by Olivia Myers
As in, she had completely dropped the ball on this particular project.
Rhys — Mr. Maddox — snapped at her to get it done and then shoved through the nearly hidden (when closed) connecting door to his office without another word. But he left the door open.
Not that it meant anything. Not that Cassandra cared.
Only, it made her even more aware of him than she had been for the previous week and a half, which shouldn’t have been possible.
The minute she’d heard that smoky-throated ‘Enter!’ on her first day, she’d known she was in trouble. And then seeing his face…
He was all dangerously sculpted cheekbones; strong, square chin; long, slightly pointed nose; full, wide mouth; eyes that glittered like cut obsidian; dark, waving brown hair; and skin the color of polished teak.
It wasn’t just that he was a dragon, though that had her knees knocking well enough on its own. No, it was that he was Rhys Maddox. Poster boy for bad boy billionaire shifters. She’d never imagined in a million years that the person Mr. Blackfeather had sent her to work with was Rhys Maddox.
Apart from being the CEO of the multinational business powerhouse that was BurningStone Holdings and effectively richer than the next five people on Forbes 500 list put together, he was also the public face of the North American dragon clans. All of them.
He wasn’t just a dragon, he was the dragon. That’s what the media called him. As in, ‘The Dragon Flying High at New Club Opening!’
That particular headline had accompanied a picture of Rhys flanked by two sculptures of female perfection — a redhead and a brunette that could have been a matching set with Ursula, the pale blond receptionist — on the front page of the Life & Style section of Sunday’s paper. It had made Cassandra’s heart race and her stomach hurt at the same time.
She couldn’t understand her body’s reaction to the man. From the moment he’d first strode off the wide balcony that ran around the outside of his office (the better for him to shift and take flight from, she’d learned on Tuesday), it was as if some wiring in her brain had short-circuited.
The instinct to freeze, to not draw his attention, to drop her eyes to the floor and only watch him out of the corner of her eye, that, she understood. Her racing heart every time he stepped within twenty feet of her was perfectly natural.
He was, after all, a predator. When he shifted, he could swallow her whole in one single bite.
Cassandra’s fingers slowed fractionally on her keyboard as the memory of her very first encounter with a dragon shifter flooded her mind.
She’d been six years old. The barbecue was boring, all the adults talking and talking and there was no one to play with. She wandered away from the edge of the lake, unafraid of the thick forest. The bright yellow sunlight cut through the overhanging leaves, turning everything green and gold.
When she found the wide clearing, she gave a cry of delight and dashed into the carpet of sweet-smelling purple blossoms as fast as her chubby little legs could carry her. Cassie loved flowers.
She had no idea how long she sat there plucking the pretty little purple blooms, trying to weave them together with clumsy fingers, and ignoring the faint cries of her name drifting through the trees but the darkening of the sky above was sudden and startling.
Cassie glanced up… and froze.
Her mommy had read her plenty of stories about dragons, but she’d never said they were so big! The one above her blotted out the whole sky. Sunlight flashed off the bronze scales on its back as its massive wings whooshed through the air with a sound like a storm.
The wind it generated made the grass bend and tickle her face. She brushed it away with a shaking hand, giggling breathlessly, heart hammering, unable to pull her eyes away.
Its belly scales were pale and iridescent, like the pearls her mommy wore for special.
She could no longer hear the cries from the woods over the sound of her own heart in her ears as it turned a head that was bigger than her back over its shoulder. It looked right at her!
Cassie’s mouth fell open. She shivered despite the heat of the day. And then, she shrieked as it banked and swooped toward her. Its great jaws opened, revealing long, sharp teeth.
The wind from its wings intensified, ruffling her pink sundress and the thick blonde curls of her hair. The beast drew in a loud breath through the dark holes of its nostrils. It was getting closer, so close she could smell the smoke and stone scent of it as it washed over her in a warm wind.
CRUNCH!
Cassandra jerked in her plush office chair at the remembered sound of bones breaking between those massive jaws.
Of course, the dragon had not eaten her that day. It hadn’t even been trying to, its intended prey the scrawny, yellow-eyed wolf (an actual wolf, not the shifter kind) that had been stalking her from the edge of the forest. The dragon had saved her.
As an adult, she knew that. Rationally, her mind understood it. But whenever she thought of dragons, it was the sensations that had flooded her six-year-old self that she remembered.
Or, it had been. Until Rhys Maddox.
She’d seen plenty of pictures of him before. It was hard to live in the modern world and avoid his image. But the pictures of his savagely gorgeous face and tall, muscular body were nothing compared to sharing an office with the real thing.
All the fear symptoms were still there: the pulse fluttering so fast a doctor with a stethoscope probably wouldn’t be able to distinguish individual beats, the trembling muscles, the electric saliva that flooded her mouth.
It was the other responses that were troubling.
Rhys Maddox made her nipples hard. Standing (or sitting) in the same room as him made her breasts feel heavy and aching and desperate to be touched. Her blood raced beneath her skin until she felt as if the lightest caress would make her knees give out.
And her pussy… Cassandra didn’t know it was possible to be so constantly aroused without anyone even laying a finger on her. Well, apart from herself every day after she got home. Repeatedly.
It was, honestly, the only way she could make it through the day. And the worst part was, she knew he wasn’t even trying. After that first day, he didn’t even flirt.
She snorted to herself. Of course he didn’t flirt. The idea that Rhys Maddox, who could have anyone he wanted (and often did, according to the papers and gossip sites) would want a plump little nobody like her was ridiculous.
But that didn’t stop Cassandra from going all warm and wet and needy whenever he was in the room. Even when he was growling at her to, “Handle it, Ms. O’Hare,” like he had that morning.
Honestly, even with his occasional flare of temper, if it wasn’t for her stupid, confusing, and totally pointless attraction, she would never want to return to her position at Chimera.
He was extra grumpy today, for some reason. She could practically feel his ire emanating through the open door like waves of heat. Cassandra had resolved to focus on the fixing his last assistant’s mistake and keep her head down as much as possible.
She yanked her straying gaze back to the computer for the thousandth time since he’d neglected to close it behind him and squirmed in her chair. Her silk panties clung to the damp, swollen flesh between her thighs. She bit her lip to stifle the whimper that sprang to her tongue.
“Have you finished yet?”
The rough, deep sound of his voice ghosted over her hyper-sensitized skin like a firm hand, sending another flood of moisture to wet the folds of her sex. How had he crossed his office and entered hers so silently?
Rhys stood just at the edge of her desk, looming over her like a dark idol, the faint smoke and salt scent of his skin wafting toward her.
“Y-yes, Mr. Maddox.”
Damn it. Cassandra had thought she’d conquered her tendency to stutter in his presence, she’d gone three whole days without doing it once. But all it took was one stealthy approach and she was once again the quivering prey she’d been on their first meeting.
When his calloused fingers touched her chin, her entire body went up in flames. She could feel her uneven breaths panting from between her parted lips. From the heat creeping under her skin, she knew she was flushed pink. Her breasts heaved against the raw silk of her blouse, swollen and topped with achingly hard buds, threatening to suddenly spill out of the formerly modest-seeming neckline.
She remained utterly still, staring up at Rhys with unblinking eyes.
His smile was sharp and full of teeth. His eyes seemed to flicker with inner fire.
“Oh, little rabbit,” he said, words full of dark glee. He chuckled, bending forward until they were nearly eye to eye. He took a deep breath in through his nose.
“What are you so afraid of?” His thumb stroked along her jaw before sliding over her chin to rub over her lower lip. Rhys flashed another toothy grin, his voice dropping even further until it seemed to reverberate through her very bones.
“Do you think I’m going to bite?”
Then his mouth was on hers, but he wasn’t biting. He was kissing. And holy hell, did Rhys Maddox know how to kiss!
His full lips were firm, warm satin against hers, mobile and coaxing and claiming all at once.
No wonder women are always hanging off him, Cassandra thought, but the distressing understanding that she was merely one of many who were unable to resist him was burned away a moment later as his tongue slid hot and slick against hers.
She didn’t recall getting to her feet — had she stood? had he pulled her there? — but suddenly she was pressed against the length of his body and oh god…
Rhys Maddox dressed in a black designer suit cut to perfection to hug his broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, long-legged frame looked amazing. But he felt even better. All hard muscle under soft fabric warm from his skin.
Cassandra could feel the rapid thump of his heartbeat echoing hers, both of them vibrating through her aching breasts. She took advantage of the proximity, running her palms over his shoulders and back, touching every part of him she could reach like she’d been longing to do since the moment she’d laid eyes on him.
He growled into her mouth, and the kiss grew even deeper. He bent her back over the steel bar of his arm. Then his other hand yanked her blouse free of her skirt and snaked beneath.
She whimpered as he claimed her breast, squeezing the ripe flesh through the lace of her bra, but he swallowed the small sound. His fingers rolled the stiff peak, pinching until she jerked against him at the sharp shaft of pleasure that lanced through her straight to her clit.
Cassandra would have cried out again as he shoved aside the last of the fabric keeping him from her skin, but his tongue was there, lapping up all her noises.
The cool, smooth wood of the desk dug into her upper thighs, making her aware of her position, pinned between the massive slab of beautifully carved mahogany and the even more gorgeously chiseled personage of Rhys Maddox.
It was not a horrible place to be.
A tiny voice in the back of her mind was trying to remind her she was at work, he was her boss, he was a dragon, and all the other reasons this was a terrible idea. But even the voice sounded resigned, as if it knew the outcome was inevitable and was merely listing its objections as a matter of form.
Rhys’s mouth devoured hers, the almost intimidating length of his rock-hard erection digging into the swell of her hip.
Cassandra thought it felt as right and necessary as breathing to slide backward onto the desk, heedless of the papers and keyboard her ass knocked aside, and spread her knees. Rhys must have agreed because he stepped between her parted legs immediately, shoving them wider.
Her skirt rode up, baring the creamy swell of her thighs all the way up to where hip met leg.
The weight of Rhys’s warm, hard body pressed her back until she had to prop herself on one hand to keep from sending her monitor sprawling. With the other hand she managed to fumble open a few buttons of his shirt.
Everything was happening so fast and all at once and it all felt so good. It was hard for Cassandra to follow.
She felt the heated satin of his skin against her palm as she traced the shape of his ribs and the ridges of his abdomen and rubbed through the crisp, curling hair that trailed down toward his slacks. She felt the nip of his teeth on her swollen, tingling lower lip and her throat. Then his mouth was on her breast, sucking it in, and the wet heat of his tongue prodded at the bud of her nipple.
Her own mouth felt empty and bereft without his. She choked on her own moans and whimpers as he suckled first one breast, then the other, the pull of his lips tugging strings of pleasure deep in her belly.
At some point, he’d managed the buttons on her blouse and now it hung open and useless from her arms. Her bra was gone, though how he’d managed that trick without removing her shirt she couldn’t guess. And didn’t quite care. She was only glad it was out of the way and he could touch her.
“Mr. Maddox,” she whispered in a broken, lust-drenched voice. “Rhys. Please...”
He made a noise in his chest, not a growl but a rumbling, like an almost inaudible roar that shook her entire frame. His teeth bit gently down on the sensitive, puckered flesh of her nipple.
Cassandra arched her back, offering him more of her abundant, flushed breasts. He bent his head to the task, sucking, biting, kissing, nibbling, kneading. He made her entire body quake with need.
She dug her fingers into the thick, heavy silk of his chocolate brown hair, holding him to her as he feasted on her chest. She murmured his name, over and over.
He left her breasts to claim her mouth again, pressing deep into the V of her thighs, rocking his rigid shaft against her panty-covered slit as his tongue thrust between her lips.
“You are definitely more than just a mouthful, my tasty little rabbit.” He chuckled against her lips, teeth nipping.
Her free hand tugged at his belt, yanking it open to get at the button and zipper confining his eager cock.
Rhys gave another of those bone-shaking rumbles as her long fingers wrapped around the thick shaft and squeezed. She fisted him, sliding down to the root with its nest of curly soft hair and then tugging upward and twisting around the fat, glistening head.
She repeated the motion, drawing back the taut foreskin to tease the dip underneath with the pad of her thumb. Pre-cum slicked her fingers and palm, easing her languid, pulling strokes. Rhys thrust into the squeezing tunnel of her fingers as his mouth roamed her lips and throat, groaning and muttering.
“Fuck. Fuck! Need this so bad. You. Driving me crazy, little rabbit. The smell… So lush and fuck!”
Rough fingers dug into her hips, curling around the waistband of her panties. Cassandra shifted on the desk, lifting her ass to help, but Rhys dispensed with the formalities and just tore the delicate silk to scraps.
Cassandra gasped, but he caught her gasp with his lips, and then the broad, slick head of his cock slid up the length of her slit and prodded at the tingling bud of her clit. She wrapped her hands around his shoulders, clinging to him as he teased her, his breath hot on her ear.
“So wet for me, little rabbit. So ready.” He nudged forward a little, barely dipping into the wet, fluttering heat of her sheath. She dug her fingernails into the expensive fabric of his suit coat and rolled her hips, chasing him.
“Yes, Rhys! Yes! Please!”
She spread her legs wider and curled her ankles over his thighs. One heel dropped to the carpeted floor with a soft thunk. Rhys gave a rough, breathless chuckle as he stared between them, his forehead pressed into her sweat-slick shoulder.
“That’s it, rabbit. Come to me.” He hissed as she scooted closer and arched, her body welcoming another inch of his cock.
“Fucking gorgeous.” He met her eyes, his own burning like magm
a. “You look fucking gorgeous like this.”
And then he plunged into her completely, stretching her and filling her.
***
Rhys had never felt anything like the silken, clutching heat of Cassandra’s pussy.
He’d fucked his fair share of women, more than his share according to his friends. Tall women, short women, skinny women, fat women, younger women, older women. Women of myriad ethnicities and socio-economic origins. He’d been with smart women and dumb women, talented and mediocre women.
Lazy, adventurous, funny, boring. If there was an adjective used to describe a woman, he’d probably slept with one who fit that adjective. He liked women. He liked sex even more. He wouldn’t apologize for it. He never led anyone on.
Still, in all his years of reveling in flesh, he had never once felt the intense, burning pleasure that raced up his spine and tightened his balls as he pumped between Cassandra O’Hare’s soft, pale thighs.
It was more than just the tight, hot, wet squeeze of her rippling channel, too. It was the clutch of her fingers in his hair, her nails pricking gently against his scalp. It was the flex of her feet behind his knees as she tried to pull him back to her each time he withdrew, and the damp press of her breasts against his half-open shirt.
Her nipples were hard points brushing his chest. He could still taste the lingering sweat and salt of that eager, puckered flesh on his tongue. He could happily spend hours licking and sucking and biting at her full, heavy breasts and long, stiff pink nipples.
Cassandra mewled into his mouth, her swollen flesh clenching around his pistoning cock. Rhys wasn’t overly religious, but his dick felt like it had died and gone to heaven.
He wrapped a hand around her waist, getting a palmful of her plump buttocks, and yanked her closer, grinding his pubis against the engorged nub of her clit as he sank back into her to the hilt.