His Secretary:Undone(38)

"It's been weird, hasn't it?" I laugh a little bit. "Five years, we  talked to each other almost every day." My throat starts to close, and  it's so hard to say the words - I can still taste the fear in the back  of my throat. Thinking he'll turn and run away again. "I missed you  too."

With a hand on either side of my face, he lifts it, meeting me halfway,  but not kissing me again. Not yet. "Have your feelings for me changed? I  mean, really changed, aside from all the shit you've got every right to  hate me for?"

"No," I whisper.

"Good." His lips brush mine. "I want to talk to you, Meg. I want to talk  more. I want to talk for hours, and explain everything, and apologize a  thousand times. But first I want to make love to you. Not fuck, you  understand. We've done plenty of that, and we'll do plenty more. I need  it. You need it too." He kisses me, finally. It's long, and slow, and it  leaves every inch of my body tingling. "Do you know how long I've  wanted you?" he asks, his voice husky. "Every day of my life. Every time  you wore one of those skirts with the slit up the side, I'd have to  jerk off under my desk once or twice, just so I could concentrate. For  years now, every time I come, I picture it painting your skin. I can't  imagine ever wanting anyone else."

My whole body is throbbing. "I loved that," I confess. "When you marked  me. I still think about it all the time, especially when I don't want  to."         

     



 

"Come home with me," he murmurs, nuzzling my neck. "Before I have to fuck you right here and ruin my whole plan."

"Home?" I look up at him. "You mean, your home?"

He nods, smiling. "Yeah," he says. "My home. My bed. What else would that mean?"

"You asshole." I'm glaring, smiling, and crying all at once. I don't  know what the hell's happening anymore. "You set me up for this. All  that shit about how you don't let anyone in your bedroom. I bet that's  not even true."

"Cross my heart," he says. "You can check the security footage if you want."

"Why the hell would I be the exception?"

Adrian almost laughs, but not quite, closing his eyes for a moment. "I think you can figure that out for yourself, Meg."

"Tell me anyway." I press myself against him, pillowing my head on his  chest again, ignoring the very loud voice in the back of my head telling  me this is a bad idea. "I like the way you weave those words, Mr.  Risinger."

He sighs, brushing a wild strand of hair behind my ear. "Because you are home to me, Meghan. You always have been."

He kisses me, and incredibly, I believe him.





Chapter Eighteen





Adrian's bedroom is breathtaking.

Well, to be more accurate, his bedroom ceiling is breathtaking. I can't  speak for the rest of it, really. This man's idea of "making love"  apparently has a lot to do with kissing his way down my body for twenty  minutes, and as nice as that is, I'm starting to get a little impatient.

Oh, but it is nice.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he breathes, his lips trailing down my  chest to my stomach. "I should've told you that. The first second I saw  you, I should've told you that."

I giggle softly, goosebumps rising all over as his breath tickles the  sensitive skin between my hipbones. "It definitely would've set a  different tone for our relationship."

He chuckles, his lips just inches from where I want them. "Don't even pretend like you wouldn't have punched me in the balls."

"I wouldn't have," I insisted, my hand drifting to his hair, fingers  scratching lightly at his scalp. "Hell, with the way you operate, I'm  still convinced you could've had me naked on your desk within the first  week, if you really wanted to."

He sits up, and I let out a deep sigh.

"Hold on, you little sex fiend, we're having a conversation about this."  he frowns as I squirm. "Do you really think I didn't want that?"

I shrug. "You could've had it, that's all I'm saying."

"I don't believe you," he says, with grin. "But that's not the point. I  couldn't, Meg. Not with you." His face gets serious, and softer,  somehow. "Even if I could've just snapped my fingers and had you draped  across my desk, I didn't want it to be like that. Not with you. I had to  make sure it didn't happen. I didn't want to turn on the charm, I  thought you deserved something a little more genuine than that." He  makes a slight face. "I might've overdone it."

"You think?" I wiggle my hips. "You know, we can talk about this later. Or tomorrow. Or anytime when I'm not … "

His mouth quirks up at the corner. "Go on."

I sigh again. "Come on, Adrian. Stop teasing me."

"I wasn't trying to," he points out. "You were the one who wouldn't stop talking."

"Then shut me up."

He plants a kiss on my inner thigh, and I shudder. "I don't think this  is very likely to shut you up," he murmurs. "Unless, of course, I find a  way to put something in your mouth at the same time … "

Adrian gets up, and gestures for me to follow. Then he lays down on the  bed, flat on his back, and pats the mattress beside him. I blanch.

"No," I say, without thinking.

His eyebrows shoot up. "Do you remember your safe word, sweet thing?"

I nod.

"Are you toying with me?"

I shake my head.

"Then why," he says, fixing me with a dark stare, "why are you saying no to me?"

I can feel myself blushing all over. "I can't do that. Not like this. You need to be on top."

"This?" he echoes. "I haven't asked you to do anything yet. You know what assuming does."         

     



 

My arms are hugging my torso protectively. "I know exactly what you want  me to do, and I'm saying I can't." I swallow hard, hating myself.  "Please just … don't make me."

Adrian sits up, scooting closer to me and touching my elbow. "Did you have a bad experience?"

I shake my head.

"What, then?"

Biting my lip, I stare at the mattress. "I just don't want to. I don't … I don't want you to see me like that."

To his credit, he stifles a laugh. But I can still tell that he wants to.

"It's not funny," I insist.

"I know it's not." His hand rests on my arm, not grabbing, not  insisting, just reminding me of his presence. "I won't force you to do  this, Meg. I can't. But if you do … I promise it'll at least make a dent  in that insecurity of yours."

Slowly, I look up at him. His eyes are shining, and his tongue flicks  out to wet his lips. And despite the fact that I've basically dumped a  bucket of cold water on the proceedings, he's still very, very visibly  aroused.

"Why?" I whisper, although I already know the answer.

"Because," he says, a little hoarsely. "I fucking want this. I've wanted  it since I met you. I thought you might hesitate, so I never brought it  up." He swallows, hard, and I notice the pulse point by his throat,  notice how quickly it throbs. "Think about it, Meg. You won't have any  room to doubt how sexy you are, with my face buried between your legs  like that, and my cock in your mouth. You'll feel it. Every twitch and  throb from how fucking amazing it'll feel to taste you like that, to  devour you like that, so you're all I can taste and smell. You'll never,  ever doubt my desire again."

Fuck it.

I feel drunk as I lean down to kiss him, and he gives me a little sneak  preview of the coming attractions with his tongue darting into my mouth.  But he pulls away quickly, anxious, wanting. Wanting me. Wanting to be  so completely surrounded by me in the most intimate way possible, and  yeah, that's a pretty enticing thought.

He crawls back on the bed and I turn around, situating myself just  right, my heart squeezing painfully in my chest as I kneel on either  side of his shoulders. I hate that I can't see his face.

"Is this okay?" I whisper, staring at his legs, at his erection straining towards me.

"Lower," he murmurs, his exhale brushing against my sensitive flesh.

I go lower.

He grasps my hips, pulling me onto his tongue. My whole body jumps like a  live wire, an unearthly noise coming from the back of my throat. My  toes actually curl.

"Oh, God," I groan, pitching forward, almost forgetting what I'm  supposed to do while I'm here. I can hear him chuckle, feel him chuckle,  and he lets go his grip, lifts me up just enough to speak.

"Not bad, hmm?"

He's a little smug, but I can forgive that.

"Yeah," I breathe, clutching handfuls of the sheets. "More."

"Quid pro quo, Clarice."

"This is probably the worst time to make a Hannibal Lecter joke, you  kn … .oohhhh." He's pulled me back in, and I barely remember words  anymore.

But I do remember how much I want to make him feel just one fraction of  what he's doing for me. I lean forward, licking and sucking him into my  mouth, and his groan vibrates through my core. Fuck, he's right. I can  feel his every reaction to this, and it's beyond amazing. He grows even  harder and thicker in my mouth, his shaft pulsing and jumping every time  my inner muscles clench.