You Melted Me

Leland Whitacre -- the Leland Whitacre -- bent over my cock. The weight of his shoulder pushed me beneath him, down and into the mattress. My head spun; my pulse thundered in my ears.

My boss.

The man who signed my paychecks, or rather paid Bess Starkey in Personnel to handle the payroll that included my salary.

Leland fucking Whitacre.

Skating his mouth down my chest.

And heading straight for my dick.

Oh Christ.

“Shh, Brian,” he said at my broken moan. My stomach clenched at the heat of his breath on my skin. “Let me take care of you.”

Sure.

Like he’d taken care of me for the past two months? Sweaty groping in empty offices after hours and stolen lunches in discount hotels? My own fault for flirting after I caught him checking out my ass once I’d been promoted from data entry to the secretarial pool on the executive floor. My fault for giving into him again and again after my please-fuck-me smile had resulted in me bent over his desk with my Dockers around my ankles that first night in his office.

My fault for mistaking sex for something more.

God knows the girls had tried to warn me. Not that I’d needed office gossip to confirm the wicked glitter in his dark eyes was the mark of a player. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that fucking one of my bosses was every conceivable level of stupid, either.

It hadn’t mattered.

One look from him had wiped every iota of common sense from my skull. And it still did. Evidence A for the Prosecution: I was needy, naked and squirming for more under the heavy press of his body when I’d sworn it wouldn’t happen again. When I’d promised to be stronger. That this time, I’d resist.

Two minutes of his kisses under the mistletoe in the break room was all it’d taken to disintegrate my resolve. Even now, writhing and sweating out my arousal, I was proud of that. Two minutes. Not one. Two. I hadn’t crumbled under the first kiss, when his tongue had traced the crease of my lips, or even the next, when his sharp white teeth had nipped my bottom lip the way he knew I liked.

I’d fallen just the same, though. Hard. Like the fat snowflakes that plummeted from the gray sky to blanket the city. I hadn’t spoken a word in protest when he’d guided me from break room to parking lot, nor had I refused the branding warmth of his hand on my thigh as his Laredo had crunched through acres of snow to reach this empty, echoing condo on the other side of town.

I was such an easy slut for him.

And damn it, Leland knew it.

I yipped when he bit down on the tender skin between my thigh and groin. “Stay with me, sweetheart.” His lube-slick fingers dug into my hips like talons to hold me still as I wriggled. “Did you miss me?” He buried his nose in my bush of blond pubic hair and sucked in a deep breath. “I know you did. Tell me you missed me.”

No.

God, no.

I trembled, senses whirling as he rooted through the springy curls to tongue the base of my cock, but no matter the torture of his mouth on my dick, I wouldn’t say it. Not that I needed to. We both knew the truth.

Of course, I’d missed him.

With every beat of my broken heart.

He had not, apparently, broken my dick, though. I fisted my hands in the sheet covering the sparse mattress and groaned out wanton lust as he worked his way up the length of my cock, lips skimming over me so good I fought against his grip to push closer.

“Brian?” he rumbled, voice tight in warning.

Fuck pride.

I didn’t need pride.

I needed his mouth on me. “Please.”