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

by Melanie Marchande

  Her breathing quickens. I know she has to be dripping wet, and I can't wait to taste her as soon as she's done her part. "Uh...Mr. Risinger, I don't think..."

  "Don't," I tell her, softly. "Think. It only gets in the way. You want this, Meghan. I know you do."

  She glances down at my lap with barely-concealed longing. "It...it doesn't matter what I want, this is wrong."

  "Wrong?" I echo. God, she's teasing me so well. I'm about to break character so I can get my cock in her mouth already. "Let's not play games, Meghan. I told you, you're not going to get in trouble for this, but I can always change my mind. You need to take responsibility for your mistakes."

  Finally, she kneels. My breath catches in my throat, my dick jumping in anticipation. I unzip hastily and pull it out for her, and for a moment, just a moment, she's my Meg again. Her eyes light up, hands tightening their grip on my thighs as she leans forward and lets me guide myself into her mouth.

  No matter how many times I feel this, I can't help but groan. The sensation is so incredible, every time. My fingers clench in her hair, and I fight to keep my hips from pumping their instinctive rhythm and choking her.

  I love how she does this. Plenty of women have sucked my cock in their day, all hoping to curry favor, but not a single one of them ever made me feel like this. There's nothing calculated about it, she's more hunger than technique, but she still knows exactly when to suck, when to lick, when to stroke and when to keep up a steady rhythm, carrying me effortlessly to my climax.

  Suddenly, I remember my role in this.

  "Good," I manage, breathlessly, looking down at her. "Very...very good, Meghan. I see you have all sorts of talents that weren't listed in your resume."

  She makes a soft noise, her eyelashes fluttering. As much as I always want to make this last, it gets harder and harder every time. So to speak.

  Just then, with nimble fingers, she reaches into my fly and cups my balls in her hand, rolling and squeezing ever so gently.

  "Fuck." My head falls back, and my hips jerk towards her, ass muscles clenching. "Are you ready to take me, Meghan? All of me?"

  "Mmm." She swirls her tongue around the ridge between the head and shaft, and I'm a complete fucking goner.

  I make a noise that's probably very undignified, filling her mouth, shooting down her throat. She licks and gulps and smiles when she pulls away, her eyes sparkling with triumph. Like she's won something, every time.

  "Very well done, Ms. Burns." I grin at her. "Now, shimmy out of those soaking wet panties and hop up on my desk. I have a sudden urge to make you mewl like a kitten."

  "Panties?" She smirks at me, pulling her skirt up just enough for me to see my mistake.

  No panties. Just a garter belt under that skirt.

  She's going to kill me.

  As she slides up onto my desk, spreading her legs for me, I catch a whiff of her scent, so uniquely female and so uniquely her, signaling her arousal whether she likes it or not. There's barely any skirt left for me to push out of the way so that I can lick her, taste her, taking my time to lap the pleasure out of her so I can recover enough to get hard again. We're not finished tonight - not even close.

  It's her favorite thing, I know, getting thoroughly fucked, hard and fast, after I make her come like this. It turns her wild, even more so than usual. She deserves that tonight. Well - she deserves it every night, but particularly now. Acting out my favorite fantasy down to the smallest detail, and with thigh-highs, no panties, and a perfect blowjob no less. What did I do to deserve this woman?

  Despite my best efforts, she comes sooner than I want, but it doesn't matter. I'm more than ready. When she slides down to her feet and I tell her to bend over the desk, she whimpers and moans with anticipation until I'm standing up, gripping her hips, sinking inside her. God. She's molten, soaking, still twitching from the aftershocks deep inside.

  She's gripping the edges of the desk so hard her fingers go white, groaning and screaming as I pound into her, faster and faster.

  "Harder," she begs, just when I think she can't possibly take any more.

  I've timed it just right, prolonging her pleasure, wringing out every last drop of her climax with every jerk of my hips. The head of my cock is ramming against something deep inside her, something that would usually make her wince and pull back, but when she's blissed out like this it's nothing but pure ecstasy.

  I tug on her hair, and she howls. Even at moments like this, I sometimes still feel a pang of regret for all the time we spent not expressing our complicated feelings towards each other in the form of wild, uninhibited sex.

  "More," she slurs, slack-jawed against the desk. "Harder."

  I'll end up snapping my spine at her behest, one of these days. And it will be worth it.

  By the time I feel the end roaring closer, her voice is hoarse from yelling my name. She has red marks from my hand smacking her ass in time with my movements and her wetness is dripping down my thighs.

  When I come inside her, my vision goes black. I'm not sure exactly how long it takes me to bring myself back, the slow awareness creeping in, the ache in every muscle in my body, my fingers cramped from clutching her so hard. She'll have bruises. She wears them like a badge of pride. The next time we make love, tomorrow or the next night, maybe, she'll point them out with a smile. She'll invite me to kiss them and purr about how much she loves making me lose control. I know I'm not supposed to like it, I'm probably supposed to feel guilty or concerned about my own animal tendencies, who the fuck knows? But she loves it. My girl wants me to leave a mark.

  She stays there, legs quivering, as I hurry to fetch a warm washcloth and a bottle of water. I'm feeling lightheaded myself, but it's time to be a gentleman. I raise her head up gently from the desk and pour a few mouthfuls between her lips. Her mouth is still a little slack, but I can tell she's smiling.

  I clean her up, gently, carefully, then finally collapse into my chair and pull her along with me. She crawls into my lap and curls up there, sighing with contentment.

  Her hair is wild, wilder than usual, and a few of the more wayward strands are tickling my face. I blow out a puff of air to send them on their way, and she giggles softly.

  "Sorry," she murmurs, smoothing it down with one lazy hand.

  "Don't." I press my lips against her head. "It's my fault, anyway. I can't seem to stop messing it up."

  Squirming slightly, she manages to work her arms into the tiny space between the chair and the small of my back, hugging me tightly. She is, by far, the most affectionate lover I'd ever had. She can never get close enough, never touch me enough. And when it comes to her, I hardly recognize my own impulses. I'm forever holding her hand in public, and I can't walk past her without snaking my arm around her waist and stealing a kiss.

  "Ryn?"

  "Hmm?"

  "What was the first thing you noticed about me?"

  I chuckle against her hair. "Your tits."

  "God damn it." She sighs. "You're the worst."

  "Well, if you'd walked into the room backwards, it would've been your ass." I laugh as she tries to work her arms free to smack me, but it's slow going. "What about you?"

  She relaxes against me, laughing. "Your arrogance, obviously. And after that, your mouth. You always licked your lips after you took a drink of bourbon and it drove me crazy."

  "I only did that in front of you." I'm grinning, even though she can't see my face. "I was just imagining how good you'd taste."

  "It's a wonder you ever got any work done," she says, laughing softly. "It seems like you spent most of your time fantasizing about me."

  "Only for five minutes every half hour." I stroke her thigh with one restless finger. "I use the Pomodoro productivity technique."

  She snorts, finally freeing one arm and grabbing my hand. "You're tickling me."

  "An oversight, surely. I don't want to lose any teeth."

  She's rolling her eyes, I can tell without looking. "You're exaggerating. I never knocked o
ut any of your teeth."

  "Might've, though. You kick like a horse."

  "Oh, Mr. Risinger." She shimmies on my lap. "That's got to be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

  "Stop it," I tell her, firmly, holding her still. "Don't start something I can't finish. I'm going to need a few hours of recovery time."

  She laughs softly. "Me too. Sorry."

  After a few moments, she laughs again.

  “What?” I demand.

  “Nothing,” she sighs. “I was just thinking about…you remember that night you tracked me down in the bar to give me my ID badge?”

  Oh. I sort of thought we were mutually agreeing to forget about that.

  “Yeah,” I tell her.

  She’s probably grinning. “Lacey told me you wanted to fuck me.”

  “Lacey knows a thing or two about a thing or two,” I reply. “Why didn’t you believe her?”

  “I don’t know. Because it seemed crazy at the time. I should look her up on Facebook one of these days. I haven’t talked to her in forever. She’ll be thrilled to hear about the developments.”

  That was a bad night. I don’t really know what I was expecting, but when I saw her badge on the floor by her desk, I took the opportunity. If she was alone, I really would have bought her a drink. I doubt she would have come home with me, but I would have tried. It would have been insanely pathetic.

  “Thank her for me, will you?” I curl a strand of her hair around my finger, slowly. “She saved me from making an idiot out of myself.”

  Meg giggles. “Oh, were you seriously going to try and score with me? I’m so sorry she blew up your spot.”

  “Don’t be. It would’ve been humiliating.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks, like she doesn’t know.

  “I mean, you’re way too smart to sleep with your horrible boss just because he happened to show up and you happened to be drinking.”

  “Right,” she says. “You had to have my panties in your pocket, otherwise it’s a no-go.”

  That one makes me smile. “Megatron, are you actually saying I might have had a chance with you that night?”

  “I mean, it would’ve blown my mind at first,” she admits. “I don’t know if I would’ve believed you, at first, but if you’d kissed me like you did in the pool…”

  Laughing, I press my lips against her forehead. “You kissed me in the pool.”

  “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” She wriggles a little, again. “Good for me.”

  “Why?” I can’t believe I’ve never really asked her before. “I mean…why then?”

  She shrugs. “I mean, by the time I did it, we were ‘joking’ about trading sexual favors for vacation time. And then you practically begged me for it. It wasn’t too much of a stretch.”

  “Right, but why did you let the conversation happen? You could have laughed in my face when I suggested you were trying to lure me into a trap of inappropriate workplace behavior. It wasn’t all that different from the kinds of jokes I’d made before.”

  She’s silent for a moment. “Because of your face. You were joking about me getting in the pool, and then suddenly you weren’t. It wasn’t funny anymore. I started undressing and then it wasn’t a joke anymore, and you looked at me like there were so many things you wanted to say, but you didn’t dare. And if it was an excuse to criticize me, you sure wouldn’t be biting your tongue. I called an audible.” She sighs a little. “Plus, I was really horny.”

  “Yeah.” I grin against her hair. “I noticed.”

  Three Years Ago

  Drinking is dangerous, these days. It only takes a few fingers of whiskey for me to start scrolling through my phone, my finger hovering dangerously close to her name.

  Meghan...come over. Please.

  I need you.

  Tonight, my finger slips.

  I consider hanging up. My pulse pounds in my throat as it rings and rings. Finally, she answers.

  "Meghan..." I cringe at the sound of my own voice. I'm so drunk.

  "Mr. Risinger, what the hell's wrong with you? Are you drunk?"

  I'm laughing. "Very good. You truly are the World's Greatest Detective."

  She sighs. "It's after midnight, sir. Can I help you with something?"

  I can't even bring myself to make a crude joke. That's not what this is about. Yes, I want her, I want her desperately, I've lost sleep trying to imagine how she tastes, but if I could say what was really running through my mind...I'd tell her that I didn't care what happened, and it'd be true. I just want her here with me.

  "Is that a serious question, Ms. Burns?" I ask her.

  "Well, yes. If you're out on the street somewhere I'm not going to leave you out there to get mugged. Probably."

  "I'm home. That's not what I'm asking. I mean if I really needed you, if I told you to come, would you come?"

  She's quiet for a long time, or maybe it just feels like a long time. There's no way to be sure.

  "It's the middle of the night," she says, softly. "If this is a purely theoretical exercise, I'm hanging up now."

  "Hang up, and you'll be cleaning out your desk tomorrow," I mutter. "Answer me."

  "You know, if I even thought there was a chance you were serious, I could sue your pants off for this."

  "All I'm hearing is you want to get my pants off, Ms. Burns." I don’t know what I’m playing at.

  "Yeah. So badly. You finally won me over after the fiftieth time you flashed me your nipples in the process of 'changing for a meeting.' I just have to see the whole package, you minx."

  "Really? It's my nipples you notice, and not the six-pack? All that hard work for nothing."

  "Oh, Mr. Risinger. I had no idea it was all for me." Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, but I'm searching for some hint of genuine desire in there. Even sober, that would be difficult enough. Now I'm not sure what's real and what's wishful thinking.

  "Of course I would come if you needed me," she says, finally. "Haven't I always?"

  My heart is doing something in my chest, completely without my permission.

  "You know you're a rare bird, Meghan," I say, at last. "If you're not really afraid of being fired, and I pretty much believe that you're not, then you're really just talking to me because you *care.* I thought I would've drained your reserves of compassion dry, long ago."

  "You're just so pathetic right now, it's almost fun," she says. "Besides, the only thing on TV right now is Taxicab Confessions, and I've already seen this episode twice."

  "You could be sleeping."

  "Yeah, well, I'm not."

  I have an erection.

  I'm not sure exactly when it happened or why, but if I don't hang up soon, things are going to take a turn.

  "What are you wearing, Ms. Burns?" I purr into the phone.

  She's going to think it's a joke.

  That's my only saving grace.

  Her gorgeous voice breaks out into a low, husky laugh. "Good night, Mr. Risinger."

  I wait until she hangs up to start stroking my dick, because I'm a gentleman.

  Oh, but not much of one. Because the memory of that laugh is in my mind as I slide my fist up and down my cock, harder and faster, closing my eyes to see her ass swaying in a pencil skirt, imagining her lifting the hem just enough to show me where her garters attach to the lace tops of her black-as-sin stockings.

  In my fantasies, she always wears stockings.

  This is fucking ridiculous. All it takes is one flirty late-night conversation to have me panting for her.

  That laugh.

  That's how she'll laugh the first time she tastes herself on my lips, her body pliant and spent across my desk.

  Oh Mr. Risinger, I had no idea you were so talented with your tongue...

  The need to come is suddenly tight and urgent in my balls. Hips jerking, every breath coming out in a groan, I proceed to make a complete mess of my shirt, my hand, and a surprisingly large expanse of the sofa cushions behind me.

  Damn it. This w
oman is going to kill me.

  Like she's twisting your arm. You knew it was a fucking mistake to hire her.

  But now I can't imagine my life without her. And that's the problem, isn't it?

  CHAPTER NINE

  MEG

  I'm knee-deep in Pomeranian puppies when my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. Immediately, they all start yapping, and I fumble to answer it, hoping that it's a telemarketer, or at least someone I don't like very much. Because those puppies are cute, but they can shatter your eardrums in a minute flat.

  I look down at the screen, and my throat tightens.

  It's a Georgia area code. I changed my number when I moved here, eager to leave all the vestiges of my old life behind. So the only person who'd be calling me from back home...

  I haven't talked to my parents in over six months. When my mom first sniffed out the fact that Adrian and I were sleeping together on one of her famous surprise visits, we had a blowout that ended with some...unkind words being exchanged on both sides, to put it mildly. She called and emailed a few more times after she and Dad left, just to sling a few more arrows. I told her in no uncertain terms that I wasn't going to speak to her again if she couldn't respect me and my choices, knowing it'd be a cold day in hell before that happened.

  I thought she got the message when the calls stopped coming, but maybe she was just saving up all her anger and disapproval for one grand performance.

  I let the call go to voicemail. The puppies, running circles around their mother, keep on yipping. A few of them stare at me curiously.

  I can't possibly focus on work now. Even the noise isn't enough to distract me from the wondering, and the worry.

  What if something's truly wrong? What if...?

  My phone rings again. Same number.

  I have to pick up, this time.

  Taking a deep breath, I tap the screen.