His Secretary: Undone and Unveiled (The Complete Series Collection)

by Melanie Marchande

  “Getting rid of the company doesn’t change that,” I murmur. I can’t stand it anymore. I launch myself up on tip-toes, and I kiss him. The noise he makes is surprised, pleased, maybe a little confused, if a muffled sound can convey all of that. But there’s nothing confused about the way he kisses me back.

  Resting my head on his chest, I can hear his heart beating a million miles a second. When he starts to talk, I can feel his voice vibrating through his ribcage.

  “When I met you, you know, I hadn’t written anything in ten years. More. My dad hated it. He found all my journals and burned them, when I was twelve. I already had my future in front of me. He didn’t want me wasting my time. And that desire I felt when I met you - beyond the obvious, that itch to pick up a pen and let a story flow out of me the way they always wanted to - it scared the hell out of me. It made me angry. It was my father’s anger, I realize now. It was the fear of him, still haunting me.

  “But I couldn’t just ignore it. I meant every word I wrote in that email. You didn’t look like the women I’m supposed to want, but you were desperately sexy, and I knew if I let myself, I’d ruin you. So I didn’t.

  “Instead, I wrote. I let everything out in stories, and not just the ones I published. There were some I didn’t dare, because I knew you’d recognize yourself if you ever saw. Like that time the vent in the hallway wouldn’t stop rattling and maintenance wouldn’t come, and you climbed up on a stack of chairs with a butter-knife to fix it. I never met a woman like you - hell, I never met a person like you. The way you talked to me. Not caring if you hurt my feelings, not sparing a single thought for my ego. Before long, my only fantasy was you, taunting me, with that smile on your face, until I found a way to shut you up.” He licks his lips again, quickly. “Sorry. Trying not to get carried away, but it’s hard.”

  I let out a totally undignified sound, and maybe, maybe I get a little bit of snot on his shirt. He doesn’t even flinch. It must be love.

  “Yeah,” I mutter. “I noticed.”

  There’s a moment of silence, with nothing but heartbeats.

  “I hated myself for firing you,” he says. “I really thought it was the best thing. And I really was just going to give you the slip and walk away, but fuck, Meg…I couldn’t help myself. I needed you, one last time. And then I did nothing but worry about you. I knew you’d never accept any help from me, so that was all I could do. As much as it killed me. But I knew, I knew you’d be fine. When Shelly told me you had a new job, I wasn’t surprised.” He sighs, looking down at me with such softness and concern that he’d be unrecognizable to anyone else in the office. But not me. I’ve seen it before, in flashes, and felt it in his touch. “I missed you so fucking much.”

  “It’s been weird, hasn’t it?” I laugh a little bit. “Five years, we talked to each other almost every day.” My throat starts to close, and it’s so hard to say the words - I can still taste the fear in the back of my throat. Thinking he’ll turn and run away again. “I missed you too.”

  With a hand on either side of my face, he lifts it, meeting me halfway, but not kissing me again. Not yet. “Have your feelings for me changed? I mean, really changed, aside from all the shit you’ve got every right to hate me for?”

  “No,” I whisper.

  “Good.” His lips brush mine. “I want to talk to you, Meg. I want to talk more. I want to talk for hours, and explain everything, and apologize a thousand times. But first I want to make love to you. Not fuck, you understand. We’ve done plenty of that, and we’ll do plenty more. I need it. You need it too.” He kisses me, finally. It’s long, and slow, and it leaves every inch of my body tingling. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” he asks, his voice husky. “Every day of my life. Every time you wore one of those skirts with the slit up the side, I’d have to jerk off under my desk once or twice, just so I could concentrate. For years now, every time I come, I picture it painting your skin. I can’t imagine ever wanting anyone else.”

  My whole body is throbbing. “I loved that,” I confess. “When you marked me. I still think about it all the time, especially when I don’t want to.”

  “Come home with me,” he murmurs, nuzzling my neck. “Before I have to fuck you right here and ruin my whole plan.”

  “Home?” I look up at him. “You mean, your home?”

  He nods, smiling. “Yeah,” he says. “My home. My bed. What else would that mean?”

  “You asshole.” I’m glaring, smiling, and crying all at once. I don’t know what the hell’s happening anymore. “You set me up for this. All that shit about how you don’t let anyone in your bedroom. I bet that’s not even true.”

  “Cross my heart,” he says. “You can check the security footage if you want.”

  “Why the hell would I be the exception?”

  Adrian almost laughs, but not quite, closing his eyes for a moment. “I think you can figure that out for yourself, Meg.”

  “Tell me anyway.” I press myself against him, pillowing my head on his chest again, ignoring the very loud voice in the back of my head telling me this is a bad idea. “I like the way you weave those words, Mr. Risinger.”

  He sighs, brushing a wild strand of hair behind my ear. “Because you are home to me, Meghan. You always have been.”

  He kisses me, and incredibly, I believe him.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ADRIAN’S BEDROOM IS breathtaking.

  Well, to be more accurate, his bedroom ceiling is breathtaking. I can’t speak for the rest of it, really. This man’s idea of “making love” apparently has a lot to do with kissing his way down my body for twenty minutes, and as nice as that is, I’m starting to get a little impatient.

  Oh, but it is nice.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes, his lips trailing down my chest to my stomach. “I should’ve told you that. The first second I saw you, I should’ve told you that.”

  I giggle softly, goosebumps rising all over as his breath tickles the sensitive skin between my hipbones. “It definitely would’ve set a different tone for our relationship.”

  He chuckles, his lips just inches from where I want them. “Don’t even pretend like you wouldn’t have punched me in the balls.”

  “I wouldn’t have,” I insisted, my hand drifting to his hair, fingers scratching lightly at his scalp. “Hell, with the way you operate, I’m still convinced you could’ve had me naked on your desk within the first week, if you really wanted to.”

  He sits up, and I let out a deep sigh.

  “Hold on, you little sex fiend, we’re having a conversation about this.” he frowns as I squirm. “Do you really think I didn’t want that?”

  I shrug. “You could’ve had it, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he says, with grin. “But that’s not the point. I couldn’t, Meg. Not with you.” His face gets serious, and softer, somehow. “Even if I could’ve just snapped my fingers and had you draped across my desk, I didn’t want it to be like that. Not with you. I had to make sure it didn’t happen. I didn’t want to turn on the charm, I thought you deserved something a little more genuine than that.” He makes a slight face. “I might’ve overdone it.”

  “You think?” I wiggle my hips. “You know, we can talk about this later. Or tomorrow. Or anytime when I’m not…”

  His mouth quirks up at the corner. “Go on.”

  I sigh again. “Come on, Adrian. Stop teasing me.”

  “I wasn’t trying to,” he points out. “You were the one who wouldn’t stop talking.”

  “Then shut me up.”

  He plants a kiss on my inner thigh, and I shudder. “I don’t think this is very likely to shut you up,” he murmurs. “Unless, of course, I find a way to put something in your mouth at the same time…”

  Adrian gets up, and gestures for me to follow. Then he lays down on the bed, flat on his back, and pats the mattress beside him. I blanch.

  “No,” I say, without thinking.

  Hi
s eyebrows shoot up. “Do you remember your safe word, sweet thing?”

  I nod.

  “Are you toying with me?”

  I shake my head.

  “Then why,” he says, fixing me with a dark stare, “why are you saying no to me?”

  I can feel myself blushing all over. “I can’t do that. Not like this. You need to be on top.”

  “This?” he echoes. “I haven’t asked you to do anything yet. You know what assuming does.”

  My arms are hugging my torso protectively. “I know exactly what you want me to do, and I’m saying I can’t.” I swallow hard, hating myself. “Please just…don’t make me.”

  Adrian sits up, scooting closer to me and touching my elbow. “Did you have a bad experience?”

  I shake my head.

  “What, then?”

  Biting my lip, I stare at the mattress. “I just don’t want to. I don’t…I don’t want you to see me like that.”

  To his credit, he stifles a laugh. But I can still tell that he wants to.

  “It’s not funny,” I insist.

  “I know it’s not.” His hand rests on my arm, not grabbing, not insisting, just reminding me of his presence. “I won’t force you to do this, Meg. I can’t. But if you do…I promise it’ll at least make a dent in that insecurity of yours.”

  Slowly, I look up at him. His eyes are shining, and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. And despite the fact that I’ve basically dumped a bucket of cold water on the proceedings, he’s still very, very visibly aroused.

  “Why?” I whisper, although I already know the answer.

  “Because,” he says, a little hoarsely. “I fucking want this. I’ve wanted it since I met you. I thought you might hesitate, so I never brought it up.” He swallows, hard, and I notice the pulse point by his throat, notice how quickly it throbs. “Think about it, Meg. You won’t have any room to doubt how sexy you are, with my face buried between your legs like that, and my cock in your mouth. You’ll feel it. Every twitch and throb from how fucking amazing it’ll feel to taste you like that, to devour you like that, so you’re all I can taste and smell. You’ll never, ever doubt my desire again.”

  Fuck it.

  I feel drunk as I lean down to kiss him, and he gives me a little sneak preview of the coming attractions with his tongue darting into my mouth. But he pulls away quickly, anxious, wanting. Wanting me. Wanting to be so completely surrounded by me in the most intimate way possible, and yeah, that’s a pretty enticing thought.

  He crawls back on the bed and I turn around, situating myself just right, my heart squeezing painfully in my chest as I kneel on either side of his shoulders. I hate that I can’t see his face.

  “Is this okay?” I whisper, staring at his legs, at his erection straining towards me.

  “Lower,” he murmurs, his exhale brushing against my sensitive flesh.

  I go lower.

  He grasps my hips, pulling me onto his tongue. My whole body jumps like a live wire, an unearthly noise coming from the back of my throat. My toes actually curl.

  “Oh, God,” I groan, pitching forward, almost forgetting what I’m supposed to do while I’m here. I can hear him chuckle, feel him chuckle, and he lets go his grip, lifts me up just enough to speak.

  “Not bad, hmm?”

  He’s a little smug, but I can forgive that.

  “Yeah,” I breathe, clutching handfuls of the sheets. “More.”

  “Quid pro quo, Clarice.”

  “This is probably the worst time to make a Hannibal Lecter joke, you kn….oohhhh.” He’s pulled me back in, and I barely remember words anymore.

  But I do remember how much I want to make him feel just one fraction of what he’s doing for me. I lean forward, licking and sucking him into my mouth, and his groan vibrates through my core. Fuck, he’s right. I can feel his every reaction to this, and it’s beyond amazing. He grows even harder and thicker in my mouth, his shaft pulsing and jumping every time my inner muscles clench.

  He’s on another level. His tongue laps at me like I’m an oasis in the desert, a series of soft, muffled noises accompanying the slow undulation of his hips as I find my rhythm. I’ve completely forgotten to be self-conscious, and every caress rockets through my heart like an electric shock. I’ve never felt anything like this. The angle gives him access to every hidden sweet spot that I never knew existed.

  With a jolt, I realize I’m going to come.

  Fuck, fuck yes, fuck yes. Oh, my God, Adrian…

  That’s what runs through my head, but with his cock nudging my throat all that comes out is a string of unintelligible noises. Clawing at the sheets, my legs shaking, I come and I come, and I come, longer and harder than I ever have in my life.

  He pushes me off while my body’s still twitching, and for a moment I wonder if I started accidentally suffocating him. But no, that’s not right. I’ve landed in a heap, more or less on my stomach, and I look at him over my shoulder to see a man possessed. His face is covered in my wetness, his eyes blazing. With a soft grunt, he grabs my hips and lifts me up.

  I know what’s coming, and I’m beyond ready for him, but I still howl when he spears into me. He feels huge, and considering the baseline, that’s saying something. Hard and fast, he fucks me, igniting little aftershocks that spark through every nerve in my body. Now that my mouth is free, I can scream his name. And I do.

  He drives deep inside, and stops, letting out a deep groan. The sound breaks at the end as he devolves into pants and curses, and I fucking love it. I fucking love him.

  My heart’s rabbiting in my chest when I realize I won’t be able to stop myself from saying it. Not now. I can’t swallow it down. No matter how badly I want to, no matter how badly I know this could go.

  Adrian strokes my hair, leans over me so he can kiss the back of my neck. “You’re amazing, baby.” His voice is just a soft rumble against my back. “I’m so proud of you.”

  I never thought I’d hear him say that.

  Years and years of bitterness rise up in the back of my mind, threatening to poison this perfect moment. Fuck. Fuck. No. A sudden, unexpected sob well up in my chest, and I let out a little sound involuntarily.

  “Meg?” Adrian slides out of me, and I whimper at the loss, grateful my face is buried in pillows so he can’t see that I’m starting to cry. God damn it. I will not be the woman who cries after sex with her ex-boss. That’s just terrible.

  “Meg, Meg, look at me.” He’s coaxing me onto my side, but when he sees my face screwed up with the effort to hold back my tears, he doesn’t immediately recoil. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

  I’m shaking my head. Of course that’s not strictly true, but he means physically. Right now. That would be a legitimate reason for crying. Not this bullshit.

  He brushes my hair back from my face, getting a look at me, like he’s trying to satisfy himself that I’m not lying. Then he folds me into his arms, pillowing my head on his chest. “You did so good,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect.”

  How can I possibly explain that it’s his sweet words that are making me feel this way? The awful conflict inside, the fear that he’ll become who he used to, the anger that he treated me so carelessly for so long. I shake my head, vigorously.

  “No? What’s wrong?” His voice is gentle and coaxing.

  “Nothing,” I mutter. “Stop talking.”

  Thank God, for once, he listens.

  I give in to it. Huge sobs wrack my body and he just strokes my back, saying nothing, not even making a sound.

  He’s been silent for a long time, so when he finally speaks up again, I can forgive him for that. “You know what scares me?”

  I shake my head, having now devolved into sniffles and the occasional hiccup.

  “It scares me, thinking I’ll never be able to convince you that I’ve always cared. That it’s not just about sex. I know how it looks, and I know I kicked you around for years because I was a confused and scared little boy who’d never been in love
before. But to you, it looks like you get affection for putting out. I can see that, Meg. I’m not stupid.”

  He sighs, and through the storm of emotions in my chest, one thing pounds loud and clear to the rhythm of my heartbeat.

  In love. In love. In love.

  He said in love.

  “You should run the fuck away from me, and you did, and I was glad. You know that? I hated myself in that moment, hated everything, hated you a little bit, because that’s just the compassionate kinda guy I am.” He’s smirking but there’s no joke in it. “But you came back and I couldn’t send you away again. I’m not strong enough. I can’t resist you, and I never could, and that’s why I did my best to keep you at arm’s length. Usually when I want a woman, she doesn’t see that side of me until much later. When things get ugly. I thought I could show you the ugly side first and you’d stay away. You have to admit, it almost worked.”

  His breathing is soft and steady, lulling me into a trance with his words.

  “I knew if you liked me, even a little bit, if you gave me that look, those eyes, I’d be lost. So I told myself it was all for you, for your own good, instead of just admitting what it really was. I was fucking scared.”

  His voice gets a little softer, a little lower.

  “The idea of never having you? Horrible. But the idea of losing you? Fuck. I couldn’t. I’m a spoiled brat, I can’t deal with rejection. I had to control it on my terms. And I knew - I knew I was hurting you, I tried to tell myself I didn’t, but I did. When I couldn’t deny it anymore, I reminded myself I was doing it for you. To protect you. When really I was just trying to protect myself.”

  He looks at me, and I look at him. My face is streaked with tears and I think about all those times he pushed me to this point at work, when I’d go to great lengths to hide my crying in the bathroom so he wouldn’t know. I didn’t want to let him win.