by Opal Carew
I feel the contact down to my toes.
Four hours later, we’ve rebooked the entire week and notified those affected. There’s no Monday to Friday in the real estate world and that’s a good thing, because Rob will be working seven days a week for at least half the month. The poor bastard’s workday has also been extended to eight in the evening.
I’ve sent Mrs. Bellows my regrets, telling her I won’t be attending her family and friends barbeque this weekend, giving a vague ‘something came up’ as my excuse. This is the first barbeque of hers I’ve ever said yes to. In the past, I’ve been out of town with projects.
My friend must be losing patience with me.
Not that Rob cares. When I mentioned it to him, he said he’d feed me, as though this is all I’ll be missing. Then he delivered on this promise. We ordered and devoured two orders of fish and chips, eating while we worked.
Both of us discarded our jackets. Rob ditched his tie, rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing his defined forearms. No man should look this good. I want to nibble on him, eat him like dessert.
It’s a shame he’s a heartless ass.
“I’ll drive you home.” He grabs both of our jackets and clasps my hand.
“Of course you will.” I follow him out of the office, walking between the cubicles. The bus I normally take doesn’t run very often this late at night. Or on weekends. “You’ll pick me up tomorrow morning, too.”
“The expected response is ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’” His voice lilts with humor.
I grin at him. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I give up my entire weekend to help you.”
“You never give an inch, do you?” Rob presses the button for the elevator.
“Would you want me to?”
“No,” he answers without hesitation. “I like you the way you are.”
He likes me. My chest warms. I always knew he wanted my body but I didn’t realize he enjoyed my brain also.
The doors open. We enter the small space. I stare, dismayed, at my reflection in the mirrored walls.
“I’m a mess.” My hair is tangled and loose. My lipstick has been wiped clean.
“You’re beautiful.” Rob selects the executive parking level. “With your dark hair and darker eyes, you look like a curvaceous Madonna. Every time I see you, I want to fall to my knees and worship you with my fingers, tongue, cock.”
I turn and gawk at him. “What the fuck?” Where did all of that poetry come from?
Red creeps up his neck. “I’m tired. If you don’t want to hear what I really think, you shouldn’t talk to me.”
“I’m talking to you.” Because I do want to know what he really thinks. “Have you been censoring your thoughts around me?”
“The R-rated ones.”
“There’s no need to hold back from me, Rob.” I step closer to him, placing my palms on his shirt-covered chest. “I can handle all of you, your dirty thoughts, your kinky sexual needs, your exhaustion-fueled rampages.”
“Yeah?” He drapes our jackets over his right shoulder and grips my hips, gazing down at me with desire in his brown eyes. Heat radiates from his body, encircling me.
“Yeah.” My voice is husky.
We stare at each other, our forms pressed together, our breaths meshing. My curves fit into his muscle, softness against his unrelenting form.
He’s a dick but maybe there’s hope for him. Maybe if I show him how helpful I can be this weekend, he’ll allow Mrs. Bellows to do her job. He’ll appreciate her, treat her with the respect she deserves, and I won’t feel guilty about wanting him.
The elevator doors open. Rob takes my hand and leads me through the parking garage to his sleek black Maserati.
It’s classy, luxurious, and exactly the type of car I’d expect him to drive.
Then I notice the license plate. “RReyes1?” I laugh. “Pretentious much?”
“It was a gift.” He grumbles, opening the passenger side door for me. “Keep your sarcastic comments to yourself.” He waits for me to sit. “Mrs. Bellows was proud of herself for thinking of it.” He hands me our suit jackets and closes the door.
He doesn’t want anyone to ridicule his assistant’s gift, to hurt her. I watch him as he moves to the driver’s side. Yet he plans to push Mrs. Bellows out of the job she loves. He fills the seat beside me.
“You make no damn sense,” I tell him.
“Says the woman who asked the takeout delivery man if our fish was sourced locally.” Rob drives the same way he walks, smoothly, his movements controlled.
“It could have been sourced locally, from Lake Ontario or a nearby waterway.”
“We ordered cod, an ocean fish.” His tone is dry. “We’re nowhere near an ocean.”
My face heats. “I didn’t pay attention to the kind of fish we ordered.” I was distracted by his proximity, how he’d placed his arm around me, as we peered at the order screen. He smelled fantastic. I inhale deeply. As he does right now, like wood and manly musk. “You’re dropping me off at my apartment, right?” Being a bus rider, I don’t recognize the route he’s taking.
“I am.” He changes lanes. “I’d prefer to bring you home, to my place, but I’m too exhausted to do anything other than sleep.”
“You’re assuming I’d agree to go home with you.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
I likely would but I don’t want to make it too easy for him. “It depends on what you had planned for the evening.”
“Right now, the plan is to fall into the sleep of the dead.” Rob stares at the bumper of a bright yellow taxi. “But if I was rested, I’d take my time and fuck you right. There isn’t one inch of you I wouldn’t lick, suck, draw into my mouth. I’d swallow your cries, feast on your release. The scent of you would be on my fingertips, in my hair, filling my lungs. Tomorrow when I was sitting in one of those Goddamn meetings, surrounded by serious young men in dark suits, I’d recall the flavor of you on my tongue and harden.”
“Oh my God.” I crush the jackets I’m holding. My panties are soaked. My breasts ache for his touch. My need for him verges on the edge of pain.
His gaze flicks to my face and then returns to the traffic. “That was the censored version of what I planned to do, if you’re wondering.”
Sweet Jesus. “I’m packing an overnight bag.”
“One night won’t be enough for us, beautiful.” Rob’s lips curl upward. “Not with all that I want to do with you.”
“There are some things I want to do with you too.” I place my hand on his thigh. His muscles flex under the fabric of his dress pants. “We’ll fuck our brains out tomorrow night and then, come Sunday, we’ll dial it back to business hours only.”
Because I have to remember I’m a convenience for him, not a lover.
“Hmmm…” He doesn’t believe me.
“You’re buying my days, boss, not my nights.” I lift my chin.
“There won’t be anyone else.”
Does he mean for me or for him? I say nothing because there hasn’t been, for me, not for a long time, and like hell will I ever admit that to him.
Moments pass.
“We have meetings booked every day until eight o’clock. I’ll need you for a couple of hours after that.” The damn man plans to block my evenings.
“Fine.” His evenings will be blocked also. “I expect you to supply dinner and to drive me home.”
“Done.” He nods.
His agreement was a little too quick for my comfort. I must not have asked for enough. “You’ll send Mrs. Bellows home at five in a taxi.”
He parks the car in a tow-away zone in front of the building I live in. “I send her home every night in one of the company limos.”
“Oh.” Who does that for an assistant? “Okay.”
“I’m not the bastard you think I am, Kirsten.” Rob turns to me, sincerity shining in his eyes. “I care for Margaret.” He unfastens my seat belt. “I care for everyone who works for me.”
“
I don’t officially work for you.”
He drifts his fingers over my cheeks. “Not officially.”
What does that mean? Does he or doesn’t he care for me? And why does this matter to me?
Rob’s lips cover mine and my questions dissipate, evaporating under the heat of my desire. Our tongues tumble and entwine. The stubble on his chin leaves a burning trail over my skin.
I moan into his throat, lean closer, hungry for more of him. My mind and heart may be confused, unsure about my feelings. My body has no such qualms. I want him, need his tongue in my mouth, his hands on my breasts, his cock in my pussy.
I wiggle closer to him. He leans deeper into me. The darkness in his eyes tells me he’s as lost as I am, as swept away by our embrace. I curve my fingers over his nape.
Knuckles rap on the windshield.
“Shit.” Rob pulls away from me. The new security guard waves his hands, indicating the car has to be moved. “I’ll park and walk you up.”
“Don’t park.” I gaze at him through a haze of desire. “I’ll be fine.” I fumble with the door, manage to open it, stumble to my feet. The night air cools the lingering flickers of passion, clears the fog from my brain. “See you tomorrow, bright and early.”
I walk away, not looking back. There’s no need to. I know Rob’s watching me.
And this thrills me.
Chapter 3
The next morning, I’m waiting on the sidewalk when Rob’s Maserati rolls to a stop before me. He called me three minutes ago, which is a good thing because Nolan, the daytime security guard, is standing beside me, determined to be a dick.
“This is a no parking zone.” Nolan puffs his chest out, reveling in his role.
“Yeah, yeah, but it’s available for passenger unloading and loading.” I climb into the passenger seat, set my packed tote near my feet.
“That’s your overnight bag?” Rob drives away before Nolan can touch his car. “You pack light.”
“I assumed I’d be sleeping in the nude.” I breathe in the scent of hot java and hotter man. “Was that a wrong assumption?”
“No.” Rob flashes a smile. He’s cleanly shaven this morning, no shadows under his brown eyes, and looking fine in a navy-blue suit, matching tie, white shirt. “The muffin is yours.” He dips his head toward the middle console.
“Chocolate chunk, my favorite.” I break off a piece and pop it into my mouth. The chocolate melts on my tongue, the baked good decadently light.
“That’s why I bought it.” Rob turns left. “The coffee closest to the dash is yours too.”
“Ummm…” I pick up the disposable cup and gaze at it dubiously. “You know how I feel about my coffee.” He drinks his coffee black. He can’t truly understand my issues.
“I know how you like your coffee—Caramel Macchiato, Venti, Skim, Extra Shot, Extra Hot, Extra Whip, Sugar-Free,” he recites.
“You remembered.” My mouth drops open. We had the infamous coffee discussion months ago. “How can you get what might be the most complicated coffee order in the world correct and manage to book a month’s worth of meetings in the wrong year?”
Rob stares out the windshield. “Mistakes happen.”
“A young, inexperienced assistant might make the same mistake.” I nibble on the muffin. “Lucky for you, you have Mrs. Bellows. She knows what she’s doing.”
When Trella Grant, John Powers’ assistant, first joined the company, Mrs. Bellows trained her. The supremely competent woman would never make such a foolish error.
Rob says nothing. Lines are etched between his eyebrows. He must be concentrating on the drive. Toronto traffic is as horrendous as usual, cars crawling along Yonge Street.
I sip my coffee and moan. “God. This is better than sex.”
He glances at me and then back at the road. “You won’t say that tomorrow morning.”
“Won’t I?” I grin. “You’re cocky.”
“You have no idea.” Rob shifts in his seat.
My gaze drops. He’s hard, his cock straining against the confines of his dress pants. “When we arrive at the office, I could suck you off.” I’d like that. I lick some chocolate off my lips. He’d taste better than the muffin and the coffee combined.
“You can suck me off later.” Rob’s knuckles whiten around the steering wheel. “There’s no time for playing this morning. People will be arriving soon for the first meeting and we’re booked solid until the evening.”
“So you’re saying I should have worn panties today.” The devil in me teases.
“Kirsten.” He growls.
“Yeah, boss?”
“You’re driving me fuckin’ insane.”
“That’s one of the many services I offer.” I laugh.
Silence stretches.
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Hike up your skirt and show me your bare pussy.”
I narrow my eyes. Is this a challenge, his way of calling my bluff? Because I wasn’t lying. I am bare under my skirt.
“Sure.” I slowly lift my hem, revealing my knees, full thighs, cleanly-shaven mons. “Look all you want.”
He waits until we reach a stoplight and does exactly that, gazing at me with an exciting wildness in his eyes. “Spread your legs.”
I obey him, opening myself fully to him. He can see my pinkness, my wet folds, my empty entrance.
A car honks. “Shit.” Rob pulls his gaze away from my body and drives.
I remain positioned where I am, available for his viewing pleasure, decadently on display. Anyone looking into the vehicle will see my bare pussy.
He breathes in, breathes out, his chest rising and falling. “You smell delicious.”
“I taste better.” I torture him some more. “Like strawberries and cream.” I’m not his first woman. He knows this is bullshit. No pussy tastes like strawberries.
“You’d be wet and tight around me.”
“I’d be very tight. You’re big, will be the biggest I’ve ever had.” He’d fill me completely.
A hurting sound comes from deep in Rob’s throat. “Are you on birth control?”
He wants to ride me bareback. I tremble, wanting this also. “If we forgo condoms, we can’t fuck anyone else.” I’m reckless but not stupid.
“There will be no one else for me, Kirsten.”
This sounds almost as if he’s vowing fidelity forever. He’s not…is he? “I’m clean.”
“I’m clean also.” Rob turns the car into the office parking garage. “Once these Goddamn meetings are done for the day, we’ll reward ourselves with a good, hard fuck. I’ll bend you over my desk and pound my cock into that hot pussy of yours. There will no barriers, nothing between us. You’ll feel every inch of me, every spurt of cum, as I claim you, making your body mine.”
“Yes, please.” I wiggle, anticipating that encounter. “Can I lick you clean after we’re finished, taste both of us on your cock?”
“You know how to torment me.” He groans. “This will be a long fuckin’ day.”
Rob’s mood darkens even more as he parks in the spot closest to the elevator. Kenneth Ling, one of his top analysts, waves and waits for us, eliminating any possibility of a quickie in the car. I push the hem of my skirt downward.
“We can last the day.” I hope. I pass Rob his coffee cup and exit the vehicle with my beverage and my muffin in my hands, my tote slung over my right shoulder.
I expect my proud executive to walk beside me, to treat me with professional coolness, put a distance between us. Instead, he places one of his large palms on the small of my back, the gesture primitively possessive, the signal he’s sending clear—I’m his.
I lift my chin, straighten my spine, and stride with dignity toward the elevator and Kenneth Ling. Everyone will talk, but as Rob stated last night, everyone can fuck off.
I want Powers Corporation’s dynamic young CFO and I’ll have him.
As soon as our Goddamn meetings are done.
I greet visitors, bri
ng them to Rob’s office, work on rearranging his double booked schedule during the meetings, and then walk the visitors out of the building. Rob gives me Mrs. Bellows’ password – Christmas11, her favorite holiday combined with the year her first grandbaby was born. When I ask him why he knows her password, he simply shrugs his broad shoulders.
I suspect it has to do with his need to control everything. Mrs. Bellows’ top drawer is filled with a spooky collection of yellow post-it notes. All of these are signed RR—Robert Reyes and they include reminders that shredding documents is against company policy, that signed checks are to be given to Jenella Whyte, not mailed directly, that Mrs. Bellows is never to speak to auditors, either internal or external.
She’s a saint to put up with his bullshit. I would have given him the finger day one, told him to leave me alone and let me do my damn job.
He must know this. Rob doesn’t try to micromanage me, keeping his unneeded insights to himself.
I order sandwiches and salad for his lunch meeting, eating my selection at my desk. At three o’clock, we snack on cookies.
Despite this sugar hit, both of us start to drag our asses. My vision blurs, the days in the schedule running together. Rob appears more and more grim.
I send him a message.
How did I picture him or how did I pleasure myself? I suspect it’s the latter.
Minutes pass. I check my phone obsessively. Was that too dirty of a reply for my executive? Does he think I’m a freak?
I smile. He’s a freak too.
His cock is what I want. No dildo will ever compare to him.
The countdown begins. We exchange secret smiles at the end of each meeting, knowing we’re that much closer to sexual satisfaction.
Rob’s last meeting runs late.
