Illicit Desire

by Taylor Michaels

  A gleaming black Mercedes is idling in front of my building, a dark skinned young man in an ill-fitting suit standing next to it, smoking a cigarette. His eyes light up when he sees me and he tosses the smoke, straightening. “Ready, senorita?”

  I frown at him, but I don’t argue as he tucks me into the back seat of the luxury SUV, before bounding around and taking the driver’s seat and pulling away from the curb. Then, I fish out my phone.

  I could probably find my way to the Tower without a babysitter.

  Raphael: Ah, but why take the chance?

  I snort and roll my eyes.

  “Do you want to stop anywhere on the way to the office, senorita?”

  “No,” I say softly. “We can go straight in. Will this be a daily thing?”

  He flicks me a curious look in the rearview, and I gesture at the car, all of it. He grins. “Jefe likes to treat the execs well. If you’re joining the ranks—yeah. You should get used to this.”

  I bite back the comment that Jefe might be in for a surprise when it comes to me. Instead, I settle in my seat, and send a quick text before tucking my phone away.

  This won’t be a daily thing, Raphael. I’m not agreeing to that.

  If he responds, I ignore it.

  My driver introduces himself as Pedro, and gives me a cheerful smile as he lets me out on the front steps of Carlita Tower, telling me he’ll see me at five. He hands me a business card. “If you want to leave for lunch or need anything, please don’t hesitate—I’m assigned exclusively to you.”

  The ridiculousness of him sitting around waiting for me to need him is almost too much. I force my smile to stay in place, and climb the wide steps to the Carlita Tower.

  The same receptionist is behind her wide desk, and she gives me a reserved smile. “Mr. Ortiz wanted me to send you right up. You’ll need this”—she slides a temporary badge across the desk to me—“until HR finishes your paperwork, but you’re all set.”

  I thank her quickly, and join the stream of people to the elevator bank. Fiddling with my badge, I wait for the elevator, until one of the other men gives me a quick smile. “I haven’t seen you here. New to the Tower?”

  I laugh. “That obvious? It’s my first day.”

  He smirks. “You should let me take you on a tour over lunch.”

  A hand slides over my hip and my hair prickles. I don’t need to look to see who it is, nor do I need to see the startled caution in my new admirer’s eyes.

  “Ms. Milan has already had a tour, and she’ll be busy for lunch.”

  I’m a little surprised when the other man comes back with, “Maybe tomorrow.”

  Raphael makes a low noise of displeasure and his voice goes chilly. “She’ll be occupied for the foreseeable future.”

  The elevator dings, and Raphael pulls me forward. I catch sight of Miguel flanking us, keeping everyone else out of the elevator as Raphael pulls me on. He punches the button to take us to the fiftieth floor, and then turns to me. “You didn’t call me.”

  “I didn’t know that I was supposed to.”

  He glares. “I asked you to call me when you arrived. Instead, I hear about it from fucking Pedro. And then some cabron is hitting on you? What the fuck is that?”

  “That is me, making friends. I didn’t realize that taking a job with you meant that I couldn’t speak to anyone of the opposite sex,” I snap back.

  He growls a low Spanish curse, and then he has me against the wall, his head dipping down, his lips closing over my earlobe. I want to fight him, but in this moment, with his hands digging into my hips, and his lips skimming my neck, I can’t for the life of me remember why. I drop my purse, and my hand comes up into his hair. “You can’t be a caveman, Raphael,” I murmur. His laugh brushes my skin, just below my earlobe and I shudder, my legs going weak.

  He shifts, his thigh braced between my legs and holding me up. “You have a new dress.”

  “Somebody gave me a ridiculous check,” I say. He laughs, and I pull him down, so that perfect mouth is fit to mine. Yesterday, he dominated the kiss, controlled all of it. Now, I’m horny and annoyed. My hand skates down, between us, and I find him, pressing hard and long against my belly. I almost purr as his tongue strokes into my mouth, over my teeth and I tease at his dick. The elevator slows, my stomach twisting, and I push him back hurriedly, adjusting my hair and smoothing my skirt as we come to a stop. Raphael is still facing the wall when the door opens, and I step out.

  I come to an abrupt halt. A man is standing there, an impassive stare on his face. He glances over me wordlessly and then past me, some of the tension in his shoulders easing as Raphael steps out behind me.

  “Lou, I’ll be a bit longer.”

  “Rojas’ men are here, Raphael.”

  I glance at Lou and then up at Raphael. A new tension has settled over him, and he’s stepped away from me, a small step that feels impossibly large. He gives me a worried look, hunger flickering in his dark eyes as he stares at me. I don’t want to let him go—I want to drag him back to my side and finish what we started in the elevator.

  Instead I smile. “I’m fine, Raphael. Go.”

  He steps close for a second, “Have lunch with me.”

  It’s not a request, but I nod anyway. It earns me one of the breathtaking smiles I’m coming to adore, and then he’s striding away, flanked by his quiet friend. I stare after them, a smile playing on my lips.

  “Ms. Milan?”

  I turn, startled out of my thoughts. A young blonde with bright green eyes hidden behind square red frames. She smiles. “I’m Lacy Janes. HR sent me up—I’ll be working with you as your assistant.”

  “That was fast,” I say dryly.

  She grins. “Ortiz Corp runs a tight ship, ma’am. Do you want to start with your paperwork?”

  I nod, and turn toward my office. It looks exactly the same as yesterday, except there’s a large red box with a silver-white bow sitting on my desk. I eye it briefly. Lacy is staring, doing nothing to hide her interest. “Let’s work from the couch,” I say, snapping her attention to me.

  We spend almost the entire morning filling out paper work, and setting up my Ortiz expense accounts and business emails.

  As she finalizes my email, Lacy gives me a quick look. “Just a word of advice—they monitor our email. So don’t send shit you don’t want the boss to find out about.”

  I flick a look at her. It’s an odd warning. “Anything in particular I should be careful of?”

  “Nope. Like I said, it’s just a bit of advice.” She stands. “I’m going to file this downstairs and grab us lunch. Do you have any requests?”

  I shake my head, “I have a lunch date with Raphael.” Lacy’s eyes go wide, and she nods, quickly. “Can you please pull the resumes and any information we have on the three top choices for this position?”

  “Of course. They’ll be on your desk after lunch,” she says. I lean back on the couch and she offers me a final smile, weaker this time, before she darts out.

  Something is bothering her. I don’t know what, and frankly, I’m too tired to care. I had no idea working for a company like Ortiz Corp could entail so much paperwork.

  The red box is still on my desk, and as I stand, it catches my attention. I dart a glance at the clock. I have maybe ten minutes before Raphael comes to find me—enough time to call home and open this mysterious present.

  Paul first.

  I dial and prop my ancient phone between my shoulder and ear, sitting behind my desk.

  “Where the hell are you?” Paul growls.

  “I left a note. Calm yourself down,” I say. “I started work today.”

  “We talked about this.”

  “And I decided that it was too good an opportunity to pass up. We have six months, Paul. And then we either need to be gone, or you need to be prepared to deal with Graham. I’m not. This job means we can be.”

  “I can protect you from Graham,” Paul says, softly.

  I don’t want to have this co
nversation, not here, not again. He has no idea what it was like, and I don’t want to be the one to break it to him.

  “Paul, I have a meeting I need to get to. Can we talk about this when I get home?”

  He sighs. He knows when I’m deflecting. But he doesn’t say anything more than, “I’ll leave some dinner in the microwave.”

  I let out the breath I’ve been holding as I hang up the phone, and slouch in my seat. The red package is still sitting on my desk, almost mocking me in its pristine beauty. I pluck the card off and stare at it for a few seconds.

  I pay my debts.

  R.

  What the fuck does that mean? Giving me an executive position in his corporation wasn’t paying a debt? I frown and open the box.

  The bag is lovely—oversized, made of supple leather with a long strap that will rest easily over my shoulders. There is a plethora of pockets, and useless, gorgeous hardware. Its pale cream leather is offset by blue, plaid accents.

  It’s gorgeous and opulent and my fingers itch to reach for it.

  There’s a light knock on my door, and I jump, startled, as Raphael leans in. “Are you ready—”

  He stops abruptly when he sees what I’m staring at it, and I look up in time to see the worry slip across his face.

  “What is this for?” I ask, softly.

  “Your purse—it was ruined when it was stolen. The strap is broken. You deserve a new one.”

  It’s something I wouldn’t spend money on, even though I know he’s right. Not because I wouldn’t like a new purse, but because of all the things I could do with the money, a new accessory is the last thing on my mind. I can’t afford to be frivolous.

  “Do you like it?” he asks, softly.

  I flash him a quick smile and stand up, moving to stand in front of him. I go up on tiptoes and drop a soft kiss on his cheek. “I love it. Thank you.”

  A shy, pleased expression slips across his face, and I resist the urge to kiss him again. I need to keep things professional. I rock back on my heels and flash an awkward smile.

  "Are you ready for lunch?" he says, finishing the question he had started. I nod, and he ushers me to the door. Instead of steering us toward the elevator, he takes me back to his office, and up a small flight of stairs.

  "Where are we going?" I ask.

  Raphael glances back at me. "To lunch."

  He opens the door at the top of the staircase, and I step into a lush penthouse. The room is done in dark earth tones, with a low chocolate couch in soft leather dominating the living room. A thick rug a shade lighter covers the marble floor, and the city spreads out all around us. It’s a vast open space, with a kitchen gleaming to my left, and a walled-off room near the back.

  “This is gorgeous,” I murmur, stepping through the doorway. I glance around, and then give him a quick, questioning look. “There isn’t an elevator?”

  “Not directly, no.” He steps back and slips his hands in his pockets, watching me walk around the space.

  It’s quiet and clean—surprisingly clean for a bachelor. One wall is covered in floor-to-ceiling shelves, filled with books of every size and color. It’s the only thing disorganized about the apartment, that I can see—a vast library stocked with very little thought to appearance.

  “You like to read?”

  He makes a soft hum of acknowledgement, a noise that strokes along my skin, and I glance back at him.

  And go still. Raphael is staring at me, his gaze too hot and heavy to be professional. I lick my lips nervously, and his gaze flares, dropping to stare at my mouth like it holds the keys to the universe or his survival. I clear my throat, and a smile lifts his lips. He prowls toward me, and I step back, until my knees are pressed against the couch, and he is only a few inches away, his eyes still heavy on me.

  “Hungry, bonita?”

  “Starving,” I say, breathless. Amusement fills his eyes, briefly, and then he steps away. With a little distance, I can breathe again, and I’m aware of more than just him, crowding my space and stealing my thoughts. I huff out a breath, and drop my purse on his couch. While he vanishes into the kitchen, I survey the rest of his space.

  It fairly screams Raphael. There is something elegant and otherworldly about it, with an understated quality that is more seductive for its quiet beauty.

  A Scrabble board is set up on a small table near the window, a strange accent for the room. I eye it, the board a mix of English and Spanish, and wonder who the hell he plays against.

  The image of Raphael, all poise and dangerous strength, bent over a board game, doesn’t make sense in my head.

  A picture is sitting near the game, and I glance at it. Two women, so similar they could be sisters, are standing side by side, brilliant smiles on their faces. Their heads are tipped together, and both are displaying glittering rings.

  Who are they?

  I shut the thought down, and call out, “Do you have a bathroom? I need to wash my hands.”

  “Second door.”

  I step over to the doors and pull the second open.

  A bedroom, with cream walls, a massive black bed, and a view of the Gulf, peers back.

  The bed is messy, a pair of running shoes sitting on the floor next to it.

  I inhale sharply, and take a step back, aware that I’m invading his privacy, and because I want—too badly—to step in, bury my nose in his pillows and soak in the expensive scent of his shampoo. I want, with a visceral pull, to feel his sheets against my skin.

  An arm slides around my waist, holding me still. His voice ruffles my hair when he speaks. “Lost, bonita?”

  “I’m sorry,” I babble. “Wrong door.”

  His grip tightens and then loosens. “I can’t say I mind having you in my bedroom.”

  A feather light kiss follows his words, and his hand skates upward, a soft caress inching toward my breast.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper.

  He laughs, a dark, erotic noise that crumples my knees as he presses a kiss, hot and open mouthed, to the curve of my shoulder and my neck. I groan, my head falling back as his tongue darts out, tracing over the sensitive skin. My body sways, easing back into his and Raphael hisses, his erection nestling against the curve of my ass.

  I whimper and push back again, searching for the delicious friction. Raphael curses, pulling me around faster than I can process. He’s caught my hands behind me, arching my chest out to him, and a low noise rumbles from him. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

  I expect him to kiss me, and I want it—a fierce pang of want that shocks me. He doesn’t though. Instead he stares, a slow smile turning his lips as he takes in every inch of my face. “You know, I swore I wouldn’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Touch you. I wanted to talk—to get to know you. At the very least, I wanted to feed you.” His lips are saying one thing, but they trace over my neck, his free hand coming up to smooth through my hair as I shiver convulsively against him.

  “That can wait,” I say.

  Heat flares in his eyes as he lifts his head to look at me, and then he kisses me, using one hand to hold my head still as he strokes the seam of my lips and I open to him with a soft sigh.

  Raphael kisses like he does everything else. With prowling, almost predatory strokes of his tongue exploring and staking his claim on me, a hand holding my head where he wants it, fingers threading through my hair, his other still grasping my hands behind me and using the grip to drag my hips against his. He nips, and licks, exploring with a slow thoroughness that makes my head spin and stars dance behind my closed eyes.

  It’s invasive and erotic and unapologetically alpha. It turns me on, in ways that I don’t expect and I pull away from him with a gasp as he thrusts against me. His hips roll in tiny, maddening circles, push and retreat, and each bump against me is punctuated with a soft kiss, until I’m panting, straining to break his grip on me.

  “Raphael,” I whimper, and he groans. His play vanishes, and he drapes himself ov
er me. I grind against him, all shame and pretense gone, searching for that tiny bit of friction that will push me over the edge.

  “That’s it, bonita,” he murmurs, and I moan, a soft noise as my orgasm washes over me. He breathes a curse, and I feel him move, feel a sharp tug and the bite of my panties before they rip, and his fingers are gliding over me. Everything in me tightens, viciously, and I wail, burying my face in his neck as the orgasm trips and slams back into me, everything narrowed down to the soft stroke of his fingers, dipping and gliding.

  “You have no idea how much I want to drag you to that bed and bury my head in your cunt,” he says, hoarsely. “I want to feel you come against my tongue. I want it so fucking back I can taste it.”

  “Then do it,” I whisper, shocking myself.

  Hunger flash across his face, and his fingers curl, inside me. I shudder and then he pulls free, and I want to scream at the loss. He brings them up, glistening between us, and my mouth goes dry as he wipes them clean on my panties.

  He shoves them, wet and covered in my arousal, in his pocket, and gives me a cool smile.

  “When I fuck you, it will be a slow thing. I will put you in my bed, and there will be nothing but that, for at least twelve hours. I won’t fuck you now, when I have a business meeting hanging over my head, and your assistant is waiting for you.”

  I stare at him as he steps back, calmly adjusts his dick and gives me that slow smile I’m coming to fucking love. “Are you hungry?” he asks, and I nod, because we both need a step away from this moment, and the tension that is too strong all around us.

  He grins, carefree, all seduction gone, and grabs my hand. “Camille left salads. Is that ok?”

  “It’s perfect,” I say. I sit at the tall bar, and watch as he moves quickly and efficiently around the kitchen. I feel a bit lost and useless, and then he slides a salad in front of me. It’s crisp vegetables, and grilled fajita steak and onion, with a side of guacamole and corn relish. He watches me nervously, some of the tension easing from his shoulders when I take a bite.

  It’s delicious, and I tell him. Raphael smiles. “Thanks. Camille tends toward Tex-Mex and traditional dishes, but occasionally I can get her to branch out.”