Under My Boss's Authority: Office Romance Collection

by Jamie Knight

  “I can think of a few ways,” he said, stroking my thigh, left mostly bare by the dress I’d been forced to don due to a lack of other options.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “If you’d like to.”

  “Always. I am yours, completely,” I assured him.

  He kissed me, hard. With a flaming passion that almost scared me. We were getting married. He was mine and I was his.

  He released me, both of us moving away slowly. I took him by the hand, the one that had been on my thigh, and led him into the bedroom.

  It felt natural. I never used to like being naked in front of other people. But having Hugo undress me felt so good and right. He had gotten quite good at it too, whipping my dress off effortlessly and leaving me standing in only my panties.

  I didn’t like to wear shoes at the best of times, least of all inside, and my nipples had gotten particularly tender, so I spent most of my time forgoing the use of a bra.

  He kissed me, working his way down my neck, over the collar I so willingly wore. When he ended up at my chest, I moaned as his tongue touched my nipple. It was almost as good as the sensations wrought by the hand he slipped down the front of my panties. Light licks pleasuring my sensitive nipples, as gentle fingers quelled my raging pussy. He was still doing both when I came, making it difficult to tell which of the stimulations had been finally responsible. Though I had my theories.

  Progressing down between my breasts, along my belly, his other hand joined the one that had pleasured me so, easing my panties down and then off. He gently lifted each of my feet by the ankle as he pulled them free.

  Still on his knees before me, Hugo guided me down onto the bed and, with his hands on my knees, he tenderly opened my legs. Taking a moment to admire what he found there, he went for it. His chiseled cheeks pressing lightly against my inner thighs as he took the first long, gentle licks of my tender pussy.

  I moaned loud enough to wake the dead as he pleasured me, using every method he knew to make me vibrate with pure ecstasy.

  I sounded my last cry of pure joy, collapsing on the bed, not sure if I would ever move again, not that I particularly wanted to at that exact moment. Hugo embraced me, planting kisses all over my face and neck, bringing me back to sense. Willing my arms to work I returned his embrace, the connection cracking like lighting in my ears.

  He wetted his fingers and, very lightly, pressed them up against my pussy. I moaned with delight at the touch.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  He was naked in no time, never actually taking his hand off my pussy as he undressed. My heart started beating even faster when I finally saw his beautiful cock spring free.

  One by one, he once again positioned me on the edge of the bed, my legs looped over his arms as he began the long, slow slide into my pussy.

  I could feel every inch of Hugo’s hard cock filling every inch I had to offer, never relenting its gentle progress until it was all the way inside me. He paused for a moment, the pulse of our hearts and the soft throbbing of his cock seeming to fall into sync. Kissing me deep, he began to move.

  The rhythm of his cock in my pussy, becoming like a mantra in my head. Something to focus on as my mind was filled with pure white light. Somewhere in the distance, a woman was moaning. It was some time before I realized it was me.

  Willing myself back down into my physical form, I was hit by the force of a massive orgasm. One of many, as it turned out, in the course of a few minutes. I knew I could have multiples, but none of them had been anything like that. Yet, there I was, coming all over the place, completely taken over by the most transcendent experiences of my life.

  He carried me. There was no way I could walk. My arms and legs dangled as though I was asleep in his arms, ragdoll limp and useless. As opposed to just indisposed. Barely able to swallow until I got more of my faculties back.

  Water pounded into the tub and I could almost feel the steam kissing my skin. Before I could form the words to tell him it was too hot, I heard the distinctive squeak of the old tap as he eased off the hot and turned up the cold.

  It was perfect. The water that enveloped me in its warm embrace neither hot enough to scald, nor cold enough to chill. Either of which could well have shocked me back to a more functional stat, but Hugo had a different way of doing things.

  From his position beside the tub, he scrubbed me down until I was squeaky clean. My nerves were on high alert, the slightest touch sending a jolt of sensation through me. Which explained his gentle approach to things.

  Hugo didn’t want to hurt me. He never had and he never would. Even if it were the obvious or easy thing. It just wasn’t his way.

  Willing my arm to work once again, I reached up and stroked his cheek, tears of love and joy joining the moisture already on my face. Meeting no resistance, I pulled sweet Hugo, my impromptu Valentine and fiancé, to me, and I kissed him. As long, and as passionately as I could.

  Epilogue - Vega

  One Year Later

  It was time. The weeks had melted together into months, and finally, it was Valentine’s Day again. Well beyond the fortnight originally agreed on.

  Much of it was spent having the dress made. A modern take on a Victorian classic done in ivory. Best to let my dad have his illusions, even though much of the effort of the design went into concealing my baby bump. On the upside, I’d only just entered my third trimester.

  “How do I look?”

  “Beautiful,” Maya said, stepping back for a better look.

  How she appeared in California, when she was still in Barcelona when we’d spoken the day before, was a mystery for the ages. Just one of Hugo’s lovely, thoughtful wedding gifts.

  Including flying out my dad. The only conspicuous gap in the guest list were his own parents. Hugo was still not ready to face them. He felt like he should try to forgive himself, before he asked their forgiveness. It didn’t seem right. As far as I could tell, all he was really doing was making it so both of their children were ghosts.

  “Not wearing it?” Maya asked coyly, moving back in to readjust my veil.

  “We figured it was best, “As I spoke, my hand unconsciously went to the vacancy left by the collar.

  I would have worn it, but we agreed that, considering the venue, it would be better if I didn’t, but I definitely felt its absence. The stunning set of handmade rings he had ordered from a jeweler in Wales would just have to suffice for now.

  “Ready?” Maya asked, as the organ started.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Atta girl.”

  We hugged for my last time as an unmarried woman, and headed out of the tent into the chill of the vineyard.

  I wasn’t sure how much of the service Daddy would have understood, despite his best efforts to learn English. Thankfully, he had Maya there to translate. It might not have been the norm for a Maid of Honor to step off to the side once the main event had started, but Maya was never particularly known for being predictable.

  And it certainly wasn’t the first tradition Hugo and I had broken.

  It reminded me a bit of the circus. A huge white tent set up for the reception in the middle of the field. Only in that case it was full of family and friends as opposed to lions and elephants. Same difference, in some cases, though.

  “You invited your staff?” I asked, recognizing many of the faces at one table in particular.

  “And the distributor. I’ve gotten to know them really well over the years. They’re more like friends.”

  I smiled, but kept the little giggle that threatened to bubble up to myself. It wasn’t the notion itself that tickled me. We knew better than anyone how close professional relationships could get, after all. It was just so like him to make friends with his employees and contractors, to the point of inviting them all to his wedding.

  “Speaking of surprising guests - ”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  They had come in before the
ir cue. I’d planned for a big reveal thing, like in a film. The best laid plans and all.

  Hugo was speechless. His mother ran to him and enveloped him in a bear hug, smothering his cheeks in kisses, both of them crying.

  “I don’t think he can breathe, my darling,” Mr. Boucher observed, smiling and fighting back a few tears of his own.

  “Why won’t you come home?” Mrs. Boucher wailed.

  “I didn’t think you would want to see me.”

  “Of course we do, son.”

  When the tears were dried and some difficult things said, the Bouchers joined us at the head table. Despite the slight language barrier, much of the conversation relayed from French to English between Hugo and I, to Spanish by me to my dad and then back again, our folks got along beautifully. No one mentioned the pregnancy to my dad, and Hugo’s parents were mostly just glad he was doing okay.

  Things slowly wound down, and the guests stated to dissipate, going to their rooms in the house or their respective hotels, Hugo got increasingly affectionate. His hand finding its way up my dress and onto my inner thigh. Left bare by my lack of stockings. I wasn’t wearing shoes or underwear either. A fact well concealed by the structure of the wedding dress. Along with the baby I was carrying.

  It was like sleight of hand. Hugo getting me out into the hall without anyone noticing us leave.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re welcome, honey.”

  I was elevated. Lifted from the cool floor by the power of Hugo’s arms, my darling husband gracing me with a beautiful kiss.

  Shifting my position into a more traditional bridal position, he carried me up the stairs to our bedroom to get our honeymoon started off right.

  The veil went off first. Each of the clips slipped from their position, allowing my hair to cascade down to my shoulders. Hugo had me hold it out of the way as he slipped my collar back into place.

  I sighed as it clicked. The relief making me feel weak as my sweet man properly reclaimed me. I had gotten more into the collaring than I ever thought I would.

  One by one, the fasteners popped, the front of the dress slipping from my front, allowing some very welcome air on my sensitive tits, which had already gotten to nearly twice their usual cup size.

  With gentle hands, Hugo peeled away the soft, ivory layers one by one, like patiently peeling an orange.

  Finally, the last part came down, leaving me naked and quivering with anticipation, Hugo standing in front of me.

  Taking my time, starting with his jacket, I got him out of his tux. His beautiful cock was already hard and waiting for me. It made my heart hurt to think how long he might have been in that condition. All I could do was relieve him as soon as possible.

  It was a coordinated effort. Using my hands to stimulate the areas my mouth couldn’t reach, I worked his cock. Moving ever further down, up to and then past my gag reflex. There was only a bit of discomfort when I first got past. It got a lot easier after that. My lips caressing up the length of his cock until the tip of my nose brushed his pelvis.

  I stayed a while. In recognition of the achievement, if nothing else. Hugo gently stroked my back.

  Gathering my courage, I started to move again, delicately throat-fucking myself on his massive cock, drawing his tasty cum from his beautiful balls into my mouth. Hugo sighing in sweet relief as I swallowed it all down.

  Working inch by inch, Hugo helped me ease his cock out of my throat without incident. “Your turn, I think,” he said, lightly cupping my pussy.

  The mattress came up under me, Hugo gently spreading my legs.. Using his hands to hold me open, he kissed me all over. When I couldn’t handle any more teasing, he used his tongue, and then fingers, to coax me to quivering orgasm. My pussy squeezed him tight, never wanting to let go.

  I barely noticed him move. Hugo getting into position, the head of his cock stroking against my sensitive pussy. The effects of all the hormones drenching my system, fully brought to bear. It made sex feel even better than ever.

  He was going easy on me. Not that he was usually rough, unless I asked for it. Even so, Hugo was taking extra care, going in a little under half his full length. His gentle rocking rhythm brought me to the brink of orgasm within minutes.

  Hugo kissed me as we came. Unleashing his beautiful cum deep inside me, I shook in sweet ecstasy. My husband sank into the mattress beside me and drew me into his arms, dropping a loving kiss on my forehead.

  “Delphine Maya Boucher-Alejo,” I murmured when I’d caught my breath.

  “Hmm?”

  “Her name,” I said softly, rubbing my hand over my belly, then repeated it. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s perfect,” Hugo murmured, “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  THE END

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  Sneak Peek of Under My Enemy’s Roof

  The seventh collection in the Under Him series is Under My Enemy's Roof, which contains Stuck Together, Cramped Quarters and Lock Step. Click here to read it.

  Chapter One - Dean

  From the moment the plane’s tires touched down on the tarmac, I was seized by an impending sense of dread. I was back home in New York City and not for any reason I wanted to be.

  Plus, there was the crisis that the world was in, and New York was the epicenter of the virus. If it wasn’t for my money, there was no way I could set foot on American soil. Only by sneaking in on my own jet did I avoid the long lines and the likely-hood of quarantine. I couldn’t do that, not yet. I had a promise to fulfill first.

  There were so many advantages to living in London. The lack of snow for a start. Sure, there was the rain, but a drizzle never kept an affair from starting as far as I was aware. My accent was considered charming rather than a punchline as it was in most parts of my homeland. There was just something about being from Brooklyn that was considered universally hilarious among Americans. Or, 'yanks', as I had come to think of them. Though I did eventually acquire a pretty close approximation of an upper-class British accent.

  Britain, or at least the England portion of it, also had five meals a day. The standard three plus two so-called 'tea-times' which were more like light lunches. And no one looked at you sideways for having sausages and bacon at breakfast.

  They also had respect for their elders, dagnabbit! I was only thirty-three, yet kids in their late-teens would routinely call me 'sir.' It was both a wonderful tip of the hat and a terrible reminder of one's fragile mortality in the same three-letter word. Not that death was far away from one’s mind during these turbulent times.

  Aside from the cultural advantages, another thing that made London so much more tolerable was the nearly endless list of people who did not live there. My asshole brother and my bastard dad, for example. My ruthless social climber of a mother who seemed to equate marrying into old money with joining the aristocracy. All nowhere to be found among the skyscrapers and spires of Olde London Town.

  The problem. The unspoken pain. The ghost in the room was my beloved sister, Simone. Not only did she not live in London, or indeed New York. As a result of recent events, she was no longer living on the physical plane at all. I liked to think about it in metaphysical terms. It helped things to hurt less.

  In Simone's place was her six-year-old daughter, Jessica, whom I was given legal guardianship. The coin there was two definite sides. On the one side was the fact that my sister trusted me to raise her offspring. No small thing, even to a fuck up like me. On the other hand, I had absolutely no fucking idea h
ow to raise a kid. Let alone a little girl. Simone was always more of a mom to me than our actual mother, so I never really learned the whole nurturing thing.

  I could have been in a real predicament, but Simone, who knew me better than anyone else on earth, also arranged for help. The resume that accompanied her last will and testament contained a picture. A gorgeous, twenty-three-year-old nanny named Becky Hump.

  As I got in my limo, I smiled. Simone always did have a sense of humor.

  A few hours later, I got to meet Miss Hump, when she showed up at the mansion I also, unfortunately, inherited from my sister.

  “You must be Dean,” Becky said, darkening the doorway of my new home.

  The less said about the built-in innuendo of her surname, the better. “You must be…her,” I said, refraining from saying something incredibly rude.

  “Indeed, I am,” the nanny said all but pushing past me.

  “Please, come in,” I snapped to the empty space left in her wake.

  The woman already acted like this was her home, not mine. I was the master of the house, and she needed to recognize that.

  As I turned to give her a piece of my mind, my breath caught. The picture on her resume really did not do her justice. Miss Hump had a full heart-shaped rump, a narrow waist, and long, shiny black hair that fell in cascades over her big tits. Curves like that immediately woke something in me that was long dormant. My skin flamed with desire.

  Becky caught me staring and raised one perfect, dark eyebrow.

  No words came to my clenched throat.

  “Where is the little one?” she asked, turning away.

  “Asleep in her room. We had a rather heated disagreement over whether she should take a bath. I was firmly on the pro side while she was more in favor of running around the apartment, yelling ‘no!’ Tuckered the little tyke right out.”

  “Sounds like quite the ordeal.”