by Olivia Myers
“I am not defective. Nor am I a cy.”
The tech waved his hand as if this was of no consequence, and laughed. “Your boyfriend is. And he’s quite an interesting one, at that. But then, you know that, don’t you?”
Jessa refused to blush again. She lifted her chin and squeezed Mack’s hand.
“He’s much more than just an interesting unit to me,” she said, her voice acerbic.
Godfrey snorted and rolled his eyes. “Of course, of course. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to celebrate. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Then he was, thankfully, gone as abruptly as he’d arrived.
Jessa turned her attention to the cy — the man — at her side. She could feel the smile stretching her lips.
“So…”
Mack’s tongue swept along his full lower lip, drawing her gaze. She watched his mouth move as he spoke.
“There is something I need to tell you.”
Jessa forced her gaze back to his, drinking in the sight of those pale gray irises. His dark brows drew down in a vee above the straight line of his nose. She reached up and stroked her pointer finger between them.
“What’s that, baby?”
“I am in love with you.”
She ran her fingers up into his hair, feeling the heavy silk of it drift against her palm, tickling. The fire under her ribs was metaphorical now, and didn’t hurt at all.
“I know.”
Mack’s eyes widened. “You… Jessa…”
Jessa tugged at his hair. “Now, come over here and let me give you another one of those demonstrations.”
“You are injured.”
She pulled harder until he shifted forward, sliding a knee onto the bed beside her. Jessa wrapped her other arm around his neck and brought his mouth down to hers.
“Not that injured,” she murmured against his warm satin lips.
His hands caressed her hair, brushing it back from her forehead.
“I do not wish to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” She traced his lips with her tongue, tasting coffee and sugar and Mack. He groaned, stroking her shoulders and down her back.
“Jessa,” he warned. She kissed him, deep and slow and hot and passionate. When she pulled back, they were both panting.
“I love you, too. Now, come here.”
He did. And Jessa was once again thankful that her cy didn’t mind taking orders from a woman.
THE END
In the Arms of the Dragon
Cassandra stepped off the elevator onto the gold-veined grey marble of the hundredth floor entryway, her entire body shaking like Jell-O in an 8.0 earthquake. She paused and inhaled a long, slow breath through her nose, her eyes scanning her opulent surroundings.
The marble floor was the least of it. There was gold leaf on the moldings, priceless artwork on the walls. Even the woman perched behind the curve of the reception desk looked like a perfect, icy blond sculpture.
The joke down in admin was that you couldn’t even set foot above the ninetieth floor of the Chimera Building unless you earned at least six figures. Cassandra was so out of her depth.
She smoothed shaking hands down her black pencil skirt. When she’d left her apartment that morning, she’d felt like a million bucks in her sleek skirt, a drape-necked coral silk blouse that the woman at the store had assured her brought out the creamy undertones of her pale skin and looked “smashing” with her honey blond hair, and a much-coveted-and-long-saved-for pair of black suede Jimmy Choos.
Compared to the slim woman in all white who lifted her head to rake her with her gaze, Cassandra now felt overstuffed, greasy, and cheap; like off-brand sausage.
Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to take the remaining steps to the desk, chin up. She met the Nordic beauty’s cold blue eyes, trying to ignore the flutter of her heart at the company name — more gold, of course — above the receptionist’s head.
Burning Stone Holdings, LLC.
Cassandra felt sweat prickle along the nape of her neck and underneath her ample breasts. Dragons, her brain screamed. Run!
But she couldn’t. Not unless she wanted to lose her job. And she really didn’t. She loved working for Chimera. Besides, she was twenty-two. It was past time for her to get over her fear.
Coming in contact with shifters was a part of everyday life now. She had no problem with the shifters she worked with — foxes, eleven different types of bird shifters, a lynx, and even several wolves. She’d gotten over all her silly fears and prejudices in regards to them.
Just because the dragons were the most notoriously territorial, acquisitive, ruthless, and dangerous breed didn’t mean there was any reason for her to fear for her life. It wasn’t as if she’d actually heard of them killing anyone who wronged them.
It was just, the rumors…
“How may I direct you?” The cool blonde’s slightly raised brows and pursed red lips made it clear she very much wanted to direct Cassandra back onto the elevator and away from her domain.
Cassandra licked her lips, tasting her own peach gloss.
“I’m — that is, Mr. Blackfeather sent me up. He said I’m to fill in for Bridget.”
Thin blonde brows rose even higher and the receptionist’s lips pressed so tightly they showed white all around her bold lipstick. Her eyes crawled all over Cassandra. She felt as if the other woman was literally weighing her with her gaze, horrified as each pound added up.
Cassandra knew that, as a size fourteen, she was considered ‘plus size’. Her overflowing bosom and wide hips and ass made that abundantly clear to anyone looking. But she also knew she was fit and healthy and had nothing to be ashamed of.
She squared her shoulders and waited out the other woman’s judging appraisal, despite the butterfly trembling of her muscles and the clench of her guts.
After a heavy moment, the receptionist sniffed through narrow nostrils and slid a hand under the desk. Cassandra heard a faint ‘click’ to her left and ornate steel doors (also trimmed in gold) parted slightly.
“All the way at the end of the hall. You’re expected.”
Cassandra murmured a distracted ‘thanks’ and placed a shaking hand on the door’s curled handle. The metal was cold under her fingers as she pulled, revealing a long, wide, brightly lit hallway beyond.
As soon as she stepped past the doorway, the tall, heavy doors swung silently shut behind her. Sealing her in.
Her heart stuttered in her chest.
Mr. Blackfeather — her boss, a raven shifter and CEO of Chimera Corp — had told her almost nothing about what she’d be doing during her temporary reassignment to BurningStone. He’d just called her into his office (on the eighty-third floor, despite the fact that he owned the building) and told her that he’d offered her services to a friend whose assistant had become ‘suddenly unavailable.’
The phrase was ominous before she’d even learned it was the dragon-owned BurningStone she’d be working for.
Warren’s straightforward, “Because you’re the best we’ve got, after Marquesa,” in response to her shocked, “Why me?” had been little comfort as she rode the elevator up.
She considered going back and making a case for her own incompetence, or to beg him to send Marquesa instead and let her fill in for Marquesa… But she loved her job and she didn’t want her boss thinking she was a slacker. Or a coward. And there was no way Warren would give up his own assistant.
Everyone knew he valued Marquesa more than any other employee at Chimera.
Cassandra took small steps down the quiet hall, not quite dragging her feet. She barely glanced to either side, trying to calm her rapid breathing. On one hand, she was excited by the idea of working with someone new. Mr. Stebbins, the Senior VP of Acquisitions, was bad-tempered, flighty, and hopelessly disorganized. Being his assistant was exhausting.
There were rumors he was going to retire soon, and Cassandra had been praying they were true. She’d rather work for anyone other than Mark Stebbins. She’
d said as much to Marquesa just last week.
“Be careful what you wish for, poppet,” her Granddad used to say when she was little. “The gods have a funny way giving it to you.”
Back then, she couldn’t possibly fathom how getting your wish would be bad. Now, mere feet from the enormous closed door of the corner office on the hundredth floor, Cassandra understood well.
She’d wished to work for anyone but her aggravating boss, and now he she was about to step into the dragon’s lair.
***
Rhys smelled her as soon as she stepped through the doors from reception. Ripe, sweet peaches first. Then, under that, the warm, creamy smell of skin. Just the faintest hint of salt. Sweat. Not just nerves, though there was that. Her fear was electric on his tongue, like the scent of the atmosphere before a storm. Martine Amici continued to ramble in his ear about the benefits of owning another international shipping conglomerate, but he was no longer paying attention.
His hearing tuned to the panicked flutter of her pulse, the rapid, shallow, soft breaths.
His own heartbeat sped, sending blood thundering through his veins. The fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end, vibrating with each tiny, tentative step closer she took.
Rhys felt the lazy stretch of his other form beneath his skin. His vision wavered, flickering between normal and the extra sharp, color-saturated way he saw the world as a dragon.
“I’ll call you back.”
He hung up on Martine without another word, his hands curling into fists on the arms of his chair. His nail beds stung with the prick of phantom claws pushing forth. Rhys surged to his feet and strode to the balcony, shoving open the sliding glass door with a stiff hand. Through his nose, he drew in the crisp fall air drenched in the asphalt and gasoline aroma of the city, letting it overwhelm the delicate fragrance of the woman’s body… and her fear.
It wasn’t like him to almost lose control like that. He was no hatchling.
He’d flown just this morning, his massive wingspan eating up the distance between his palatial home in the Catskills and his office in the city, so that wasn’t it. The restlessness that was making his skin twitch even as the cool breeze swept over him had nothing to do with needing to stretch his wings.
It was that scent. Peaches and cream and heat and prey. It made him want to hunt.
Not that he actually ate humans. Not like that. No, he preferred to hunt prey of a different kind. And when he caught them… Blood pooled in his groin as he thought of the many entertaining nights and days he’d spent with his varied prey, the glide of slick skin and the gasps of pleasure, the wet, mineral and musk scent of sex.
But still, that smell, the smell of fear, triggered something primal within him.
It was clearly time to purge some of the names from his Contacts list. The same old hook-ups weren’t doing it for him anymore if the faintest whiff of some Nervous Nelly courier got his spine up. Time to hit one of the clubs and make a new acquaintance. Maybe several. Dragons were covetous creatures, by nature.
A soft rap on the outer door caught his ear, even over the noise of the traffic below.
Rhys stiffened as a fresh wave of that enticing aroma wafted to him and the quick thumping of his visitor’s heart filled his head. Not a courier then, or Ursula would have buzzed him.
Who, then, would she send back?
Fuck. Why had Bridget decided to elope with her CPA boyfriend out of the blue? Crazy shit like that was why Rhys didn’t do relationships. They made you insane.
“Enter!”
He didn’t quite bellow, but he raised his voice loud enough to be heard by human ears through the thick metal door. The soft ‘eep!’ that sounded on the other side made his lips twitch.
The doors swung open with a soft shush over the thick carpet. Then, she stepped inside.
Rhys bit back a groan at the sight of her. She was tall, maybe five foot ten, with thick, honey blonde hair pulled back in a loose chignon from a heart-shaped face. Pink cheeks; a pointed chin; wide, hazel-green eyes; and a plump, pink, quivering mouth.
And that was just her face. The body beneath was equally as enticing. Ripe, with full breasts pressing against her silk blouse, rounded hips and a fleshy ass stretching her black skirt. Her arms and legs were soft and pale and round as well. Even her stomach was a faint swell that begged the caress of a palm, or lips.
She scanned the office, delicate blonde brows crinkled, long-fingered hands twisting in front of her.
“H-hello?”
That shake in her voice went straight to his cock. He pushed the welling desire down and cleared his throat. She whipped her head around at the sound, eyes going impossibly wider, mouth falling open. Rhys lifted a single brow.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my office?”
Her heart beat hummingbird fast. He could see it in her pale throat, even from across the room. Her body temperature rose as well, filling the open space with the rich peaches and cream and ozone scent of her.
A wet pink tongue peeked out to swipe her lips.
“M-mr. Maddox? Mr. Blackfeather s-sent me?”
Warren. Shit, that meant… He swallowed a chuckle at the irony of it.
“You’re Ms. O’Hare?”
She twitched when he spoke her name and Rhys couldn’t help the sideways tug of his mouth. Quite the jumpy one indeed, this little rabbit.
“Y-yes, sir. Cassandra O’H-hare.”
Rhys moved slowly so as not to spook her, sliding around in front of her. Her eyes followed him, though she remained still as a stone. Well, except for the trembling. Her entire body vibrated like a tuning fork. It made his blood rage through his veins.
“Relax, Ms. O’Hare, I’ve already had my breakfast.” He flashed her a toothy grin.
He hadn’t thought her jewel-like eyes could get any rounder, but he was wrong. Her long, dark lashes fluttered and he watched her creamy throat work as she swallowed. It was all he could do not to leap over his desk and latch his teeth onto that tender skin.
Rhys curled his fingers over the back of his leather chair, his nails biting into the buttery soft fabric. He remained still, waiting to see what Cassandra — he resisted thinking of her as his little rabbit — would do.
As enticing as her trembling mix of fear and arousal was, if she couldn’t manage to pull herself together at least a little bit, there was no way they could work together.
She obviously had no problems with shifters in general, if she worked for Chimera. So it was either dragons, or him in particular that had her so afraid. Normally, that kind of reaction in anyone annoyed him. Rhys wasn’t quite sure what made her fear so attractive.
Perhaps it was just that when she stared at him like that, it was clear every cell, every fiber of her was focused on him and aware of him in a way he hadn’t felt before. He wouldn’t have thought it would be such a turn-on. Rhys didn’t do intense. All his relationships, if you could really call them that, were casual. If one of the women he was sleeping with began to get too into him, they immediately became someone he no longer slept with.
So, why was Cassandra O’Hare’s quivering, bone-deep regard of him turning him rock hard and aching?
She squared her shoulders, drawing his gaze to the soft, bare slope of them. When she spoke, her voice was firmer, though it still carried an edge of breathiness.
“I apologize for my unprofessional behavior, Mr. Maddox. I was a bit surprised that I was going to be working for you but that’s no excuse. If you’d like me to return downstairs and ask Mr. Blackfeather to send you someone else —”
“No.”
She jumped at the whip-crack of his voice, and then her cheeks turned a darker shade of pink. But she held his gaze, pointed chin up, even though he could see her eyelids twitching. Her instinct was to drop her eyes. The fact that she didn’t made his already half-hard cock twitch.
She was still scared, but she was no coward, his little rabbit.
Rhys smiled, flashing his
dimples and his straight, white teeth, trying to soften the barked response.
“Don’t worry about it, Ms. O’Hare. I’m aware of the effect my name can have.”
Her pulse jumped, he heard it. The flush spread from just her cheeks to her throat and upper chest as well. He wondered how far down it went. He pictured that soft, round, pale belly edged with delicate rose pink.
The leather gave under his nails.
He shoved the thought hastily away. She was going to be his assistant for at least a week, probably several, as he looked for someone to fill Bridget’s position. Warren said Ms. O’Hare was his best, aside from Marquesa, and Rhys needed the best. His dick would just have to deal. There were plenty of other hot women in the city.
Cassandra scraped her teeth over her lower lip, dropped her eyes, and gave a short nod. He lifted a brow, surprised she would acknowledge his arrogant assertion. His little rabbit had a bit of sass to her. Her spine remained stiff, and when she spoke this time her voice was even and inflectionless.
“Of course, sir.”
Rhys let the twist of his lips relax into something less predatory.
“I think you’ll do just fine, Ms. O’Hare. Just fine.”
If only Rhys could stop thinking about how she’d look bent over his desk with that cute little skirt hiked up over her plump ass...
***
Working for Rhys Maddox was surprisingly easy, and also one of the hardest things she’d ever done. He was a demanding and exacting task master, for sure, but no more so than her boss at Chimera. And Rhys — Mr. Maddox — was less prone to random fits of temper. He didn’t blame her for his own screw ups (not that she’d seen him make any in the last week and a half) and he wasn’t completely unreasonable. He trusted her to know what she was doing once she got the hang of things, and he didn’t micro-manage her either, which had been a surprise.
In fact, it would have been an absolute dream job, if not for one thing.
Cassandra pulled her gaze away from the door that connected her office to her temporary boss’s. For the first couple of days, it had remained firmly closed unless she was passing through it to go over his daily schedule, or bring him his lunch, or get his approval on paperwork.