A Very Personal Assistant

by Portia Da Costa

  Tongues and lips dueled, speaking volumes in gasping silence. Miranda tried to struggle and wrestle with her jacket, but he grabbed hold of her upper arms and immobilized her, his mouth cruel against hers, almost punishing her.

  When they were both gasping for air, he let her free a moment, staring, almost glaring down into her eyes. Was he angry? It was hard to tell, but his expression was like a furnace of violent emotion, his face all aglow. Even as she finally managed to catch her breath, he grabbed her again and swung her around until she was the one pressed up against the wall. Then, in a fluid, elegant move, almost like a supermodel shedding a layer on the catwalk, he shucked off his robe and then lunged forward again, pressing his naked, muscular body against her body, still in its clothes and all.

  Her hands flew to his back, his buttocks, embracing, exploring and savoring all she’d previously been denied. The notion of skin like silk was a cliché, especially for a man. It sounded like something that should only be a quality of an unattainably perfect romantic hero…but it was true in Patrick’s case, deliciously and wonderfully true.

  Just running her hands over him was a pleasure in itself, and between her legs, her pussy clenched, wet and needy. This was the final treat she’d been longing for—a naked, unhidden Patrick, free of the mask of his corporate, sartorial elegance.

  He kept kissing her, imposing himself on her, his hands sliding beneath her skirt and running up and down her thighs, flicking over her stocking tops. “I can’t lose you, either,” he growled, before plunging in with hungry kisses again and again.

  Miranda was floating, out of it, and only into him. But as her eyes flicked open, and across the little hallway, she realized that the door was still wide open, offering anyone on the landing a prime view of Patrick’s fine arse.

  But she didn’t care, and it seemed he didn’t, either. Even when he bunched up her skirt so he could touch her, there wasn’t a fiber of her that was bothered by the possibility of exposure. His hand slipped into her panties and all was right in the world.

  “I won’t take it back,” she hissed as he touched her, finding her clitoris with his supernatural touch. “I love you. I can’t help it. Deal with it.”

  “I will,” he replied, swirling in her slippery sex, working her. “And I’ll deal with you…but first I’ve got to fuck you.” He kissed her, quick, rough, deep. “Now. Immediately. I can’t wait.” He rubbed her clit in tight little circles. “Got a condom in that bag?” He nodded in the direction of her shoulder-bag, lying on the carpet runner.

  She nodded furiously, so close to coming that she literally couldn’t speak. All she could do was watch as Patrick swooped down, small, detailed muscles working his back as he rummaged efficiently in the bag and pulled out a familiar foil package. It was hard to stay upright. His body was so amazing that just looking at it made her shake all over, but she laughed out loud as he back-heeled the door shut, then advanced on her, ripping open the foil and rolling the contraceptive onto his mighty erection as he approached.

  “Brace yourself, woman,” he growled, grabbing her again. “You’ll need to help me…knickers off, then guide me into you and hang on for dear life.”

  She obeyed, loving it. He was in charge here, just as he’d always been during their trips to the cottage. And he was hard as iron just as he’d been there, too.

  But still, this was tricky. How were they going to achieve this. It was all very well in movies doing the up-against-the-wall knee-trembler, but she’d always believed it was impossible in real life, with actual people. No previous lover of hers had even attempted it.

  “We’ll fall,” she protested, even as he flexed his strong legs and positioned the head of his cock against her entrance, lifting one of her thighs to get at her better.

  “No, we won’t, woman. Don’t fuss,” he said gruffly, working with his hips, already in a little way. “It’s a trust exercise. We’ll be fine. Believe me. Now help.”

  So she did, hooking her thigh around his narrow hips, and then bracing against the wall with one hand while she reached down and tangled fingers with his, aiding his entry into her. Luckily she was slippery, running with arousal, soft and yielding.

  With a hard shove, his buttocks tensing, he thrust home and hard.

  “Lock your thighs around me,” he commanded. “Right around…. want to be deeper.”

  It felt so precarious, yet also wonderful, this trust exercise. She’d never felt so filled before, but she wanted to be more filled. Only Patrick could do this. Only he could reach places inside her that no man ever had. And on many levels that were nothing to do with his cock.

  “I’ll never let you fall, love,” he gasped, looking directly into her eyes, his own intent, dark as night, focused on sex, yet on her, too. “Believe me, I’ll never let you down.”

  She hooked around him, completely suspended from him, her sex jammed up against his, her arms locked around his neck, holding him as if she’d never let him go.

  I never will let you go! Never! I don’t care what happens! she cried silently to him and he began to thrust and thrust with his hips, one hand under her buttocks to guide her, the other flat and steady against the wall. Every time he rocked against her, the force, the angle, the weight of his athletic body, and the whole of his heart and soul seemed to knock against her clitoris, shooting jolts of pleasure up her spine and around her body.

  Holding him with her thighs and arms, she jerked against him reciprocally, attempting to give as much as she was getting, and pleasure him. He muttered, “Yes, love! Yes!” and that told her she was achieving her objective.

  The fucking, the closeness, it was all too much for her. Even though she was clothed and he was nude, she felt as if every part of her was pressed to every part of him. Her suit, her blouse, her bra, everything was insubstantial but her flesh against his flesh. And it was that connection, the one that was so magical and hard to define, that brought her off as much as the action of his cock and the rhythmic tugging action on her clit.

  “Oh, hell! Oh, God! Patrick!” she howled as orgasm claimed her completely and her pussy rippled and gripped and gripped and gripped him.

  “Oh, baby,” he muttered vaguely, holding her to him. “I love you…I love you…” His broad chest heaved against her. “But if I climax here, I will drop you…. You feel too good!”

  Giddy with pleasure, Miranda thought, What? How?

  “Hold on, love. Hold on really, really tight.” Both of his hands slid under her bottom, gripping her firmly.

  Hardly able to believe what he was up to, she still trusted him, and hiccupped with laughter when he swung her away from the wall, and began to carry her, still on the prow of his erection, down the little hallway and into a room at the end. Every so gently, he used her to nudge the door wider, then strode into what was revealed to be his bedroom, heading for the bed.

  Miranda didn’t notice much about the room, except that it was decorated in blues, and appeared incredibly tidy, but what she did see was that spread right beneath where he clearly intended to deposit her, was a freshly pressed suit laid out, along with shirt, underwear and socks.

  “Where were you going?” she asked, the question purely automatic and female. Despite the fact that his cock was inside her, she felt fear and uncertainty for the first time since she’d walked into the flat. What if he had a girlfriend? Someone he had a real relationship with, not just a weird out-of-office sex thing?

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart�
��it was all for you,” he said as he set her down, inclining over her. He slipped out of her then, and let rip a lurid curse, but a moment later, he’d rearranged her body and his and he thrust inside her again, this time with the stable surface of the bed beneath her back.

  “Good” was all Miranda could gasp, as he began to plough her in even deeper strokes than before.

  Despite the fact that they were fucking in comfort now, she felt giddy, whirling, almost hysterical. The sensations doubled, tripled, went off the scale, enhanced and illuminated by subconscious realizations and hopes and dreams. He cared, he loved her, and something even greater and more wonderful than just this sublime physical experience lay ahead.

  But she was going to have to live through this, and have an orgasm again first. Or several orgasms…

  * * *

  Afterward, naked, and following several passionate joinings, they dozed. Or at least, Patrick did.

  Typical man.

  But Miranda smiled fondly at his beautiful fallen angel profile, and his tousled blond curls. He was adorable, and she did adore him and love him. And how dumb was she not to comprehend this a lot, lot sooner.

  I should never have given you a job. I should just have asked you for a date.

  It would have been much, much simpler from a work and relationship perspective. Who knew where they’d be by now? Far further along their path together…maybe?

  As if he’d sensed her troubled thoughts, he stirred and turned toward her, his face alight with that sunny smile she loved so much.

  “Well, fancy you being here,” he said, stroking her face. “I’ve fantasized about you being here, and wanked so often while imagining you here, that I can’t believe that it’s really actually happened.”

  The idea of him touching himself and pleasuring himself made Miranda’s skin tingle, and impossibly, given the amount of climaxes she’d enjoyed, her pussy rippled with fresh desire. But there were issues to be settled, plans to me made, and even in this quiet, special, love-filled room, the businesswoman, the organizer in her, rallied.

  “Please tell me you’re going to withdraw your notice now.” It was going to be awkward working together and maintaining a relationship, but if they were discreet and sensible there was no reason why they couldn’t manage it.

  “No, I’m not,” he said, his eyes steady. “I can’t come back to the company.”

  A great, empty hole seemed to yawn inside her, the prospect of not seeing him every day, not talking with him, laughing with him. It wasn’t even the sex. It was him, with her, that she’d missed. He was the one constant in her life, the daily necessity, and now she could admit how little she’d looked forward to weekends since he’d become her assistant.

  “I can’t come back because relationships between staff members are frowned upon. I’d rather see you all the rest of the time, and just get another job.” His thumb moved slowly over her skin, brushing her lower lip, that was a little bruised from all the kissing they’d done. “I’ve been offered a share in a recruitment agency, helping busy execs like you a chance to find ‘treasures’ like me. I think I’ll enjoy the work.”

  See you the rest of the time….

  “What do you mean, see me the rest of the time?”

  She knew, actually, and her heart was pounding. This was it, oh, God, the thing she’d never thought she’d find.

  “I think you know, my love.” He waggled his sandy-gold eyebrows at her. “I’m not usually wrong about anticipating what you want…at least I think I’m not wrong.” A tiny shadow of doubt flashed across his face, and as if to banish it, he leaned over and kissed her. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

  “No, not wrong at all,” she answered when he freed her mouth. She was panting for lack of breath, and because of the sweet shock, the enormity of what they were dancing around. “But…um…we’ve never even dated or anything.”

  He gave her an arch look, almost smug, utterly delicious. “We’ve spent a large part of each working day together for the last six months…and in my book that’s plenty of time to find out if we’re simpatico, wouldn’t you say?” Reaching out, he ran his hand over her naked flank. “And we’re certainly compatible in bed…or out of it.” He winked. “We’re perfectly suited.”

  “Yes, we are,” she whispered, leaning into the caress of his hand, willing it to go further, then purring with bliss when it slid to her breast and cupped it. Part of her wanted to start asking practical questions about time scales and flats and engagement rings, but most of her was happy to wallow in happiness and freshly stirring pleasure.

  They would work everything out, as they always did. They’d had enough practice organizing their life together during working hours, and at the cottage, so it’d be easy enough to do the same in all the other hours.

  Still, she had to ask one question, though.

  “So, if we’re not at the office, and you don’t work for me anymore…who’s going to be the boss in this relationship?”

  Patrick gave her long, long look, an intense fiery expression that made her belly surge like boiling honey and her pussy clench with heavy, delicious longing.

  “Oh, you’re pretty good at negotiations, my love,” he said softly, “and I’m good at knowing exactly what you want and when you want it.” He threw a long, muscular thigh across her, and reacquainted her with his seemingly unflagging and unstoppable erection. “So I think we’ll work out something between us, don’t you?”

  Miranda nodded, surging against him, rubbing her softness against his hardness as her soul recognized it’s perfect mate and match.

  Patrick’s arms slid right around her, pulling her even closer, as he whispered in her ear, “And if you get too uppity, we’ve always got the cottage.”

  Images flooded through her mind, delicious images, sensations and memories. Along with sweet ideas and notions and plans for future trips to their wicked little hideaway.

  “Maybe we could go there for our honeymoon?” she suggested, reaching down to touch the cock of the man she loved.

  “Indeed, my love. I was just going to suggest the very same thing.”

  His happy laugh turned to groan of pleasure as she stroked him.

  * * * * *

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  MIRA is a registered trademark of Harlequin Enterprises Limited, used under licence.

  Published in Great Britain 2012.

  MIRA Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,

  Richmond, Surrey, TW9 1SR

  © Portia Da Costa 2012

  ISBN 978-1-4089-8194-8
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