Executive Assistant

by 12 Author Anthology

  From where he stood next to her, his presence filled the room, crowded into her space. The sooner she got started, the sooner he'd march back over to his desk and leave her alone to pick up the jagged pieces of her poise.

  "No questions." Her vocal cords refused to work the first time, so she cleared her throat and repeated herself.

  One nod and he turned and strode to his desk. The clean lines of his shirt fit neatly across broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist above a high ass with generous, but not too feminine, curve. Clearly the man did more than play the occasional racquetball game. Her imagination strained to gallop off into wanton fantasyland, but she reined it in with a shake of her head.

  When he arrived at his massive cherry desk, he sat in a high-backed leather chair, flipped up a laptop screen and began to type.

  The top of his desk contained a short stack of files in one corner and cup of pens and pencils next to it. Beside his laptop sat a propped up tablet and next to that was what appeared to be a cell phone. Those were the only objects other than his computer. However, that was not his only computer. On the credenza behind him sat three other computers, their screens all lit up with different applications.

  "Is there a problem?" he asked, snapping Tory's attention to his face.

  She shook her head, directed her attention to the binder and began reading section one.

  Chapter Three

  If he would stop staring at her, maybe Tory could concentrate on the material. But he didn't. For the first hour, Rafe's gaze drifted above his laptop screen in her direction every few minutes and then lingered before a beep or some other cue from one of his computers would snatch his attention back. Amazingly, he tended to all four computers and still had time to unsettle her with his eyeball incursions.

  She used a bathroom break (which was worth the trip to gawk at the extravagance of it) as an excuse to take a different chair that put her back to him. The tactic helped some but not enough because she could still feel the heat of his regard. Nevertheless, she managed to read or skim most of the binder within her three hours, peppering Rafe with questions every ten minutes or so, more to put a purpose she could control on that penetrating stare of his.

  "Why do we only use this software..."

  "What are the typical deliverables with our top ten clients..."

  "Which applications took the longest and which ones..."

  "Have you ever thought about outsourcing..."

  When the material dragged, she threw in a few playful questions. To her delight, Rafe handled them with equal good humor.

  Maybe working at Gorman wouldn't be that bad.

  At noon, Madison knocked softly before entering carrying two boxed lunches. "Two chef’s specials!" she announced, setting both boxes on the conference table across from Tory.

  "We're eating in as you can see," he said pointing to the boxes.

  "Am I your employee or your prisoner?" When his smile twitched, she hastily added, "Sure smells good. What's the chef's special?"

  "It's always good, whatever it is," he said, opening up one of the boxes.

  "Is it vegetarian?"

  His dark head shot up, his eyes at full mast. "Are you a vegetarian?"

  She shrugged. "No."

  "I didn't think so. However, I hope you aren't strictly a meat and potatoes woman, because this is mostly vegetarian." One box skidded her way. "Palaak paneer, daal and tandoori chicken with curried mixed vegetables. Does that work for you? Chef tries to offer both vegetarian and non-vegetarian choices every day."

  "Works fine." The rich aroma greeted her nose—distinctly Indian, spiced with turmeric, coriander, cumin and cinnamon. He'd made a presumptuous lunch choice on her behalf. Good thing she adored Indian. Her grandmother, who originally hailed from Calico, India, had made sure of that. Summers spent in her kitchen over bubbling pots and clay cookware, blending spices and making large batches of clarified butter or ghee ranked among Tory's fondest memories.

  With lungful of culinary perfume, she flipped up the Styrofoam lid and peered inside at the colorful entrees flanked by basmati rice, naan and ... was that a cellophane-wrapped fortune cookie? Odd. She reached for the cookie first and had the wrapper already between her teeth when Rafe reached over and snatched it away.

  "You aren't allowed to open that until after lunch." A finger wagged at her. "Never before." He tossed the cookie in the lid of her box.

  "Says who? And why is there a fortune cookie in a non-Chinese meal?"

  "I say, and I ask for one every day." One side of his mouth curled up. She still hadn't figured out why she was even sitting in his office reading a three-ring binder she could have just as easily read at her desk. Her boss, Rachel, could have answered all her questions later. Plus, as she'd peppered him with questions, they had settled into a familiarity more like that of colleagues than boss and twenty-five-grades-lower-employee. But dammit, she didn't want to like him. To do so would betray her father, her family.

  "You're the boss." She cast a sour glance his way. Seizing the cloth rolled utensils—no plastic forks for the head of the company—Tory shook out the napkin in her lap, grabbed the fork and scooped up a mouthful of the rich green spinach and cheese blend. The pungent creamy concoction fired up her taste buds and made them beg for more.

  Tory could only eat half of her meal. She sealed the box and pushed it forward.

  "From the orgasmic look on your face, I chose wisely." A scimitar-like smile stretched across his.

  Sexual awareness fizzed through her veins. Rafe Gorman sparked naughty thoughts she had no business entertaining. What if he kissed her? What if he bent her over his desk and fucked her? What if he could read her mind?

  Should she react to his innuendo or let it go? The gleam in his eyes made him seem more like a mischievous schoolboy than a playboy. She shooed away her daydream. "It's very good."

  "You sound surprised."

  Eyes cast downward—she could never say what she was going to say while meeting his gaze. "No. I'm a little bowled over by your presumptiveness."

  "I learned long time ago that asking for permission opened the door too widely for a 'no' answer. Action before intellect wins the prize."

  What does he mean by that?

  She must have telegraphed her confusion because he quickly tacked on, "Do I make you nervous?" The stare was back, even as he ripped off a piece of naan and chewed, daring her not to watch the slide and shift of a pair of full lips. What would those lips feel like on hers? She bet he was a good kisser, all intensely passionate, both hard and soft at the same time.

  "You don't make me nervous," she lied.

  He nodded, but his eyes darkened as he gazed at her. "Well, you make me nervous."

  Tory choked on her own saliva. Ridiculous that he had this effect on her. "I make you nervous?" She snorted back a laugh. He had to be playing with her. "Right."

  "You do, because I don't know how long I'll be able to resist the temptation to kiss you." He took her hand in his and stroked her palm with his thumb. He pressed a soft kiss where his thumb had been. With his other hand, he whispered his fingertips up her inner arm until reaching her elbow. Lifting his head, he captured her gaze. "And no, I was sorely mistaken. One kiss will never be enough." He dropped his head and pressed kisses upon her wrist and in the bend of her elbow.

  Tory quivered from the raw sensuality of his touch. "It won't?" She didn't pull her arm away, however. She knew she should. That's what any self-respecting woman would do. Why didn't she? Why couldn't she? Rafe Gorman was her boss, her conqueror, and the instrument of her father's ruin. She should hate him. She wanted to hate him, except he gave her a dream job with a generous salary and dammit, she liked him. Her father had urged her to do what she loved and not worry about who signed her checks. He had been thrilled with the sale. She should be too.

  Rafe scooted his chair closer to hers and brought his lips to her ear, not close enough to touch her, but close enough to tease the anticipation to almost painful
levels. "I know I shouldn't. But I can't help myself." His breath stirred a loose strand of her hair, tickling her cheek. "I've wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you." Warm lips skimmed the shell of her ear, his breath hot, and his voice rich and silky. "You are magnificent, through and through."

  Tory's tensed through her neck and shoulders and her traitorous breath came faster. Her pussy muscles clenched and released, the heat between her thighs nearly forcing them to part in invitation. A shiver raced down her spine.

  Rafe chuckled. "And you know what else?" He paused, but when she didn't answer, he continued. "You want me too," he growled, low and feral before taking her lips with his.

  The kiss cut like a knife through her restraints, skewering the tiny feminist screeching in her brain about how dare he treat her like this! This man who stole her father's livelihood and forced her to work for him! She wasn't some wide-eyed piece of ass he could fondle just because he felt like it.

  She should have put a stop to it.

  Instead she parted her lips and allowed his tongue entry into her mouth.

  Really she should have stopped him right then. She couldn't.

  Rafe tugged her from her chair onto his lap, deepening the kiss.

  Her resistance was laughably non-existent. Embarrassing. She had no pride. None.

  Wouldn't have mattered anyway. He was unstoppable. She was a lamb in his arms—pliant, malleable, and God, so desirous. Of Rafe. Of the lips sparking magic against hers, of tongues curling and caressing, of softs pants of lust and want mingling into a harmony of male and female.

  What magic was this?

  She had sold her soul to the devil and told him to keep the change. She didn't want him, this, to stop.

  He didn't stop. They kissed for what seemed like eons until he intensified his advances and slipped his hand up her sweater. Finally! Roughened skin grazed hers, until his fingers found and curled around the swell of her breast. He pushed aside the cup and scooped out the flesh within while his mouth found her throat, her collarbone, the exposed vee of her neckline. When her sweater hindered him, he tugged it off over her head. Her bra fell to his siege next.

  Bared to him from the waist up, she shifted until she straddled his lap. The rigid evidence of Rafe's lust nestled between her legs and teased her through the silk and lace of her panties. The debauched creature she had become unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. He shoved her skirt up her thighs. It had been so long, so long, since she'd felt intense sexual longing. Her desire scorched her insides, seeking the quenching relief of his kisses, his caresses, until even that wasn't enough.

  She reached inside his underwear and pulled out his cock. The man had been blessed in the parts department. She stroked him and he groaned under her touch. What would he feel like inside her? What would he taste like? She had to find out.

  Holding him in her hand, she slid off his lap and onto her knees. With two hands free, she cupped his balls while sliding his foreskin up and over the engorged plum-sized head of his cock.

  Rafe closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the chair. He rocked his hips while she fondled him. A glistening bead of pre-cum caught the light. The suggestion was too much to resist. She drew him into her mouth, savoring the earthy flavor of him. He rewarded her with a deep, long groan. "Oh sweet Jesus, that's fantastic."

  A cyclone swirled through her, urging her on. She sucked and licked and took him all the way to the back of her throat, deep enough to touch her lips to the thatch of hair surrounding his cock. The rich heady scent of his musk swirled in her nose. Her pussy swelled and flooded with liquid heat. Frustration and longing like none other overwhelmed her body—almost an ache. Her panties had to be soaked through.

  "I don't want to come this way," he grunted out. His hips belied his words though, thrusting into her mouth. She would have continued but he pulled her up off her knees and back onto his lap.

  As if he read her mind, he reached between them and pressed two fingers against her. "You're so wet. You want this too, don't you? You want me to fuck you right here, right now. Lay you back on the table and fuck the living daylights out of you," he rasped in her ear before he nipped her lobe.

  Tory sucked in air between her teeth, hissing before exhaling on a gasp. Rafe's fingers had shoved aside the crotch and found her core. He curled and moved them in and out of her, just grazing her clit with each stroke. "Don't stop," she begged. Her pussy throbbed and craved to be filled.

  "Not stopping." He didn't either. "You're so beautiful like this, ready to shatter at my fingertips." His fingers moved faster and with more deadly precision, hitting all the right nerves with the perfect amount of pressure. "What a juicy little cunt you have. I can't wait to taste it."

  The world folded in on itself, trapping Tory in a vise of pleasure until, at last, her body surrendered. She shuddered. His fingers showed no mercy until he quickly removed them. Before she could gain her wits, she was rising, moving, and then she was on her back on the table. Rafe skimmed her skirt up and tore off her panties.

  "Please," she said rolling her head side to side, her eyes closely tightly. "Do it! I need ... I need...."

  He answered her pleas with a hot mouth over her cunt, drawing the jewel of her clit into his mouth to suck on it. The wet heat caused ripples of pleasure throughout her body like the first few drops of a summer storm. Any second a clap of thunder would rumble through her, but he kept her on the edge by removing his mouth and offering his tongue instead. He lapped her slit from top to bottom, stabbing his tongue inside her after each stroke. And when that brought her once again to the precipice, those wonderful lips returned to French kiss her cunt. Oh God, he was killing her with bliss. She couldn't take much more build up to her release. Her hips writhed and rocked beneath his mouth, seeking out those final touches. Close, so close... He groaned against her clit and said something about being inside her.

  "Don't stop! Don't stop!" she pled. "I need more. Now!"

  "Baby, I know what you need."

  A quick zip and the crinkle of plastic. Somewhere in the far reaches of her brain, she knew he'd shucked his pants and sheathed himself. An instant later he slid inside, stretching her with his impressive size. He paused with his eyes closed, before flexing his hips and pushing deeper.

  "Fuck, you feel so good," he said. Each word strummed her body until it vibrated in tune with his. The tempo of this thrusts, languid and mocking at first, increased as his body took what it craved from hers. Powerful. Commanding. All male and demanding of her submission. He wielded a passionate weapon, driving home his dominance as he pounded into her.

  Were she lucid, she might have objected to his overwhelming hijack, objected to his presumption he could fuck her on his conference room table, objected to him, the man who bought her father's company out from under him.

  But she wasn't lucid; she was a bird in a velvet cage singing her lungs out.

  He silenced her with a kiss, consuming her cries and smothering his own. Bodies stilled except for the after-pulses of completion. Her heart took over, thumping forcefully against his where he lay draped over her, his lips now at her neck, his nose in her hair. The decadent aroma of sex perfumed the air around them.

  As her heart slowed, her brain took over. What the hell had just happened?

  The intercom on Rafe's desk buzzed and Madison's voice cut through the smothering silence. "Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Gorman, but HR said to tell you to stop harassing Ms. Carruthers-Knight and to bring her around for her next meeting with them."

  Rafe pushed against the table on either side of her shoulders, stood and ripped off the condom. He didn't speak, didn't look at her, but walked off to the private bathroom, judging by the tapping of shoes on tiling.

  Stunned, she lay there. The chill of the air on her most intimate parts called her to action. What action? What did a modern woman do immediately after a thorough but unexpected fucking by her boss, one she hadn't even whimpered an objection to. "No" never c
rossed her mind.

  She rocked off the table and tugged down the hem of her skirt. Her bra lay draped over a chair. Her sweater had fallen in a heap on the far side of the table—a clothing explosion. The panties he stripped off her in his haste were MIA. Where had he thrown them?

  Rafe emerged from the bathroom, and motioned for her to take her turn. Neither of them spoke. She'd have asked him where he lobbed her underwear, but at that moment escaping to his bathroom to wash up and cover her bare breasts took priority. Besides, he was the one who should be first to speak ... to say what exactly? She had no idea. No idea what she wanted him to say. She had plenty of ideas as to what he most likely would say, but she'd be damned if she'd be standing half naked in front of him while he quoted chapter and verse from the "Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma'am” Quick Escape Guidebook.

  Chapter Four

  Rafe fled his own office. He had to get out of there or lose his ever-loving mind more than he already had. What the fuck happened? Had he really screwed VC Knight, the VC Knight, on his conference room table? The woman he'd moved heaven and earth to acquire as an asset for his company for her brain. Her brain, idiot! Her brain, not her fucking body, not her delectable, satiny smooth skin or those long legs that actively coiled around him and egged him on. If they'd only dangled passively off the edge of the table. If only she'd turned her head away from his kiss. If only she hadn't gazed at him with those smoky lust-filled eyes.

  Fuck.

  What she must think of him. He was the biggest prick imaginable. Not only for coming up with the dumbest strategic business move ever in that non-compete clause, but for blaming her, even for a nanosecond, for what had just happened.

  What if she quit? He could let her out of her non-compete agreement ... but he didn't want to. He still wanted her, all of her, now more than ever.

  Fuck.

  Why couldn't he keep it in his pants? Three hours. Three hours and he was humping her like a tomcat. He was not that guy! Bad enough he had forced her to work for him. He craved her respect and collaboration. His chances of salvaging them were slim to none now that he had unleashed his baser instincts on her.