10 Shades of Seduction

by Tiffany Reisz

  “All right then. But just an hour or so, no more. I’ll order the car.” Shoving her feet back into her shoes, she sat up and reached out toward the keypad on her phone. “Where shall we go?”

  Before she could actually depress the button, a warm hand fastened about her wrist, immobilizing her. Normally she would have shaken off the unsolicited grip of any man, even Patrick, but a delicious honeyed sensation made her yield. Dear God, he was actually making her feel weak!

  “No need for a car. I’ll drive.” His voice was quiet but powerful. “Just do what you need to do and then meet me down in the car park.”

  His hand tightened on her wrist, just for one moment, then he released her, winked again, and strode purposefully from the room.

  * * *

  This is crazy. I’m his boss and he’s my personal assistant, for heaven’s sake. We shouldn’t be doing this.

  Well, if that were the case, why had she primped and preened and fluttered in the cloakroom? Why was she smelling rather more than usual of Shalimar?

  Her rational self told her it was just an hour or two out of the office, a change of scene, maybe a drink or a coffee somewhere. Patrick was a good conversationalist, with smart opinions on politics, current affairs and the media. It was always fun and mentally stimulating to chat with him, however briefly.

  But her irrational self said this jaunt was all about sex.

  Score one for my irrational self.

  Especially when she turned the corner, reaching the car park, and her pussy literally rippled at the sight of Patrick.

  He didn’t look all that different, leaning against his powder-blue vintage Citroën in the sunlight. In fact he looked exactly the same as he usually did, in his sharp, but very traditional three-piece suit that fit his body so beautifully. The only perceptible change was the absence of his tie, and the opening of his collar—but in other ways, it was as if a magic prince had suddenly appeared and the relaxed energy in his lithe, athletic body seemed to promise that anything, in fact everything, was possible.

  “Er...hi!” The slight squeak in her voice when she called out made her sound like a nervous teenage girl on her first date rather than a confident, powerful woman in her thirties and a senior partner in the firm.

  “Hi, yourself,” replied Patrick, pushing himself off the car with a smooth powerful shove, then opening the door for her.

  The Citroën was low, and Miranda was acutely conscious of the frisky slide of her skirt as she half flung herself into the passenger seat. Patrick’s smile broadened and seemed to twinkle as if it’d been animated by Pixar, while their eyes acknowledged the wedge of dark lace stocking top she’d just flashed at him. “Nice,” he murmured, leaving her so flabbergasted at his cheek that she couldn’t answer.

  Clipping the buckle of her seat belt, she expected him to ask, Where to? But instead, he just set the car in motion, drove out of the car park and headed off confidently without reference to her or her preferences.

  “Where are we going?”

  Miranda swallowed, nerves and maniac butterflies fluttering in her chest. She’d been in cars with Patrick before, en route to away meetings and functions, but even though they’d been just as physically close in these instances as they were now, it’d never seemed so intimate, so intense. Senses she couldn’t quantify were seeing him in perfect detail even while she affected a nonchalant interest in where they were heading.

  “Oh, nowhere you know...just a little place. Off the beaten track. You’ll like it.”

  “But where is it?”

  Waiting at a set of lights, he was able to turn to her. His expression was arch, amused, completely in charge. Miranda felt as if the Citroën had become a parallel world where Patrick was the boss, and she the subordinate. And yet even as she thought that, she realized that she’d only ever been his superior in a nominal sense. Even when she’d been giving him instructions and doling out tasks, on some level he’d been oh so subtly controlling her instead.

  Oh, God...what am I into here? What are we into?

  “It’s a secret. Why spoil the fun?” he said mildly, putting his foot down as the lights changed. They were taking a road out of town, and already greenery and sunlight were all around them. “You asked me to take you away from it all, and that’s what I’m doing.... I’m taking you away from being in charge.”

  Oh, God...oh, God...

  Miranda trembled. The phrase “a whole new ball game” had never really meant a lot to her, but now, she understood it completely. The door into the new world slammed shut behind her, the thud of it rushing through her body like a hot tsunami that crested deliciously in the pit of her belly and her sex.

  As if he’d observed the phenomenon with X-ray vision, Patrick flashed her a quick glance. He barely took his eyes off the road for a second, and yet Miranda knew he’d seen everything, both hidden and unhidden.

  “Let’s play a game.” He waggled his expressive blond eyebrows.

  “What kind of a game?”

  “Oh, just a little something to loosen you up. To relax you.”

  Strangely, despite the pounding of sexual excitement, Miranda realized she did feel relaxed. And safe, in an odd way. Which didn’t make sense because she also knew, finally and with certainty, that Patrick was dangerous. Very dangerous.

  She shook her head and tried to order the mismatched thoughts.

  “Okay?” he said immediately.

  “Yes...fine. I think.”

  “Well, in that case, take off your knickers and give them to me.”

  Miranda’s jaw dropped, the breath knocked out of her. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t partly expecting something like this, but to hear it, in Patrick’s soft, mellifluous tones, was like being tackled from the side by a twenty-stone wrestler.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Again, that sly, mischievous look from the corner of his eye. “Oh, go on...it’s just a bit of fun. Something different to take you out of yourself.” His wicked pink tongue peeped out again. “Just for the hell of it.”

  She was about to protest, but the crazy friskiness of the idea was so seductive. What would they think at the firm, eh? If they knew... No-nonsense, corporate high-flyer Miranda Austin playing silly sex games with her discreetly urbane personal assistant. Her very personal assistant, right at this moment.

  “All right then! Just for the hell of it!” She snorted with laughter, and beside her, Patrick’s smile broadened, and became creamy and smug in a sweet, boyish way. He didn’t take his eyes off the road, but she could feel his elation and triumph.

  And strangely, it didn’t annoy her one bit.

  Hitching herself about in the seat, she managed to get a hand up her skirt and snag her knickers without flashing him. He’d asked her to take her panties off, but she was still in charge, in a little way. She wasn’t giving him extras, at least not yet. With a lot of wriggling and tugging and wrangling with her skirt, her underwear and even the seat belt, she eventually achieved her goal and hauled her cream lace-trimmed knickers down to her ankles.

  Blood rushed into her face. She was blushing a little already, but when she caught sight of her panties, she felt a huge rush of heat. The crotch of them was drenched and sticky. She’d known she was aroused, turned on by this new, risqué Patrick, but as swimmingly as this? Good God! And she was odorous, too. A rich waft of woman-smell rose from the pale fabric, the perfume of her desire, haunting yet pungent.

  “Now what?” she demanded, wadding them into a ball, trying to hide the incriminating evidence, but knowing that even as she did, he was probably fully aware of her state. After all, it was exactly what he’d been hoping to induce, she supposed.

  “Throw them out of the window.”

  “What? Are you mad?” Her heart thudded. She almost wanted to do it, but they were still on a fairly busy road. “There are other cars...and also, they’re part of a fairly expensive set that I happen to be rather fond of.”

  Patrick chuckled and, feeling goaded, Mirand
a reached for the window button.

  “No! Don’t do that. On second thought, it’d be a shame to lose them. They’re very pretty—” he paused, as if for effect “—and they smell amazing!”

  Miranda gasped. She couldn’t help herself. The heat in her face blossomed, and much the same thing happened between her legs, in her pussy. Which felt all the more breathtaking for her precarious lack of underwear.

  “So, why don’t you slip them into my pocket, for safekeeping?” he asked, his voice light, deceptively casual.

  Why not indeed? Men and their quirks. Somehow she’d not thought of Patrick in those terms...well, not consciously. But he was a man, all the same. Very, very much so. As she reached across, and rather clumsily stuffed the panties into the pocket of his suit jacket, the cloth slipped to one side, giving her a clearer view of his hips and thighs and crotch.

  It didn’t surprise her that he had a very pronounced and respectably sized erection. He winked again when she glanced back up again. The devil. He’d observed her checking him out, the smug bastard!

  “Look, what’s all this about?” she demanded, feeling off balance.

  “Like I said, it’s therapy...symbolic. I wanted you to throw your knickers away as a representation of you discarding your worries and the stress of work.”

  “And there’s nothing in it for you, then, knowing I’ve got no panties on.” She glanced very pointedly at his groin, and her heart thudded. Was he even bigger?

  “Of course there’s something in it for me,” he said softly, his voice more intense and not quite as serene and controlled as before. “The thought of your naked sex is giving me an enormous horn. Do you think I don’t think about you that way?” He snuck her another fleeting glance, then concentrated on a right turn, down a smaller road. “Hell, I think about your pussy all the time, Miranda. And your breasts and your bottom and your thighs and every other bit of you. I’m a man, and you’re a beautiful woman. I can’t help myself. Why wouldn’t I think about your body?”

  “So, no real interest in my mind at this time, then? I’m just a sex object to you?” she snapped out, covering her shock.

  The mock-chastened expression he assumed was utterly adorable. Both sweet and wolfishly sexy at the same time. Miranda’s heart pounded harder, and if she hadn’t been securely buckled in, and he hadn’t been at the wheel of a swiftly moving vehicle, she would have launched herself at him to kiss him, and a lot more.

  “Oh, I’m in awe of your mind, boss. Really I am. Why else would I so enjoy working for a woman? With anyone less smart than you, it’d be irritating...and against my nature.”

  Frowning, Miranda tried to absorb what he was saying.

  “You’re a dominant?”

  His smile was slow now, and narrow. Not threatening, but certainly possessed of power.

  “Of course.”

  He worked for her. He took her orders. Yet all the time, his natural inclination was to give her orders. What an irony. What a performance. He never showed it, nor any sign of irritation. What a tour de force.

  Miranda fell silent for a while, as Patrick negotiated what was becoming an increasingly twisty lane. They were out in the country now, in the wilds, and he controlled the car with only the lightest touch, effortlessly and economically.

  Just the way he was completely controlling her.

  “So what do you want me to do now?”

  He changed gear before he answered, rounding a bend.

  “How about showing me your pussy?” He didn’t look at her, but he smiled, how he smiled.

  There weren’t many vehicles about around here, but occasionally they passed the odd one. Miranda realized her alarm must have shown on her face, because Patrick spoke again, almost immediately.

  “Okay, that’s a bit too extreme, for now.... So how about just the tops of those delicious stockings you wear. Mmm, lace...I love it.”

  “How do you know I wear lace-topped hold-ups?”

  He laughed again, a free, happy sound. A little like the way Miranda was starting to feel.

  “A man can sometimes catch a sly glimpse when a lady is reaching for something.” He tapped a finger on the wheel. “And then there’re the couple of spare pairs you keep in the filing cabinet...I’ve dreamed about them.”

  Along with my pussy, and my breasts, it seems.

  She didn’t speak, but she edged the hem of her skirt up her thighs, inch by inch. He’d told her to, after all, and even if a passing motorist got an eyeful, it could be attributed to inadvertent creep of the fabric, not a deliberate act.

  Patrick scored a quick glance, then bit his lip, looking pleased as punch with her.

  Again, they drove on for a while, in companionable yet dynamic silence. Miranda had never felt this excited and needy in her life before, even after hours of diligent foreplay by previous lovers. It was a state of peaceful desperation. High lust, but almost restful, too.

  He’s going to fuck me. And touch me. And do things to me. It’ll make things hellishly complicated and awkward back at work, but I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care!

  * * *

  Eventually, they pulled up in front of a timber-built cottage, the last one in a small row, built alongside a lazy, leafy canal bank. They were clearly holiday homes, but Miranda could see no sign of life in any of them. Maybe they were weekend occupancy, and stood empty in the middle of the working week?

  “It belongs to my gran. She likes to come here for little breaks, and she lends it to anyone in the family who wants a few days’ peace and quiet,” said Patrick conversationally, nodding toward the blue painted door of the quaint little structure. “No one’s here now, though...it’s all ours. We have total privacy.”

  Total privacy. What did that mean? Miranda shuddered, not afraid, more excited.

  “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

  She nodded, her heart racing as he leapt out of the Citroën. Shoving at her skirt, she caught the top of one of her stockings and it slithered down her thigh. She was still hitching at it when the passenger door swung open.

  “Let me...”

  The contact of Patrick’s fingers on her bare skin was like a jolt of sweet energy barreling through her. Kneeling beside the seat, he smoothed the lace up her thigh again, deftly righting it, then slid his hand beneath the hem of her skirt for just a moment, touching the soft hair at her crotch and brushing his thumb over it.

  Miranda moaned. His touch was fleeting, barely there, and yet her clitoris leapt and her sex rippled as if he’d been fondling and fondling her and almost brought her to the point of orgasm. Maybe he had brought her to it, just with words, with his glances, and with his presence.

  And then he was standing up, reaching for her hand, helping her out of the low car and onto her feet. Her bag tumbled to the path and he swooped it up and handed it to her, the perfect personal assistant. It was all completely normal and polite, and yet he’d just touched her sex—well, nearly—and her panties were nestled in his jacket pocket.

  He led her to the cottage and let her in, the soul of courtesy. It was almost the way he was with her at work when he let her in and allowed her to precede him.

  “Well, here we are.” The genial host, he pulled out a chair for her, one of several set around a small kitchen table covered with an old-fashioned wipe-down cover.

  Miranda slid onto the seat, her skirt rising a bit. He was looking at her with that sweet devil-imp smile again, teasing her. Not telling her what to do, yet not exactly subservient.

  “What happens now?” She hung her bag over the back of the chair, still feeling off-kilter. “Do you spank me or fuck me, or what?”

  “We can do either, or both, or neither.... But I really would like to see your pussy now.” Eyes on her all the time, he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of a nearby armchair. “I’ve been wondering what it looks like since I first came to work for you.”

  “Really...it never occurred to me that you were interested,” she lied. S
ubliminally, it had occurred to her. Subliminally, she’d thought about it all the time. too.

  Patrick took his seat, too, stretching out his long legs in front of him. His pose was elegant and relaxed, one elbow on the table, his other hand resting on his thigh, and yet everything about him suggested quiet power and readiness.

  For what?

  “Of course, I’m interested, Miranda,” he purred, tilting his head on one side. He’d ruffled his hair somewhere along the line, and his blond curls looked even more boyish and angelic. His eyes looked like Lucifer’s, sharp and blue. “But you wouldn’t think much of me as P.A. if I perved you all the time, would you?”

  “I suppose not.” She placed one hand on the table, mirroring his, fingertips just inches away from his.

  “Well, then...now we’re on neutral ground. Why don’t you put me out of my misery and show me the goods?”

  Her heart thudded, leaping in her chest while sweat popped out all over her body. She’d had plenty of sex in her time, even a little kink now and again, but this was different...strange, ridiculously thrilling and forbidden. Feeling as if she wanted to gasp for breath, she hooked the hem of her suit skirt with the fingertips of her right hand and edged it up again. Patrick’s eyes followed every movement, unwaveringly, even though his body was still and quiet. She loved the look of him in his classy waistcoat, with his shirt open at the neck, a tantalizing combination of the formal and the casual. As the edge of her skirt reached her groin, he took in a breath.

  She hesitated. He smiled. She bit her lip. He shook his head, as if despairing of her. In a rough, impatient gesture she hauled up the hem, showing him the triangle of dark hair covering her sex and rumpling her skirt in a bunch at her waist.

  “So now what?” she demanded, edging around a bit on the chair. She felt as if she had an engine running in her sex, creating a build-up of energy. She wanted to make wild movements, do extreme things. The urge to part her legs wide and push her pelvis forward, opening to him, was a rampaging hunger.