John straightens. “Eat your breakfast, Grant,” he instructs, turning his attention toward the scrolling ticker tape on the bottom of the TV screen.

My attention remains on the man I adore. I’m a convenience for him. I might never be anything more. Is this enough for me?

My heart says this isn’t.

 

Chapter Four

The drive to the office is one long moving meeting. The conference call is streamed into the limousine though speakers embedded in the walls. We can’t hold a private conversation as there are mics situated around the interior. Instead, John texts me and I text him back as we sit beside each other.

I listen quietly while John grills the European team, his commanding tone moistening my pussy and tightening my nipples. He’s dominant, very much the boss I know, love and desire. I fight the urge to drop to my knees, unzip his pants and—

John pulls me onto his lap, this unexpected action interrupting my fantasy. I squeak, surprised. He covers my lips with his palm and shakes his head. I close my mouth and nod, communicating that I’ll remain silent.

He releases my mouth and folds me into his body. As my boss lists his expectations for the next quarter, his voice strong and true, he casually slips his hands underneath my jacket, skimming his course palms along my bare skin, setting off tremors of desire within me.

I tremble, pressing my thighs together. He ruthlessly pries my knees apart, hooking my legs over his, opening me completely to him. I’m at his mercy, unable to speak, unable to move.

John returns his hands to my chest, splaying his fingers dangerously close to my breasts. I wait for him to touch me. He doesn’t move, his chin resting on my shoulder, his cloth-covered erection nestled against my ass.

This is a new form of torture. I wiggle. He pushes down on me, forcing me to remain still. Power and heat and musk radiates from him. His management team asks questions. He answers, unaided, the information given to him before this call. John’s memory is faultless.

I glance toward the front of the vehicle. The partition is lowered. Can the driver see us, see my legs spread wide, the flash of my red lace panties? I breathe heavily, a band of arousal winding around my chest.

My fingers twitch. I want to touch myself, to find release. John flattens my hands against my legs, silently commanding me to remain still. I swallow my protest and obey, the tension inside me escalating.

As a reward, he cups my small breasts, the roughness of his skin felt through the thin fine lace. My spine bows, his grip decadent, perfect. He squeezes and releases, squeezes and releases. I need more, more, more. I bite my bottom lip, suppressing my cries.

John’s voice rumbles as he addresses another concern. I can’t grasp his words, all of my attention on his hands, on my breasts, on the need building inside me. He ignores my nipples, spreading his fingers around the sensitive peaks, and I ache for his touch, his neglect crazing me.

He plays with me as though he has all day to claim me. No man has ever concentrated so much focus, so much time on my small curves. But then John is like no other man I know. He flicks the front clasp of my bra and releases my breasts, the skin on skin contact spiraling my need upward. My panties are soaked, my musk scenting the small space, and I shake.

He grazes his scarred knuckles under my breasts and I writhe, fighting to escape, to free myself from his delectable torment. I want to moan, to plead, to demand, and staying silent is killing me. I worry my bottom lip with my teeth until the tang of blood fills my mouth.

John circles my curves with his fingertips, the circles growing smaller and smaller. Tremors roll over my body, the waves of pleasure decimating my restraint, my thinking, everything except my desire. I rub my hands over my lace-covered pussy, seeking release, needing to come.

John’s fingertips reach my nipples. He brushes over them once, twice, pushing my closer to the edge. I need more. I need—

He pinches my nipples and I scream, bucking upward, my world exploding with noise and color. I twist and turn, trying to break his hold. John squeezes harder and a second rush of ecstasy flows over me, a dark tunnel forming around me, a spinning vortex dragging me down, down, down.

I fling myself forward and then slam backward. Nothing dislodges his fingers. He clasps me tightly, pressing down on me with his arms, not allowing me to hurt him, to hurt myself.

The pleasure eases, I still, and he releases me. The vehicle is quiet, not moving.

And I remember. “The call.” My voice is strangled. Did they hear me moan, scream? My face heats.

“The call ended before you broke,” John assures me. “I wouldn’t hurt you like that.” He swings my legs to the side, turning me to face him and his countenance darkens. “What did you do to yourself, Trella?” He sweeps one of his thumbs over my bottom lip.

I’m Trella again. “I stayed silent.” I smile at him, lightheaded, in a post-orgasmic stupor.

“You’re a stubborn woman.” He captures my face between his big hands and lowers his head. His breath wafts on my cheeks.

My boss is going to kiss me. I tilt my chin upward, eagerly awaiting his embrace.

John licks my abused lips, slowly, tenderly, tasting me, pain mixing with an exquisite pleasure. I want to taste him also. As I think this, my body reacts, my tongue darting between my teeth. We tentatively touch. He growls softly and covers my lips. Skin presses against tender skin as he claims me.

All hope of surviving this relationship with my heart and job intact evaporates with his kiss, the connection between us shifting, strengthening. John surges into my mouth, dominating me as he dominates every conversation, every negotiation. Our tongues entwine, tangle, tumble.

He cups my head, holding me to him, as he plunges deeper and deeper, exploring me. John tastes of black coffee and passionate man and I suck on his tongue as I sucked on his cock this morning, inhaling as much of him as I can. He rumbles into my mouth and tilts me backward, lifting my feet off the floor. I grip his shoulders, off balance physically, mentally and emotionally.

My phone buzzes, dancing across the leather seat, and he pulls away from me. “Who is calling you this early in the morning?” he demands.

He calls me every day at this time. My lips twitch. “You have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“With New York?” John pushes me off his lap and reaches for his phone.

“With New York.” I gather my overnight bag.

“Leave that here,” he instructs, opening the door. My boss exits first and then clasps my hand, assisting me. I straighten and he releases me. I conceal my disappointment, feeling like a fool for expecting him to acknowledge our relationship publicly. John Powers doesn’t mix business and pleasure.

I stride toward the bank of elevators, my head held high. My boss walks directly behind me. “Do you have their latest numbers?” he asks.

I scan the information and recite the highlights. He presses the button and the doors open. Stacie, the new marketing hire, stands in John’s usual right rear corner. “Mr. Powers.” Her eyes widen as she sees me. “Miss Grant.”

“Good morning.” John chooses our floor and claims the spot next to Stacie. I’m surprised and I shouldn’t be. She’s a beautiful woman, exactly his type. I stand in the left rear corner, a hard knot of jealousy coiling in my stomach.

John moves to the left, standing partially in front of me, his wide shoulders restricting my view. “Do you have historicals?”

“Historicals, Mr. Powers?” Stacie replies.

“I’m speaking with Miss Grant.”

His bluntness makes me smile while his returned focus pleases the woman in me. I murmur the comparable numbers from the previous quarters, my voice soft, my words meant for his ears only. The elevator stops numerous times, more and more employees filling the small space, everyone wishing to take the same car as the boss.