He pulled at the ties of my wrapped cashmere top, until the fabric parted. My full breasts bounced gently as he freed them, the rosy hue of my swollen nipples sultry against the pale white of my skin. Alexander deftly peeled off my top, until I was naked from the waist up.
My skin sang under his worshipful stare as he drank in the sight of me. “I was not expecting such a perfect … luscious creature to walk into my office this afternoon. I had no intention of …” He seemed almost overcome. He swore under his breath. He was torn, I could see, by the thought of taking advantage of me, his new, young assistant. It was a strange and sudden turn of events, and entirely unforeseen. But I was too far gone to allow his internal dilemma to steal from me this stunningly needy anticipation.
“Alexander,” I said, kissing him again. I licked his lips with tender, inviting supplication, opening to him. His tongue sank into my mouth, searching intimately, filling my entire being with want. I sucked on his tongue, gently greedy, desperate to take more of any part of his body into any part of mine.
“God, Lila. You taste so fucking good.” His voice had become rasped with lust and … not indecision, but turmoil over a decision already made.
I wanted more from this big, perfectly made pirate-cum-mogul than I had ever before imagined, ruled entirely by the pull of his intention and the promise of his touch. I stood before him, loving the heated feel of his gaze on my body. Willing him to touch me, to put his hands on me, I looked into his dark eyes, letting my eyes rove to his sinfully inviting mouth. A stranger to myself, I felt a jolt of pure joy as his hands rested on the curve of my hips. His fingers circled the waistband of my skirt, easing to the back where he began to slowly unzip. I squirmed as he pulled my skirt down, to rid myself of any barrier between his hands and my scorched, restless skin. He made a soft, savage sound of appreciation as he saw that I wore nothing underneath and his breathing quickened.
Clad only in my tall boots, standing before him, I felt utterly foreign to myself, like I’d just climbed out of some underwater seashell and been reborn as a lusty nymph who had no inhibitions, who was made purely of hot, lurid physical sensation. I knew the pink, swollen furls of my sex would be fully visible to him. He would see how wet I was, how much I wanted him. His black eyes were heavy-lidded as he touched me everywhere with his blazing gaze. He licked his lips. A hint of shyness – some vanishing vestige of my old self – loosened as I reached my hands to rest on his muscled thighs. I eased his thighs further apart, standing between them. My breasts were just above his mouth and felt sensuously full and aching with need. I touched myself, pinching my nipples, playing them. “Taste more of me,” I whispered. I offered myself to him and he held my breasts in his big, warm hands, plumping them to his mouth, taking my nipples in lust-driven pulls, one then the other. I moaned with the billowing sensation he inspired. His hands were on me, slow and stealthy, wandering but not delivering, as though to torture me.
It wasn’t enough. The pulls of his mouth were too good, too rife with sensation. Each tug sent a wash of molten feeling into my liquid core. My sex felt unbearably hot and ripe, like I’d been dipped in warm honey.
I climbed onto him, straddling his hips. The massive rigidity of his raging erection was stunningly hard, and hot, even through the layer of his clothing. His strong hands clamped onto my hips, holding me exactly where he wanted me. Our eyes locked in a connective link. A strand of his black hair had fallen over his forehead, somehow softening his severe beauty. I touched the thick silk of it, as our gazes held, and a startling thread of tenderness passed between us, strengthening the lust, stoking it. He began to move me, just slightly, rolling my body against him. Answering his lead, I writhed against his straining erection, rubbing against the rock-hard outline of his cock. The intense hardness of him pressed against my plumped sex, kneading it, forcing a rolling, circling pleasure.
Not satisfied, not close enough, I began to unfasten his belt buckle, and unzip his pants. I fumbled with the fastenings, unable to find ease or dexterity; I was too hazed in a trancelike eagerness as he was revealed to me. I might have moaned at the sight of him. At the sheer size and perfection of him, dusky and silken and immense. I wondered abstractly if he would protest. Instead, he helped me as I pushed his pants down low on his hips. After a long moment of awed appreciation, I took him into my hands and caressed the long, stiff length of him. He was so hard his erection lay against his taut stomach. I touched him tenderly with both hands, fingering his length, cupping him, feathering my fingertips everywhere as he watched me do this.
Alexander’s hands were still on my hips and he pulled me closer, until my sex was touching his, rubbing against him, along his length, wetting him with the honey of my desire until his cock was slick with my own juices. I was so aroused that the tiny nub of my clit felt electric and hyper-sensitive. Alexander’s thumb circled my saturated folds, centering, touching. With the squeeze of his fingers, he pulled lightly on that little erect bud, igniting a potent bloom that almost undid me.
Blind with need, I guided the broad tip of his cock to my snug, slippery entrance. He swore under his breath, the sound agonized. He said my name. He bucked upwards, at the same time grasping my hips in his firm grip, thrusting into me, once, and again. I was forbiddingly tight, yet his thrusting drives forced his thickness deeper. He lifted me slightly, allowing my arousal to moisten him, to ease his passage, and he thrust again. I moved with him, grinding and opening to him until I was impaled fully, riding the huge length of him, clenching my soft core invitingly around him. His fingers found my clit, working a soft, squeezing motion, while his other hand rubbed me from behind, finding the tight, secret place, pressing in a dueling, connective rhythm. Aware of nothing but the harmony, the rising pleasure of our joined bodies, I lost myself, engulfed by a release so powerful that my body writhed and clenched with the overload of ecstasy. My inner muscles drew so forcefully around him that he groaned as if in pain. He was saying something but I could barely comprehend. Wait. I can’t hold on. But my body was too possessive, too slippery, and I was still riding, still pulling him deeply, again and again. I felt the flooding wetness, the violent pulse of him deep inside me. The silky beat of his climax rubbed sensuously against a sensitive place, causing another wash of spiralling waves that milked him softly, again and again, until I had collapsed on top of him, wrapped naked around his still-clothed body.
We sat that way for some time, rocked by the intensity of what had just taken place. His arms were around me. My head rested on his chest. I could hear his heart beating.
Despite the glaring fact that, in a distant long-ago state of mind, I might have felt remorseful for my total abandon, that the consequence of what I – what we – had just done could and would be far-reaching, I felt supremely, ridiculously peaceful. I was warm, and euphoric, cocooned in a circular haven high above the bustling city, wrapped in the arms and still moistly connected to a tycoon Adonis, stranger or not. I didn’t want to move. I savored the lingering bliss, the recalcitrant pleasure that, even now, held on. I wanted more.
After a time, my sated body stretched slightly, attempting movement, testing soreness. With the small change in position, Alexander’s barely-softened shaft slid inside me. I was surprised that he was still as large – and erect – as he was. I was hardly experienced with these things, but I knew this to be somewhat unusual. In a subtle adjustment, he swivelled his hips, causing his cock to sink deeper in a vague, circular rub that triggered a new, instant arousal. I was unsure how I could be so easily renewed, and so soon after what we had just done. But the sweet pressure as he continued to explore his deep, lazy thrusts caused me to gasp and to moan. I unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest. I inhaled his masculine scent, layered now with sweat and musk and satisfaction. I clasped his nipple gently between my teeth.
He flinched, chuckling darkly, and hugged me against his body, gripping me and lifting me. Still connected, he lay me onto his desk. He was above m
e, his mussed-up hair framing his heartbreaking face in a lion-like mane. I smiled at his transformation from only a short time ago: the cool, unapproachable top-floor CEO turned unruly, untamed sex god. I loved what havoc my hands had wrought upon his hair. His dark eyes glimmered and his gaze was meaningful and tender. Then he kissed me, softly at first, gaining momentum as he thrust into me.
Now he was in control, utterly, gripping me with both hands, lifting my hips higher so he could drive deeper. I wasn’t sure I could come again after the momentous releases I’d already experienced but his drives were measured, relentless in their pursuit of not only his pleasure but my own. He was listening to me, gauging my every breath, my every whimper. He was reading my reactions as he played my body, taking every quivering flutter to heart. With great skill and unequivocal insistence, he coaxed a rising surge within me. “Come for me,” he whispered. “I love the little sounds you make. I want you to come for me, Lila.”
“Yes,” I moaned, as he found a brazen sweetspot.
Triumphant, he rocked me, pushing deeper against the sensitive trigger, forcing the bliss. I rode the tidal wave, exploding from within, shattering in pleasure. I scraped my nails along his back, drawing him ever deeper as my body coerced his own orgasm with long, tight, silky pulls. He didn’t try to pull out of me this time, even though he easily could have done so from this position, and I didn’t ask him to. It hardly seemed to matter; we were already bound.
Alexander stroked my hair absentmindedly for a time. Then he pulled gently out of me. He stood above me, his eyes roving my body. Abruptly, he paused, touching his fingers to my intimate folds. He face looked appalled, almost furious, as he held up two blood-stained fingers.
“Lila. My God. You’re a virgin?”
Fuck.
I couldn’t believe I’d gotten so ridiculously carried away. Christ. I just fucked my new assistant.
The new assistant who was still peacefully sleeping in my bed with me.
I’d meant to pull out, at least. But I’d been so fucking overcome with lust that I’d spent myself inside her. More than once. There was simply no way in hell I could have disengaged myself from that tight, clenching, juicy little heaven on earth.
Goddamn it all to hell. That had never, ever happened before. Not even close. It hadn’t even occurred to me to put on a condom. Or anything else. The minute that goddess had walked into my office, with her sultry green eyes and her short skirt, practically oozing sexuality, my brain had taken flight and left the room. Leaving my goddamn cock in charge, which was never a good thing.
She was so fresh, so innocently voluptuous, so fucking young.
The sane part of my mind wanted to wake her, to politely ask her to leave, to tell her I still had a few more people to interview and I’d be in touch. I wouldn’t call. I’d send her some flowers and a gentlemanly note. Done and dusted. She wasn’t the most qualified for the job anyway, not by a longshot.
I watched her as she slept, surprised at myself for even bringing her here. I never brought women to my apartment, which was adjacent to my office. It was a door I kept decisively closed. Until now, apparently.
Her sunny blond hair spilled over the pillow in a silky cascade. Her pink lips were puffy from my greedy kisses, insanely soft and tempting. The smooth skin of her jaw was reddened slightly from the stubble of my beard. I’d been rough with her. Too rough. I’d taken her not only in my office – twice – but several times during the night, damning all consequences. And she was a fucking virgin.
Or at least she had been. Yesterday.
She must have been twenty-one at least. Maybe twenty-two. What kind of girl waits that long? And why?
Her dark-blond eyelashes lay in graceful curves against her pale cheeks, dark at the roots and lightening to an almost white-blond at the tips. Her makeup was all but gone, aside from some light smudges on the pillowcase. I thought of waking her, just so I could see that sea-green burn in her eyes.
The sheet lay low on her hips, drawing a line across the concave plane of her stomach, framed by the jut of her angular hipbones. Her breasts were a work of art – there was no other way to describe them. Full and rounded, high and plush with youth, the little buds of her nipples like cherries on the perfect, creamy vanilla mounds. Her nipples were soft now, in sleep. And I couldn’t resist. I was already harder than I’d ever been. Maybe equal to yesterday, or last night. I hardly cared about the comparison. What I cared about was the soft bud of her rosy skin, tightening even as she slept, under the glide of my tongue. She tasted like nothing I’d ever experienced. Sweet, somehow. Floral. Like she’d stepped out of a garden at midnight, while eating sugary cake and blossoming into full-blown womanhood. I sucked on her like I was trying to draw that taste from her body. It was perverse, almost, the greed and need I felt. Mother’s milk, or something like it. Virgin’s milk, sweetened with honey, mixed with lust and the loss of innocence.
Little mews of pleasure came from her mouth. She writhed under the sheet, displacing it. She opened her legs in a reflexive plead. For me. For this superhero between my legs that had never known such stamina. I could see the lavender-pink pleats of her pussy.
Fuck.
I was a fucking goner. I was whipped like nothing I had ever known. Just the sight of that moist, wanting flesh was enough to blind me, once again, to every normal consideration. I’d been a high-achieving, successful, responsible, Type-A paramour, sometimes more darkly than others, all my life. Every fucking second of my entire miserable straight-A millionaire – actually, as of last month, billionaire – life.
But this. This girl. She disarmed me. She made me want to fuck everything up. I wanted to dirty myself, and her. I wanted to feel what it felt like to not care about anything but the moment, because I knew that this moment would be so good, so incomparably fucking good that nothing else mattered.
I licked my way down her body, but I didn’t linger. I was too frantic to taste that sweet place that would swell and squirm and pulse under my tongue. I’d taken her to the shower sometime during the night, to wash my own scent away. I wanted her taste undiluted. And now, after a few hours of sleep, the scent of her had deepened into a humid, dewy musk. I almost lost it just tasting that, that feminine bloom, letting my tongue delve into the softness. Her willingness only compounded this overblown, excessive desire. Her hands were in my hair and she was lifting herself to my mouth, pulling me closer. I found the little nub of her clit and sucked it, playing it with my tongue, easing two fingers into her. I waited for her to relax into the invasion. I waited for her to come to me, to beg for more, slowing the lapping pressure of my tongue. Gently, I zeroed in on that tender bud, drawing it into my mouth with soft, cyclical pulls. Her moans and the clutch of her hands in my hair were driving me mad, but I reminded myself who I was. A control freak. An accomplished, driven, intensely disciplined man. A few soft moans of a willing woman should hardly undo me. But then it began. Her hips swayed in a back-and-forth rhythm. I slid my fingers deeper and her pussy clasped tightly around them, sucking them into her body. She cried out my name.
I was mildly appalled with myself, with my reaction, how much I loved that sound. Of her, calling to me. Saying my name in that dreamy exhale, like I was a mythical god-like being she couldn’t believe. Like I was too good to be true.
I was about to come whether I was inside her or not. And there was no question I would enter her, take her, fuck her, make love to her. The semantics hardly mattered. All I knew was that there was nothing more sacred to me at that moment than being inside her. Her climax was still happening. Her pussy was still clamping and spasming as I slid into the wet, welcoming constriction, driving into her and compounding her pleasure. If I’d cared about proving myself, of prolonging and lasting, the concern at that moment was inconsequential. That luscious, snug, pulsing embrace was so tight, so insistent, all my restraint was pulled from my body in silky, furtive tugs that left me no choice. This was ecstasy in its purest, most beau
tiful form. The release was complete and total. I fell willingly, succumbing entirely to the perfect bliss of her, beautiful as sin, absolute as death.
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