I raise my eyebrows at Brock. “Didn’t you say you needed to get something from your house before work tomorrow?”

“Well, I guess we’ll need to get up early then, won’t we? We can swing by there on the way into the office.” He shoots me a playful grin.

“I’m really not much of a morning person. If you want me at peak performance in the office, I’m not really sure it’s such a good idea to have me wake up at the crack of dawn,” I protest, despite the smile playing on my lips.

I have to admit, the idea of Brock in my bed—preferably naked—sounds appealing, to say the least. Last night was amazing. I can’t help but wonder how much better it would be if we did it on a surface softer than the wooden planks of an old dock.

“Oh, I know all about your morning proclivities, Little Miss Late-on-Her-First-Day-of-Work,” he teases. “In fact, that’s all the more reason for me to stay over tonight, just so I can make sure you wake up on time.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Oh? So you’ll be doing that for me then? Waking me up, I mean. No need for me to set an alarm, right?”

Brock’s gaze darts down, and a smile curves his lips. Hunger flashes in his eyes. “You know, when you fold your arms like that, it makes your tits look amazing.”

I stare at him and turn around, starting to walk toward the entrance to my apartment building before he can see the smile I can no longer hide.

“Hey, wait!” Brock takes a few strides with his long legs and quickly catches up, grabbing me around the waist and staring me in the eyes. “To answer your question, yes, I’ll be waking you up in the morning. That’s just the kind of boss I am. Understanding. Thinks outside of the box. When my assistant needs help, I’m not afraid to roll up my sleeves and get down and dirty.”

My heart skips a beat. “Down and dirty, huh?”

I scrabble for the door handle behind me, trying to somehow get it open. It’s not the easiest of tasks because I’m currently distracted by Brock’s hands running all over my body and his insistent lips crushed against mine.

I break off the kiss for a moment. “Give me a second, Brock, unless you want do it right here in the hallway.”

He pulls away a little, but the naughty gleam in his eyes tells me my words didn’t have the effect I was hoping for. “That sounds like it could be kind of fun.”

“I shouldn’t have given you any ideas.” I laugh and turn around to give the door my full attention—how is this so hard? Then Brock kisses the back of my neck, and my laughter ends with a sharp gasp.

I fumble for my keys with trembling hands and eventually succeed in getting the door open. Brock pounces on me with all he’s got as soon as we’re inside, slamming the front door shut behind him with one foot as he lifts me off my feet and into another passionate embrace.

Without even bothering to turn on any lights, he carries me over to a wall and spreads my legs apart, grinding his already hard cock against me, growling with desire as his lips roam over the sensitive flesh of my neck and upper chest.

In an impressive display of contortionism, he manages to somehow shrug his shirt off as he kisses me. I feast my eyes on his hard, sculpted body, still somehow scarcely able to believe that a guy who looks like this wants little old me.

Less thinking. More fucking.

I take off my blouse and manage to get my bra off, my nipples already pert. Brock’s eyes are drawn to them. He dips his head and hungrily takes them between his lips, nibbling and suckling, gently at first but then more insistent.

He makes deep appreciative noises in the back of his throat as he enjoys my body, and the sound of it spurs me on; I can feel the wetness of my need between my legs.

He sets me down on the floor and pulls off the rest of his clothes, shrugging them off and throwing them to one side in a pile.

I follow his lead, my eyes never leaving his body, drawn to his big, hard cock. In just a little while, I’ll get to have it again, have him again.

He stalks up to me again, both of us naked this time. His ravenous eyes devour me alive. I shiver under the intensity of that gaze, the pure need in his eyes.

He reaches me and pushes me back against the wall again, his insistent fingers reaching downwards, seeking and finding my slick folds.

My eyes roll back, and I whimper as his fingers arrive at my slick, swollen clit.

“Does that feel good?” he asks as his skillful fingers dance between my legs.

“Oh, yes,” I pant. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He rubs me in tiny circles, building me up and up until I’m a quivering, gasping mass of jelly, completely under his control. Every brush of his fingertips sends crackles of electric ecstasy through me.

While his fingers work their magic, his tongue and lips explore the rest of my body. His strong body is pressed against me, the heat of him, the sensation of his hard flesh rubbing against mine . . . I’m overwhelmed by this sensory overload, and all I can do is lean back against the wall and try not to fall into a heap on the floor.

Higher and higher he brings me, up toward my peak. My eyes are closed, and my mouth moves silently, only the occasional whimper escaping from between my lips. At every step of the way, he seems to know exactly what to do, exactly how to keep me just where he wants me.

I can feel my climax building, like a coiled spring low in my belly. I lean my head forward and rest it on his shoulder, panting and gasping, but then he suddenly stops, bringing his hand away from my desperate clit.

“Don’t stop,” I gasp. “I’m so close.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Brock smirks, desire written all over his gorgeous face. “I’m going to make you come . . . but not yet.”

I whimper in frustration, but that quickly turns into a yelp as he sweeps me up off my feet again in a thrilling display of strength. He carries me effortlessly over to the couch and places me on it, reaching over to one side and flicking on the lamp.

“I need to see you,” he says, his eyes heavy with lust. “All of you. It was so dark last night, I couldn’t enjoy you like I wanted to.”

He spreads my legs and looks down at me with those intense, ravenous eyes of his.

“Touch yourself for me,” he rumbles. “Rub that wet pussy for me.”

I obey his command, dipping my hand between my thighs, building myself back up to where he so cruelly left me moments before. He watches, a look of satisfaction on his face as my fingers get busy.

It doesn’t feel as good as when he does it, but I still get a thrill from having him watch me. He wraps his hand around his thick, pulsing cock, stroking himself up and down as he enjoys the show I’m putting on for him. He does it slowly at first, just massaging himself, but then faster and faster, like he can’t help himself.

“Am I doing it right?” I whimper, arching my hips toward him. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Oh God, yes,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

He grips the length of his erection with both hands, working his shaft as his eyes never leave my fluttering fingers. I arch my back again, desperate to have him, eager to have him slide that gorgeous cock into me. I want every last inch of him.

The thought of it almost pushes me over the edge, my climax building once more, and Brock notices. He grabs my wrists and pins my arms above my head.

“Not yet, gorgeous. Not until I say.” He grips his cock and slides into me, making me scream out. No need to be quiet here.

It’s a release of emotion as I wrap my legs around his waist. I want him even deeper inside, as deep as he can go.

He never lets go of my wrists, pinning me down, controlling me, claiming me as his own. Our lips are locked together as we move as one, our bodies and minds coming together. He’s all that exists for me in that moment—nothing else matters. Just his body and mine, and our passion for one another.

He fucks me harder and faster, and I’m trying to hold it back, but I can’t. I can’t. He’s too much, too fast, too big.

With one final thrust, he roars, and I feel his hot seed spray into me in great spurts.

That’s it. That’s the final straw. The last thing that pushes me inexorably over the edge.

He continues to pin me down as my body convulses and pulses, wracked by spasms again and again until I have nothing left to give.

I lay under him, gasping, feeling him grow soft, still inside me. He pulls out and collapses next to me with an exhausted grin.

“Did you enjoy me like you wanted to?” I ask him, sleepily.

“Oh yeah,” he says between gasps. “Fuck yeah.”

He kisses me gently on the forehead and pulls me into a tender embrace, and that’s where we stay, on the couch. I fall asleep, soothed by the rise and fall of his chest.

The rest of the week passes by in a blur of happiness.

We split our time between his place and mine. He takes me out on dates every evening—sometimes for dinner, sometimes for drinks or a show, but we’re always together.

On the days that we don’t eat out, he cooks for me—and it turns out he’s a great cook.

“I learned from my mom,” he says. “She couldn’t live with herself if her children couldn’t cook. She made sure I knew how to make a few basic dishes before I left for college, and I just sort of built up my repertoire from there.”

My own attempts mostly end in disaster, but he still politely eats whatever I make him. I laugh one evening as he makes a face tasting my bolognese, before quickly rearranging his features and smiling with a thumbs up.

“Stop it!” I laugh. “It’s horrible. I know it’s horrible; you know it’s horrible.”

He concedes defeat after another mouthful. “It’s uh . . . well, it could use some work.”

“How very diplomatic of you,” I tease. “I have some take-out menus here. What do you want? Thai?”

“Sounds great,” he says. “How long does it take them to deliver?”

I check my watch. “Around a half hour?”

“Perfect,” he murmurs, kissing me on the neck as I order over the phone, desperately trying to keep my voice level as his exploring hands roam over my body.

Things are . . . interesting at work, too. He’s still got his authoritarian streak, is still a massive pain in the ass with how particular he is about how some things need to be done, but there’s a whole new element to it now.

I feel a little thrill as he orders me to do this or that, forcing myself to resist the urge to turn around and kiss him. Luckily I manage to succeed because while fucking your boss at home is one thing, doing it in the office is quite another . . .

But Brock doesn’t have the same scruples as me.

He drags me into the supply closet one afternoon. And when we emerge a short while later, I spend the rest of the day thinking everyone is going to be able to smell the sex on me. Brock doesn’t help by winking at me every time he catches my eyes for the rest of the afternoon.

All of my previous reservations about him melt away. Being with him isn’t like I had imagined . . . it’s even better. I had wanted to protect myself from him, protect myself from being hurt by him, but that doesn’t even seem like a vague possibility.

I’m blissfully, deliriously happy, and it seems like he is too.

I can’t quite believe how lucky I am.