you want to thank me properly?” He smiles, dark and predatory. Even though his erection is still sticking out of his fly, he’s undoing his belt and letting his pants fall to the ground. This should probably look silly, with his shirt and his damn jacket still on, but it really, really doesn’t. “Beg to suck my cock.”

  Heart racing, I kneel at his feet. “Please, sir. Let me make you come with my mouth. I need to be reminded of who it belongs to.”

  He curses softly, grabbing my head and pulling me forward. “You were born to do this, you know that?”

  I can’t really argue. I’ve never felt this alive, every nerve zinging and sparking with excitement. Not just arousal, but adrenaline. I could be quoting directly from one of his books, but I’m not - my own imagination has taken over, my own desires and secret wants spilling from my lips. I might be on my knees, with half of my hair tangled in his unyielding grip, but this tastes like power.

  I’m hungry for it. I want more, I want it all, now. It’s like I’m possessed, my nails digging into the tight muscles of his ass while he thrusts shallowly into my mouth. What a sweetheart - remembering that I need to breathe. I would smirk, if my mouth wasn’t full of his cock.

  When he comes, hot and eager in my mouth, he hardly gives me any time to react before he’s yanking me back to my feet. I rush to swallow, catching the last drips with my tongue, and he tosses me on the bed before shrugging off his jacket and pulling his shirt off over his head. Too much of a hassle to unbutton the whole thing, I suppose.

  His legs are still trembling from the aftershocks, but he’s got that hungry look in his eyes. One orgasm isn’t enough to satisfy whatever lust I’ve inspired. He’s completely naked now, and as good as he looks in suits, I’m pretty sure I prefer him this way.

  From the floor, he retrieves his belt and his tie. My heartbeat quickens as I remember when he promised earlier. I’m still not sure exactly what it is, but I can’t wait to find out.

  It’s strange. I’m still fully clothed, but I couldn’t possibly feel any more vulnerable under his gaze. Adrian, on the other hand, radiates power like this. From the sculpted muscles of his chest, to the powerful lengths of sinew in his legs, to the half-hard cock swinging between them, there is absolutely nothing vulnerable about him.

  “Hands above your head,” he commands.

  I do it, and he leans over me, his knee pressing into the mattress and into my ribs. I squirm a little while he wraps the belt around my wrists, fastening it with a long tail for easy grabbing.

  “Move with me, and don’t fight it,” he murmurs. “Shoulders are delicate. If something hurts, safe word. Right away. Do you understand?”

  I nod.

  He uses the belt to pull me upright, and I follow his instructions, not letting too much of the pressure land on my shoulders. For a moment he just watches me, his eyes searching every part of me, like he’s looking for something. I don’t know what.

  Finally, he drops my arms. They fall in front of me, the tail of the belt snapping against my thigh and making me wince. I’m glad he didn’t decide to spank me with it, although I suppose the night is young.

  Next, he picks up the tie, and wraps it around my eyes.

  As soon as I’m bathed in darkness, I feel my arousal climb up a few notches higher. My breathing quickens, and I’m instinctively searching for other cues to tell me where he is. I think I can still feel the heat of his body, close, but I’m second-guessing myself.

  “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 somet
hing.”

  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.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s private property.” I lick my lips. “You could send everybody home and fuck me in every single floor, every single room of that building, and not a law in the land could touch you.”

  He raises his eyebrows slightly. “And once again, having too much money just robs me of all the usual thrills in life.” Moving lightning-fast, he snatches a grape out of my hand and pops it in his mouth. “What’s the fun of having sex at work if you can’t get in trouble for it?”

  I’m giggling. “Uh, there’s still a lot of fun. But okay. Fair enough.”

  “I should spank whoever came up with this fucking ’80s prom theme,” he grumbles.

  My eyes snap to his. “Don’t you dare.”

  He smiles, grabbing a piece of pineapple. “I like it when you get jealous, you know.”

  “Now, suddenly, you want the fruit?” I push the bowl back across the table. “Ugh. Just take it.”

  “Only because you wanted it,” he says. “I hear there’s a thrift shop down the street. Might still have something, if we hit it early.”

  “We’re not seriously going, are we?” I’m already preemptively bored and irritated at the thought. “I mean, come on. ‘80s Prom?”

  Adrian shrugs. “Everyone else is going to be there. All the cool kids. Come on - it’ll be fun. I’ll help you find something really hideous, lots of ruffles.”

  “They won’t have anything in my size.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You can’t possibly know that, until you try it on.”

  I’m flipping through the racks at the thrift shop, which is crawling with conference attendees who didn’t prepare for the party either. Pickings are slim. Adrian finds a powder blue tuxedo in about six point three seconds, and of course it fits perfectly, and I don’t want to admit how good it actually looks on him.

  “Great,” I tell him, when he models it for me. “You look exactly like Marky Mark in Boogie Nights.”

  “Well, I don’t fill it out quite as well,” he says, glancing in the mirror. “But thanks anyway.”

  I shrug. “Anyone can do that with a prosthetic. You’re all natural. Be proud.”

  Finding something for me is a little more difficult, as I imagined. Adrian’s hanging by, just close enough to snark, but not close enough to actually help me look.

  “So do you only like big girls? Or what?” I don’t know why I’m asking this question. I don’t know why I want to find out, except that maybe if it’s some weird fetish thing, I’d rather not be involved. But it’s clearly too late for that.

  He licks his thumb and pages through the massive booklet we were given in our welcome bags. “Not only,” he says. “Just mostly. Why do you care? It’s not like it’s unusual. Surely you’re aware of that.”

  “It’s unusual for people to be this secure about it,” I tell him. “And this unapologetic.”

  “Why should I apologize?” He lets his eyes wander over my body. “Although, I will say it’s difficult at first. When I was a teen
ager, I thought there was something wrong with me. Eventually I just realized it’s the rest of the world that goes through these bizarre phases of obsession with different body types on women - society’s the crazy one, not me.”

  “Wow, that’s an inspiring story.” I pull something hideous and lavender-colored off the rack. “You should get Macklemore to write a song about it.”

  Adrian snickers. “That’s it. You found it. It’s perfect.”

  “Really?” Glancing at it, I can tell it’s roughly the right size. I hold it up next to his tuxedo. “We’re going to look like a pastel nightmare.”

  “It’s like I said.” He smiles. “Perfect.”

  Despite Adrian’s repeated insistence, I do not feather my hair. However, I do pull it into a sideways ponytail before we walk into the party.

  I don’t want to be here. I want to be with him, in his room, where I have in fact “moved my stuff” because I’ve given up on pretending. I want us to spend our last few hours together at this conference in each other’s arms, because I have a a feeling when we get home, everything is going to change.

  It’s not exactly a question I can ask. If this was supposed to just be an out-of-town fling, I’m not going to be the dork who acts like I’ve been planning our wedding. But now that we’ve gone this far, I can’t imagine backtracking. How can I just return to our usual thing, when I’ve spent the last week memorizing every inch of his skin?

  “This mix seems very Prince-heavy,” Adrian comments, as we wait for the bartender. Right on cue, “When Doves Cry” thuds to a stop.

  I shrug. “It makes sense, thematically. Every Prince song is about sex.”

  “Every song is about sex.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” I pick up my beer. “You’re ridiculous. What about this one?” I glance up at the ceiling, indicating the ballad that’s currently taking over the speakers.

  He snorts. “Are you kidding? ‘Take My Breath Away?’ It might as well be called ‘Make Me Come.’”