John curls a strand of my hair around one of his fingers. It’s brown, plain, unlike the golden hair he favors. “Are you threatening to quit?” His voice is scary soft.

He’s worried about losing his assistant. He doesn’t care about me as a woman. I swallow hard. “No, I’m not threatening to quit.” I turn my head toward the window and gaze at the blackness, not seeing anything other than heartbreak.

“Grant.”

I’m Grant, not Trella, never Trella. I grit my teeth. Stacie was wrong. John doesn’t want me and I was a fool to think he did. I was an idiot to love him for so long. “It was nothing, sir. I’m just tired.”

“Then sleep.” John gathers me closer to him, folding me into his hard body. “We have a lot of work tomorrow and I’ll require you to think rationally.”

I haven’t been thinking rationally around him, not since that first interview. Tomorrow, this will change. I close my eyes. Tomorrow, I’ll get over John Powers.

 

Chapter Three

Getting over John Powers would be easier if I didn’t wake in his bed, with his body spooning against mine. I’m wearing a camisole and boy shorts I don’t remember changing into. John sports his briefs and he’s hard, his cock pressing against my ass cheeks, one of his palms curved over my left breast.

His bedroom, and this must be his bedroom, is massive, filled with dark wood antique furniture, Tiffany lamps, a Rembrandt and other oil paintings hanging on the beige walls. The space is warm and inviting and overwhelmingly masculine, like the man holding me.

I wiggle, brushing against John, and he groans into my ear, squeezing my breast in retaliation, my nipple tightening instantly. I’m wet and ready. If he saw me as more than a convenient lay, as Trella rather than Grant, I’d take him right here, right now.

He doesn’t see me this way yet I can’t leave him in this uncomfortable state. I care too much about him. “Roll onto your back.” I turn in his arms and push on his shoulder.

He frowns, lines furrowing on his forehead. “What are you planning?”

This is John, always wanting to be informed. “I’m your assistant.” I reach under the white bed sheet, slide my hand underneath his briefs and curl my fingers around his shaft. He jerks in my palm, his body stiffening. “I’m assisting you.”

“Grant.” His voice is low and strained. “This action will have consequences.”

“I’ll accept those consequences.” He needs this. He needs me. I move between his spread legs, under the sheets, and I push his briefs downward. “And when I have my hands on your cock, I’m Trella, not Grant.” I grip his base, savoring his girth, his length. Short brown hair curls around his base. I pump him slowly, my clasp loose. “Relax and let me take care of you.” He can’t see my face, can’t see who is pleasuring him. If he wishes, he can pretend I’m someone else.

My boss doesn’t desire this ambiguity. He needs to know who has his cock in her hands. He pulls the sheets away from us and studies me, his expression grave. I stroke him up and down, up and down, my rhythm constant and controlled.

Silence stretches and my cheeks heats. Does he want this or am I forcing him?

“Harder,” he instructs. “Faster.”

He wants this. I tighten my grip and increase my tempo. John groans, rocking into my hands, the grooves around his mouth deepening, his lips flattening. I control his satisfaction. With one squeeze of his balls, I can make him come.

I don’t want him to come, not yet. His veins pulse under my fingertips. I want to make this encounter last. I’ve waited years to touch him and I don’t know when he’ll allow me to touch him again. A dab of pre-cum forms on his tip. I graze my thumbs over him, spreading his essence. His dark skin glistens.

My tough-as-nails executive shakes and a sense of wonder, of womanly power fills me. I’m causing my powerful billionaire to lose his renowned control. He’s at my mercy, unable to resist the pull of my hands. I stroke him, watching his face as I work his cock. He gazes at me, his eyes black with need, his focus on me alone.

“Soft,” he rumbles. “Your hands are softer than I imagined.”

He has thought about my hands. My chest warms. “What else did you imagine, John?” I lick my lips and his cock bobs, his gaze moving to my mouth. “Did you imagine my tongue on you?” I lower my head and brazenly flick my tongue over his tip, tasting him.

He thrusts upward, bumping against my lips. “Yes.” John buries his fingers in my wild curls, holding me to him, not allowing any retreat. “Use that ever moving tongue on me, Trella.” He breathes my name.

I’m Trella, not the sexless Grant. I lick over his cock head, exploring his slit, skimming his rim, and I lave down his shaft, tracing his hard length. His grip on my hair intensifies and pinpricks of pain shoot over my scalp, exciting me. I play with his balls and explore his body, inhaling his musk, the manly center of him. He pushes his hips upward, silently asking for more.

“Do you know what I fantasize about?” I peek at him through my lowered eyelashes. John watches me, his expression thunderous. “I dream I suck you dry.” I push my lips over him and a strangled sound comes from his throat. He wants this, me. I pause, tugging gently on his tip, and he lifts into me, pushing more and more of his cock into my mouth.

My lips are wrapped around my boss’ shaft. I sink down on him, the slide slow, sensuous, mind blowing. He’s seen me masturbate and now, I’m sucking him off. John might be able to compartmentalize sex and business, separating the two. I can’t. Our relationship will never be the same. I’ll never view him with detachment.

If this sexcapade ends my employment, I’ll ensure I have no regrets. I take as much of his hard, hot cock as possible, drawing him inside my mouth. His scent fills my nostrils. His coarse brown hair tickles my chin. I can’t take all of him. He’s too large, his tip tapping against the back of my throat. I cover his remaining shaft with my hands.

“Perfect,” John groans, massaging my scalp with his fingertips. “You’re perfect for me.”

I suck, my cheeks indenting around him and he moans, twisting his hands, winding my hair around his fingers, the pain exquisite. His chest rises and falls, his breathing ragged, his body lifting.

I release John and he falls back into the mattress. The muscles over my boss’ stomach ripple, a sheen of wetness covering his golden skin, his silver scars. Bracing against his hips, ensuring I maintain the same depth, I bob over him, gliding my lips along his length, varying my suction.

He pushes me down and then pulls me off him, guiding my movements. I allow him this illusion of control as I allow him to believe he sets his own schedule and manages his own time. This is what a great assistant does and I’m a great assistant. I’m also great at sucking cock and I’m applying all of these skills now. He clenches his jaw, a tic of emotion pulsing in his cheek, his eyes black, gleaming with desire.

He desires me. I reach upward and rake my fingernails along his torso, leaving a trail of pink on his tanned skin, marking him. He’s mine. I claim him.

John doesn’t talk as I pleasure him. My boss doesn’t believe in uttering unnecessary words, his guttural sounds and frantic thrusts expressing his pleasure. I long to tell him how I feel, how I’ve yearned to touch him like this, to taste him, smell him. My mouth is busy, filled with his hard cock. I can only think the words.

My boss’ toes curl, his balls hug his shaft and his thighs quiver. If I wish, I can push him over the edge now.

This might be the end of our relationship. I tighten my grip on his base, holding back his release, prolonging this sweet torture. My lips hum and my cheeks ache. Teardrops trickle down my cheeks.