The Bishop Affair (Dominated by the Billionaire Brothers #2)

by Jennifer Simms

  A shiver moved through me followed by a heated ache between my legs. Damn. That thing would break a person in half. I flushed with embarrassment and desire, unable to pry my eyes away from it. Was there an elegant way of telling your boss that his cock was showing?

  “Everything’s fine,” I said, my voice a little raspy from my dry mouth.

  I finally mustered the strength to look him in the eyes, though his manhood remained stubbornly in the periphery. I resisted the urge to lick my lips as I casually noted his thick torso was much more muscular than Trevor’s. He probably did a lot more weights than Trevor did, transporting myself back to the night at the gym when I’d first seen the both of them. If only I’d known what would be taking place just a few days later.

  “You look pretty stressed out and it’s only your third day.” He crossed his meaty biceps over his bulging pecs. Suddenly, he brightened. “Why don’t you relax and let me give you a massage?” His smile was magnetic. “The last time I was in Asia, I learned from the best.”

  I feared this was headed to a place I couldn’t return from. But the idea of his strong hands kneading my body made me ache all over. Could this be a test? Some sort of game Jordan was playing with me? Were Trevor and Jordan both conspiring to torture their new personal assistant? The Bishops might have been savvy professionals in the business world, but their personal professionalism was a whole different animal. I told myself that I needed to adapt—and fast—to their style for the sake of my own sanity. Wanting desperately to be a team player, to actually feel like I belonged in this office, I acquiesced.

  He clapped his hands, looking very pleased, and reached beneath the massage table to produce another towel.

  “Undress,” he instructed, and I gulped. This I had not anticipated, along with everything else, of course.

  My heart clattered. “You want me to take off my clothes?”

  “Of course,” he said, almost impatiently. “Haven’t you ever had a massage before?”

  “I actually haven’t.” Gingerly taking the towel he held out to me, I set my notebook and pen on a nearby chair. Could I back out of the massage at this point? Was I really thinking about getting naked in front of my boss? I found myself wondering about how his hands would feel on my bare skin and the flesh between my legs tightened viciously.

  He turned his back to give me privacy. “You’re in for a treat then.”

  I prayed that the door was locked. Somebody barging in on me stripping would probably rob me of the last shred of common sense. After slowly disrobing, I piled my clothes on the same chair where I’d sat, fully dressed, yesterday during my interview with him. Eyeing his back suspiciously, certain he’d turn around at any moment, I struggled with the small towel to cover myself. After several long seconds of yanking and pulling, I had to compromise: ample cleavage for full butt coverage.

  “Okay, ready,” I announced shakily.

  Jordan turned around, his eyes growing dark as they devoured my newly exposed skin. He cleared his throat and held his hand out.

  “Let me help you up,” he said softly, as if he were afraid to speak too loudly. I put my hand in his, marveling momentarily that he was able to cope with how big they were.

  I looked warily at the massage table. The impression of his body remained in the thick padding, every beautiful contour neatly captured in the soft material. In a moment, I’d be laying naked on that very same area. As I unbuttoned my blouse, my eye caught on one particular part of the table—there was an obvious indentation of where his cock had rested.

  As Jordan gently helped me lie down, I noticed I was settling onto the table in the opposite direction he had been in. My breath caught as I realized my face would be pressed into the faint cock indentation. Turning my head so that my cheek rested against the table rather than my mouth, I closed my eyes. The spot was still warm. I inhaled the sharp perfume of the massage oil mingled with a potent musk that I could only guess where it came from. It was the most erotic aroma I’d ever experienced and I found myself wondering if his cock tasted as delicious as it smelled.

  I stiffened as he worked his fingers under the towel wrapped around me and pulled out the edges. I became painfully aware of my bare breasts now pressing directly against the padding. He adjusted the towel, exposing my back and moving the material to completely cover my ass. At least I was covered in that department.

  My heart thumped against the table.

  “Relax” he urged.

  How could anyone relax while being so turned on by such an impossible situation? I couldn’t help but imagine him beneath me, my mouth by his cock and his by my pussy, pleasuring one another in that magical position, tasting and plundering until we drove each other crazy.

  I jumped as he let his big hands rest on my back. Side by side, they easily covered most of the surface.

  “I like to squeeze in a massage between meetings if I’m feeling too stressed out,” he murmured, his hands still firm against my quivering back.

  His massage felt amazing, and I immediately found my anxieties disappearing. “That sounds nice,” I breathed, my eyes closed.

  “It is. Work can be stressful, but you should try not to carry the stress with you.” He moved his hands so lightly over my skin that I shivered violently with pleasure. “Let yourself enjoy the sensations.” I inhaled deeply through my nose, goose bumps rising on my arms as he continued to ghost his fingers over my back. “How’s that feeling?”

  “Really good,” I said dreamily, hoping I wasn’t drooling on the table. He moved to my neck and shoulders, increasing the contact until he was firmly kneading my tight muscles. I couldn’t resist tiny noises of relief in the back of my throat.

  “So what’s got you all stressed out?” He switched his technique to a more languid rhythm. The change startled me a bit out of my relaxation—it felt like Jordan was deeply caressing my skin. I wondered just what type of massage master he had learned from in Asia. His ministrations over my back were sending currents of suggestion between my legs.

  “I think it’s just the new job, getting used to everything.”

  I realized my pussy was starting to get a little moist and I panicked, despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to notice with the towel covering me. But I knew it, and I didn’t want to be that unprofessional woman who couldn’t keep her urges in check.

  He pressed his fingers into my palm, expertly rubbing my sensitive skin there. “I’m pretty certain that my brother is one of your main sources of stress.” Though he said it casually, I detected a slight edge to his voice.

  I fought the urge to squirm as Jordan dragged his fingers back up my arm and to my back. He was silent for a few moments, moving his hands over my skin.

  “Trevor’s not a bad person,” he continued, rubbing down my other arm and massaging my palm. I struggled to focus on his words as the attention he was devoting to my hand sent additional waves of pleasure to my pussy. At this rate, I was feared my massage was going to have a “happy ending.” How was I going to manage that?

  “I know he’s not a bad person.” My words were sticky with desire.

  “My brother’s a hardass.” He dragged his fingers back up my arm and started working down my spine. An involuntary moan left my lips at his attention and I quickly turned my head to face away from him. I flushed with embarrassment at my lapse in control.

  He chuckled at me. “Don’t be shy. Let yourself go. Just focus on the feelings.” He shifted his position to direct his efforts back up to my shoulder blades and I felt something firm press against my arm. I thought he was getting ready to massage my arms again, but was puzzled when I felt both hands on my shoulders. What was it?

  Oh God.

  Was that his erection? The hard flesh pushing against my soft skin evidenced his arousal and sent even more shockwaves between my thighs. I parted my lips as my breath quickened.

  Jordan began working down my back again and my breathing turned to panting. His hands lingered at the edge of the towel draped o
ver my ass, rubbing and caressing my lower back, the pressure actually rocking me a little on the table, inadvertently stimulating my clit.

  “You have great skin, you know?” he said impassively. “Most women your age are so focused on tanning but it destroys their skin.”

  “I burn easy,” I moaned out by way of explanation, willing to do or say anything as long as the exquisite feelings never stopped.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Had I imagined the words whispered in my ear? There was no way my rich, gorgeous boss, who could have any woman he wanted, just called me beautiful.

  His hands on my lower back were pushing me closer and closer to a climax. I was so close. The will to fight it crumbled to the burning desire for release. The moment I accepted that maybe that’s exactly what Jordan wanted and gave myself over to it, he stopped and withdrew his hands.

  “Feel better?” he asked brightly.

  I gaped, so sure that I was going to come as of a few seconds ago that I now felt robbed.

  “I do,” I lied. My body simmered with arousal. Anxiety over Trevor had been replaced with lust for Jordan. “That felt amazing.”

  “You should always take a little time for yourself so you don’t get too overwhelmed.”

  He strolled across his office and stared out the window, his back to me. It was my cue to peel myself off the table and get dressed. Heaving myself up, I found my knees wobbly from all the sexual tension. My pussy was so wet that I hated to put my panties back on, but I did, frowning at the unpleasant sensation.

  As I glanced back at the table, I was horrified to see a wet smear right where I had been resting. Wriggling into my skirt, I tossed the towel back over it. I wondered what he would have thought if he’d found it. Would he have smelled it to figure out what the wetness was? I shuddered and finished dressing.

  “Okay,” I said, turning back to Jordan and seeing him back in his pants. Had he been peeking at me?

  “That gift,” he said, pulling on a navy oxford that didn’t seem capable of containing his muscles. “The one for my client? It’s a clock.” I was shocked to remember the reason why I came to his office in the first place. Jordan scribbled a few words on a piece of paper and handed it to me. It was a model number and a store. I looked up to see my boss smiling lightly. “As a reminder.”

  I certainly didn’t need a reminder of this meeting. It would take a severe blow to the head to forget it, and even then, I was sure my body would still remember. I smiled shyly and took my leave.

  ***

  It was still a little early to take lunch, but I found it extremely hard to focus on the stack of paperwork on my desk after Jordan’s massage. My loose muscles were a constant reminder and every time I imagined his strong hands rubbing me, I got turned on. The easiest transcriptions seemed like insurmountable tasks. I found myself yearning to rub my thighs together to try to recapture some of that feeling.

  Finally, I grabbed my tote and stood up, eager to make my escape.

  “Hey Susan,” I said, stepping across the hall to her desk. She looked up and smiled, her graying hair pulled into a messy bun that was pierced through with no less than three pencils. “I’m going to step out and run a couple errands for the Bishops and pick up some lunch while I’m out. Can I get you anything?”

  “That’s sweet of you Lori, but I’ll be fine.”

  I walked away, feeling much lighter knowing I’d be out of the office for a while. Hopefully, I’d be able to clear my head so I could be productive the rest of the day.

  Strolling along the sidewalk, free from the building, I felt like a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I grabbed a smoothie from a nearby shop and sipped on it, watching New Yorkers pass by in droves, dragged by an invisible current of their own needs and desires. How many people had just received an mind-blowing massage from their gorgeous boss?

  Before leaving the shop, I bought a plastic-wrapped brownie for Susan. She kept a dish of chocolates on her desk and had quite the sweet tooth. I knew the brownie wouldn’t go to waste with her.

  Enjoying the crisp weather, I walked the handful of blocks to the store Jordan had indicated and picked up the clock. The receipt listed an outrageous price for the decorative timepiece—more than several of my paychecks combined. I really hoped the client would remember the time spent with Bishop Corp.

  I had the clock wrapped and placed into a bag. Carrying the pricey parcel gingerly in one hand, I dug around in my tote until I found the other task I had to do: the dry cleaning ticket. Surprisingly, I felt a lot less dread than earlier. What else could Trevor do to me? Spank me again? I was doing exactly what he asked. Jordan’s massage apparently did wonders for my confidence.

  I remembered the dry cleaning shop’s façade from yesterday and picked it from the others with little trouble. The attendant pulled the plastic-covered shirt and vest from a rack and handed them to me. I paid and carried everything out. Back on the sidewalk, I looked up at the office building, towering into the sky.

  It was time to face Trevor.

  I held my head high as I strode across the office to my desk. I was so ready to get the phantom of Trevor out of my mind for the day. Carefully, I set Jordan’s parcel on my desk, promising myself to give it to him as soon as I dealt with Trevor. I placed the brownie on Susan’s empty desk before shaking out the dry cleaning, making extra sure it was perfect in every way, right down to freeing the wrinkles in the plastic. Marching down the hall with the clean items in hand, I knocked briskly on Trevor’s office door.

  “Enter!”

  I pushed the door and bravely opened my mouth to say hello when Trevor held up his hand.

  He was seated at his desk in shirtsleeves, his tie thrown over his shoulder, listening to someone on his phone. Drawn curtains of heavy fabric kept most of the light out of his office, and the space was only illuminated by a desk lamp at his elbow. He kept his eyes on me even as he made curt sounds of acknowledgement to whoever was on the other end of the line. He pointed at my shoes and gave a stern expression.

  Of course, the rug.

  I stepped out of my pumps again, leaving them next to his expensive-looking Italian loafers.

  He crooked his finger at me and pointed at the chair across from his desk. I walked across the rug in my bare feet and sat, still holding the dry cleaning. He returned his attention back to the phone as soon as I was in the chair, taking notes rapidly.

  “If Murdoch wants to play ball, we’ll play ball.” He clicked his pen impatiently. “Jordan met with him last week in London, but he didn’t get a good impression.”

  He underlined something on his notepad as his shoulders heaved a silent sigh. I took the opportunity to really observe him. Seeing the business side of Trevor in action made me better appreciate his intensity in personal settings. He was obviously not happy with whatever he was hearing on the other end of the line, but he was holding his ground, not giving an inch. Trevor and Jordan were so different that it was hard to wrap my mind around the fact that they were brothers. Jordan’s gray-green eyes danced with a friendly, almost playful light. They reflected the mood around them, amplifying happiness and soothing away stress. Trevor’s eyes, on the other hand, had a hard edge around them. Theirs were a frosty blue, cold enough to give you frostbite in a single glare. They were always carefully assessing, like they were picking apart every flaw.

  Though their body types were vastly different—probably, in part, to their unique workout regimens—the Bishops still had the air of pride. Both knew they were good-looking and powerful. Everyone else around them knew, too.

  That was where any sort of similarity ended. Even their aesthetic tastes were unique, right down to the ways they decorated their offices. Whereas Jordan’s office seemed comforting, with its bright windows, comfy chairs, and warm wooden flooring, Trevor’s office seemed designed to warn you — don’t walk on the rug with your shoes, don’t touch the erotic statue on the desk, don’t even look at the Eastern paintings on the wall. M
ost of the décor was probably from Jordan’s travels, and I wondered if he saw his brother reflected in each piece he bought. It would be interesting to see how they interacted with another.

  “I know he’s probably feeling anxious,” Trevor said. “Phone tapping will do that to people. I should think he’d like an ally right about now.”

  He set his pen down and leaned back in the chair. Cracking his neck twice, he looked at me. The amusement was evident in his eyes and I wondered what was so funny. If it was something on the phone, I’d likely never know. But I had a sneaking suspicion that the joke was on me. Even when he looked happy I wondered if it was because I screwed something up. Still, I was all too aware of how my body reacted around him. All of his sharp parts and hard edges made him dangerous. Only a fool would say they were immune to “bad boy” allure. And Trevor had more than enough to spare. I found myself tracing the scar on his face, mentally concocting outlandish scenarios for its existence.

  When I met his blue eyes, they were no longer amused. I blushed and stared at my lap purposefully.