Rob and I shower together, playing in the water, touching, exploring, soaping bare skin and rinsing off the suds. We towel each other dry, Rob’s vigorous rubbing jiggling my curves, warming me all over.

Then we dress, preparing for a Sunday spent at the office. Suits are a requirement at all times, the darker, the better. I don my favorite black skirt suit. Rob chooses the same shade.

We look like a couple and this pleases me.

On the way to Powers Corporation, we stop at a coffee shop, pick up coffees and breakfast sandwiches. We eat and drink in the car while heatedly discussing whether eggs are better paired with bacon or with sausage. Rob is adorably insistent that his clearly wrong stance is right. I want to suck on his sausage-coated tongue, taste his inappropriate choice for myself.

But I can’t because, when we arrive at the office, the Maserati isn’t the only vehicle in the parking garage. The company limousine is positioned across three spots. John Powers, our huge, hulking workaholic CEO, trails Trella Grant, his tiny and much beloved assistant, as she walks toward the elevators.

“He wants to talk to me.” Rob moves to my side of the vehicle, opens my door, holds out his hand.

I grasp his fingers, allowing him to help me out of the car. “It could be a coincidence.”

“This is John Powers. There are no coincidences.”

That is true. Our CEO is deliberate about every action.

We walk toward them, hand in hand. Rob isn’t hiding our relationship. Pride meshes with my apprehension. His boss will comment on it.

Or maybe he won’t. Powers doesn’t make small talk.

As we near them, the elevator doors open. Powers pokes his head into the small space, looks around, gestures to his assistant to enter. She claims the rear right corner. Her boss stands directly in front of her, blocking her from our sight.

Rob guides me to the left, positioning himself next to his boss. “Powers.” His voice is curt.

“Reyes.” Powers studies him, his gaze lowering to our linked fingers. “I assume this puts an end to that bullshit about you leaving us. I won’t be hearing anything more about you working for Logan Ross, that pain-in-the-ass friend of yours.”

Rob tightens his grip on my hand. “That step is no longer necessary.”

He was thinking of leaving the company? I gawk at him, surprised as hell. Rob seems happy at Powers Corporation. He respects his boss, enjoys the autonomy he’s earned, the challenges of finding financing for billion dollar builds.

“And the assistant situation is now under control?” Powers asks.

Rob lifts his chin, meets his boss’s gaze squarely. “There’s no assistant situation.”

Powers glares at Rob. Rob glares back. He might report to the man but he’s no subordinate, no weak-assed yes-man.

Trella murmurs, her words too low for me to hear.

Powers nods. “As long as your performance isn’t compromised, you can manage your department however the hell you want.”

Rob stiffens even more. “My department always reaches its goals.”

He’s such an arrogant bastard. I stifle my grin.

The conversation shifts to a less hostile yet no less curt discussion of interest rates and U.S. dollar hedging. Powers pauses often to consult Trella.

This is how an executive-assistant relationship should work. The assistant supplies facts—numbers, data, history, allowing the executive to make informed decisions. One person looks at details. The other person considers the big picture. Combined, they form a complete view of the situation.

Rob is alone, missing half of this team. I’m unable to help him, not knowing where the information he needs resides in the company databases. Mrs. Bellows isn’t here. He’s at a disadvantage.

And this pisses me off. He should use his damn assistant. Mrs. Bellows trained Trella. She could match the younger woman’s skill, give him the backup he needs.

The doors open at the Finance floor. Rob and I exit. Powers and Trella remain in the elevator, the CEO working on the top floor.

I stomp down the hallway, fuming. “What the hell are you doing, Rob? Your boss has his assistant by his side, feeding him information, and you’re flying solo. You look like a jackass.”

“I can hold my own with Powers.” He matches my stride.

“Barely.” I roll my eyes. “And only because you’re so damn intelligent. You need your assistant. There’s a reason every executive has one. You can’t do this job alone.”

“I know I can’t do this alone.” He sounds exasperated. “That’s why you’re here.”

“I can’t help you as much as Mrs. Bellows can.” I don’t have the knowledge, the history.

We turn the corner. Three of Powers Corporation’s top salespeople linger outside Rob’s office. They’re clad in power suits, their expressions intense, their mouths and hands moving. I’m guessing they’re aligning their pitches on creative unit financing.

“We’ll talk about this later.” Rob brushes the back of his hand against mine and pleasure shoots up my arm.

We’ll talk about quite a few things later. I summon a smile, greet the salesmen, distracting them as Rob enters his office, giving him an opportunity to log in to his computer and pull the required facts.

As his meeting starts, I work on his double booked schedule and think about our encounter with John Powers. Rob considered leaving the company. I’ll ask him about that after his meetings are done for the day.

There’s also an ‘assistant situation.’ That could be a reference to me, to Rob wanting an assistant for his assistant, a position existing in no other department. My tapping on the keyboard increases in speed. Had Powers known Rob wanted me? Had Rob fought for the ability to hire me, to fuck me?

I send Rob a message.

<KirstenCourt: Did you tell Powers you wanted me?>

I don’t have to wait long for a response.

<RobertReyes: I never mentioned your name. I wouldn’t disrespect you that way>

Part of me already realized this.

<KirstenCourt: Why were you considering leaving Powers Corp?>

There’s a long pause.

<RobertReyes: We’ll talk about this later.>

It’s not like him to avoid a topic. I leave it alone, concentrate on the mess he created, booking his weekends for the rest of the month.

Lunch is pizza and salad. He eats with the attendees of his noon meeting. I nibble away while staring at the screen. Dessert squares are devoured in the afternoon, Chinese food for dinner. We work, our time between meetings brief and frustratingly public.

Then the countdown begins.

<RobertReyes: 1hr, beautiful>

I smile. He’s thinking about me, about what we’ll do after the last person leaves. I consider what to offer, how to intrigue him.

I want this to be special, a proposal he can only get from me.

My gaze lowers to my generous chest.

<KirstenCourt: Business 1st. Decision to make>

I wiggle.

<RobertReyes: Make it for me>

I frown.

<KirstenCourt: You don’t know what the decision is>

That should intrigue him.

<RobertReyes: Doesn’t matter what it is. I trust you>

He’s a top executive and he’s allowing me to use his tremendous power and influence, no questions asked, no concerns about misuse.

I could authorize a salary increase for myself, for Mrs. Bellows, hell, for his entire department. I could trade his sleek black Maserati for a pastel-pink Volkswagen Beetle. I could invite his mother and father to his place for dinner, sending a signal to them that Rob’s serious about me, that he wants me for more than a convenience fuck.

He knows I won’t do this but I could. He’s given me the authorization.

<RobertReyes: Let me know what decision you make & I will support it>

Oh, I’ll tell him, alright.

<KirstenCourt: We’re celebrating end of meetings with a titty fuck>

I count to five, allowing him to absorb this revelation.

<KirstenCourt: You’ll come down my throat. Not waste a drop>

I grin.

<RobertReyes: I FULLY support your decision>

Laughter bubbles in my throat. I thought he might approve.

I hum as I work. The seven o’clock meeting ends. I exchange a heated gaze with my handsome executive, escort the meeting attendees out of the building, accompany the next meeting’s attendees to Rob’s office, eye fuck him some more, before returning to my desk.

My anticipation builds over the next half hour, my fingers dancing over the keys, my ass squirming in my chair.

Rob’s last meeting ends five minutes early. He exits his office, a gleam in his brown eyes. “I’ll escort our guests out, Miss Court. Please prepare the room for the next meeting.”

That’s code for ‘get ready to be fucked silly.’

“Yes, sir.” I bounce out of my seat.

His office smells like expensive cologne, a heady mixture of scents. I undress, removing all of my clothing—my suit, bra, panties, even my shoes. Wandering around the space naked feels decadent, naughty. My toes sink into the thick soft carpet. The cool air tightens my nipples to hard points.

At first glance, Rob’s office appears like every other executive’s space. There’s the big desk, the black captain’s chair, two guest chairs, the wall of shelving on one end, the rectangular table with eight chairs on the other. The walls are decorated with the usual gold-framed photos of Powers Corporation properties.

Except there are books about art, not simply weighty volumes about tax codes and accounting policies, on his shelves, and there are people hidden in his photos.

In the bottom left-hand corner of the first photo, a tiny figure of a woman briskly pushes a stroller, her back straight, her stride long. It takes me several moments of intensive searching to find the old man staring forlornly out of a window in the second photo. In the third photo, a uniformed security guard maneuvers through the revolving doors. He’s a shadow behind the glass, there, yet not.

Why is he drawn to photos with people in them? I don’t know. Robert Reyes is a complicated man. It would take a woman a lifetime to figure him out.

Figuring out what he’ll want when he returns to the office takes less time. I lie down on the carpet, arrange my long dark hair in a halo around my face, spread my legs and arms, a sacrificial virgin on the altar of sex.

The door opens, closes, locks. A long broad shadow falls over me. I smile serenely up at Rob. His eyes are black with desire. The ridge in his dress pants is unmistakable. His hands are bunched in his pockets.

His gaze drifts down my reclined form, moving from my face to my bare toes, pausing on my lips, breasts, mons. “You’re stunning, Kirsten.”

“I’m yours.” My voice is husky. “Take me.”

“I won’t take you. I’ll worship you.” He crouches at my side. “You’re a goddess and goddesses deserve offerings.”

“What do you have for me?” I look pointedly at his groin.

“That will be my second offering.” Rob removes his hands from his pockets, presenting a flat leather box. “This is my first.” He opens the box, revealing a teardrop pendant hanging from a silver chain. The black stone is surrounded by diamonds.

“Rob.” I sit upright. He’s giving this gorgeous necklace to me?

“It’s onyx, very rare.” He removes it from the box. I lift my hair and he fastens the clasp, the chain a shimmer of cold against my skin. “I saw it and knew I had to buy it for you, my dark-eyed beauty.”

Am I his? I lower once again to the carpet, the pendant heavy between my breasts. “Where did you see it?”

We’ve been together since Friday night. When did he have time to shop?

“I spotted it in Paris.” Rob strips off his shirt jacket, loosens his tie. “In a tiny shop on a cobblestone side street. It shone under the streetlights, calling to me.”

“Was that during the real estate summit?” That was months ago.

He nods. “Those days without you seemed endless.” He drops the strip of silk on the carpet and unbuttons his shirt. His chest is tanned, his muscles defined. “I listened to your French lessons every night.” His abs ripple with his movement. “Tu es un salaud.”

“You are a bastard.” I grin. I’d spent hours making those recordings. “Did that come in handy?”

“Strangely, no.” His shirt floats to the floor, the white cotton billowing. “The French have a reputation for rudeness yet didn’t curse me out once.” Rob kicks off his shoes. “I was disappointed.”

I laugh. “I made up for the lack of cursing when you returned home.”

“Because you missed me.” He unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants.

“Because I missed you.” I cup my breasts. The pendant glitters between them, beautiful, even more precious because it came from him. “No one argues with me like you do.”

“It’s one of my many talents.” Rob pushes his pants and boxer shorts to his ankles. His cock is hard, long and mouthwateringly thick. “You’re about to discover another one.” He discards his socks.

“Oh yeah.” I lift one eyebrow. “Are you skilled at titty fucking?”

“I should be skilled at loving your breasts.” He straddles my waist with his feet, standing over me, proudly naked. “I’ve envisioned them often enough.”

I rub my palms over his shins, savoring the strength in his form. “Then show me what you’ve got.”

“I will.” Rob lowers to his knees. “I’ll impress the hell out of you.” I inhale sharply as his hot skin touches mine. His weight presses down, restraining me, and my arousal escalates.

I expect him to rush our encounter, the hours of waiting having primed both of us for fast, furious sex. Instead, he burrows his face between my curves, squeezing my breasts around him, his breath wafting over me.

I hold him to my chest, threading my fingers through his soft, silky hair. Rob rests there, nearly smothered by my voluptuousness, his form relaxed, still.

He’s had a long day and needs this comfort, a soothing only I can give him. I pet his hair, his neck, his broad shoulders, inhaling his woodsy cologne.

“You are a goddess.” Rob presses his lips to the onyx pendant. “Your curves humble me, bring me to my knees.”

“Literally.” I grin.

His lips curl upward. “Literally.” He outlines my right breast with the flat of his tongue, his flesh wet, rough. I tremble, feeling his adoration to the tips of my toes.

His circles slowly decrease, too slowly, his leisurely pace driving me insane. I arch under him, pushing my chest upward, trying to speed his progress.

Rob won’t be rushed, exploring every inch of my breast, savoring me with his tongue and lips and mouth. Sensations flood my mind, moistening my bare pussy.

“Rob?” I wiggle under him, needing more.

“I’m honoring you.” He covers my nipple with his lips.

God. This honoring is slaying me. I explore his shoulder blades, stroke his back, my body on fire, set ablaze by his touch. He sucks, drawing me into his mouth.

I squirm. The tug and pull is divine. I feel it down to my pussy.

My passion rises quickly, his homage to my form too sure, too good. I shake, needing a little more, a little—

The bastard releases my nipple, stops his ravishment, and gazes at me, his eyes gleaming with lust, his hair mussed.

“Rob.” I growl, frustrated as hell. “I need that titty fuck.” I push my hips upward.

“Worship shouldn’t be rushed.” He nuzzles against my neglected left breast, the hint of stubble on his chin grazing my skin, warming all of me.

“This is torture, not worship.”

“Let me rectify that.” He extends his tongue, flicks the taut tip, and I jerk, pleasure radiating from this point. “I’ll appease you.”

He laves this part of me again and again, bathing me in heat. Sparks fly in my brain.

“Rob.” The room fills with my cries, the sounds of our efforts echoing off the walls.

His hardness presses against my stomach and I should reach for my horny executive, pleasure him as he’s pleasuring me but I don’t have the mental bandwidth, my focus on his tongue, his hands. A current of arousal rushes from my breasts to my pussy and back again.

“Rob.” My form pulls unbearably tight. “Please.” I can’t stand it. He has to do something, has to ease this sexual tension within me.

“I know what you need, Kirsten.” He seals his lips around my nipple and inhales, drawing more and more breast into his hot mouth.

That won’t do it. I need—

He nips me with his teeth.

“Rob.” The room explodes with color and sound. Too much. I throw myself upward, hit a wall of flesh. Fuck. I twist and turn, trying to escape. Rob doesn’t let me go. He contains my wild release, sucks my breast harder. This pressure extends my orgasm, draining the energy from my body and the thoughts from my brain until there’s nothing left.

“I’m done.” I slump. “So done.” My words are slurred, my vision blurry. He made me come with breast play alone. Who does that?

My fuckin’ boss, that’s who.