“Excellent decision driving back, Jameson. I can’t possibly imagine why this would be a terrible idea,” Brenna, my drop-dead gorgeous, usually maintenance-free personal assistant snaps at me from the passenger seat.
While yes, it’s my fault we’re in a car instead of a plane, it is for good reason. Between business, travel, and leisure, I’ve been a pretty terrible son to the amazing people who raised me and passed down the family business—Chancellor Chemicals—when they retired. When I realized the conference Brenna and I attended just happened to be a short drive to my parents’ place, I knew it was a sign from God— “go visit your parents, you ingrate!”
I knew Brenna wouldn’t be happy about exchanging the second leg of our round-trip, first-class tickets for an SUV. I also knew I’d need a damn good excuse to offer her because there was no way I was admitting it took me so long to figure out I was a mere twenty-minute drive from my parents’, so I dodged her inquiries at least three times. But deep down, and pushing me right back into “sub-par son” territory, the biggest reason I’d done it was to be around her. Wanted her at my side for the entire weekend. I’m a selfish man, and I won’t apologize.
“It’s not that bad. We’ll be back before you know it,” I respond, less than truthfully. The forecast had called for snow, but I’m quite certain at no point did the weather man say, “Stockpile water, canned food, and extra blankets.” The bastard flakes now falling are bigger than a quarter in size and coming down faster than the wiper blades can dispose of them.
The smart thing to do would have been camping out at my parents’, but I didn’t think Brenna would go for it. They hit it off pretty well, but I wouldn’t say Brenna’d be comfortable sleeping in a stranger’s guest room.
“Do you think if we turned around we could find a hotel or something?” Brenna asks, as if reading my mind, knowing we should take cover.
“No,” I answer honestly. “Between the holidays, the convention, and being in such a rural area, I’m pretty sure any hotels that actually exist around here are booked. You’re more than welcome to check Google and call, though. I wouldn’t mind getting off the roads. They’re getting bad.”
“Well, that’s a hard no.” I glance over at Brenna, who’s just thrown her phone to the floorboard and crossed her arms over her chest. “No service. Not even one tiny bar. Great.”
Having grown up with three sisters, I refuse to verbally acknowledge her tantrum and continue driving down the highway, never going faster than thirty miles per hour. This is going to be the longest ride back to Chicago ever, and Brenna’s never going to let me live it down. The snow’s falling faster by the minute, and I’m starting to feel a bit nervous.
Neither one of us changed our clothes after the convention was over, which shouldn’t matter, except when Brenna decides there’s something in the backseat she needs more than the safety of her seatbelt. That’s when it becomes a thing.
“Move your arm,” she quips, and I wordlessly move my elbow from the console between our seats. The tight, form-fitting, black skirt—which seemed professionally appropriate during my speech and dinner—bunches up over her thighs as she squeezes herself through the small gap. Dangerous road conditions joined by her dangerous curves are a beyond-hazardous combination.
It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to run my hand up her thigh and feel the contrast between the nude stockings and skin that I’d be willing to bet a million dollars is softer than silk.
She finally gets settled back down in her seat and when she clicks her belt in place, her eyes catch mine. “What are you staring at? Watch the road, Jameson.”
I suppose I’m a lunatic with a death wish, my eyes drifting back down to her skirt which has now ridden up even higher. And fuck me...from this angle, the thin lace strap of her garter shows. God damn, that’s sexy.
With a lift of her ass off the seat, she pulls the hem of her skirt down and crosses her legs at the ankle. “It’s a garter belt, Jameson. Lingerie. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. Can you get back to driving us home now? I’d like to make it back before Christmas.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I chuckle. “I would’ve never guessed you to be so...feisty? Maybe that’s not the right word, but you’ve sure been mouthy on this trip.”
“Am I on the clock?” she asks.
“If, by that, you mean are you getting paid, then yes, I suppose you are.”
“Then I have nothing else to say.”
“Okay, I’ll play along. No, you’re off the clock. Everyone’s entitled to a break, and you’ve not taken one in way too long.”
“Good,” she retorts, shifting in her seat to face me. I angle my head to watch her and the road, but she corrects my posture. “Road, Jameson. Watch it. I’m not dying because you want to have a face to face.” I smile and do as she asks. Never thought I’d see the day when I took orders from my assistant.
“Now, as far as my garter belt is concerned, it was an accident that you saw it, but it was definitely purposeful that your stare lingered just a little too long. I’m your assistant, you’re my boss. I’d very much appreciate it if you’d keep your eyes on my work, not on my assets.”
“I agree. And concede. But, in my defense, I am a man, and your assets were within inches of my face. I’d be doing the entire male population a disservice if I didn’t pause to appreciate what you bring to the table.” I smirk, unchecked. For so long I’ve fought, ignored, and denied my attraction to Brenna—now it’s the hot topic and I’m thoroughly enjoying it.
She groans in frustration but continues her rant. “Secondly, I’m not mouthy. I’m pissed. Big difference. We could’ve been home hours ago. Or at least, I could’ve been home hours ago. My presence wasn’t required for the visit with your parents. That was personal time. Yes, I know you’ll compensate me, but still, I could’ve flown home. Don’t get me wrong, your parents were lovely, but you should’ve at least asked if I minded before you pulled in their driveway.”
“You’re right.” I nod curtly, unable to conjure up a legitimate argument.
“I’m right?” I risk a swift glance at her face, only to see it slightly contorted in shocked confusion, as if she didn’t think she’d win that argument so quickly or easily. Finally, after a moment, she amends her question into a statement. “I know I’m right. That’s why I said it.”
“Jameson, listen. I get it. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I’m at your beck and call, never questioning anything, and do exactly as I’m told. I’d like to think I’m a pretty perfect assistant. But this time, you took advantage of my amicability and used it to your personal benefit. I’m not your wife or girlfriend. I get paid to do an array of services, none of which include things you should be doing on your own, like visiting your parents. Especially when I’m sure they would’ve preferred spending quality time alone with you. This isn’t the first time you’ve done it, either. Remember...”
She goes on, but to be honest, I kind of block her out after hitting a patch of black ice. Luckily, I recover quickly enough that she doesn’t seem to notice. When I do finally focus back on what she’s saying, she’s reeling off quite the list.
“I type memos, manage your calendar, write your speeches, pick up your dry cleaning, and...anything else you all too often decide you need done. I, however, am not your date for corporate functions or dinner parties. Are we clear, going forward, as to what my expectations of this job are, and where they begin and finish?”
After hearing that last part, my last thread of tolerance is frayed. This went from a playful discussion to her dictating her job duties to me. As far as I’m concerned, a personal assistant does what’s requested of them. And while there’s no formal description of her responsibilities written up, I’m almost positive that I get to decide them as I see fit. After all, I pay her well over five figures.
“Okay, I get it. Sorry about staring at your ass. But this whole thing about you deciding, after months of working for me, what you’re willing to do and not do should have been discussed during your interview and our meetings, not while we’re driving in a fucking blizzard. If you’d like, file a grievance when we get back. And that’s the last of this conversation we’ll have.”
“Jameson!” she screams, not out of anger, but rather fear. I whip my head back toward the road and see a jackknifed semi-truck dead ahead.
With all my might, I firm a death grip on the steering wheel and slam on the brakes. The car begins to skid. The rear end sways to the right, leaving Brenna’s side vulnerable to impact, which cannot happen. Now pumping the brakes to safely slow us down, I counter-steer through the fishtail. As if God’s watching out for us, the SUV stops just inches from the semi, our passenger side landing in a ditch.
Shoving the car in park, I quickly unbuckle and reach over to pull Brenna away from the door, where gravity has her pinned.
“Are you okay?” My voice shakes as I ask. Her eyes are wide open, as is her mouth. I run my hands frantically over her body and from what I can tell so far, she doesn’t seem to have any major injuries, but she’s in shock and not responding to my question.
“Brenna?” I soften my voice. “Look at me, sweetie.” She still doesn’t answer...or move.
“Brenna!” I repeat frantically this time, using a gentle hand to slowly and carefully turn her head toward mine. When our eyes meet, I notice a small cut above her right eyebrow, but it’s not bleeding too badly. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt? Talk to me, sweetheart.”
“Are we dead?” she asks, and I can’t help my faint smile.
“No, honey, we’re not dead. But you have to answer me. Are you hurt anywhere?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe my head, a little bit. How’d we manage not to die? And why are we sideways?”
She’s lucid and a bit funny. Thank God.
“I put the car into the ditch instead of into the semi. Not the greatest idea, since we’re stuck here until help arrives, but at least we get to live to see another day.”
Brenna nods her head and goes back to staring out the window at what could have been the site of our demise. I need to call into roadside for help. Pulling out my phone, I unlock the screen and see nothing but a little ‘X’ over where the service signal should be. Nothing. Reaching over and around Brenna, I find her phone and get the same results.
Not ideal, but not catastrophic, either. Surely the semi driver has service on his radio. “Brenna.” She looks over at me. “I’m going to go ask the truck driver to call in for help. Will you wait here? Stay safe?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Good girl. I’ll be right back. Do. Not. Move.”
“I won’t.”
The second I step out of the SUV, I wish like hell I had more than a suit jacket and loafers on as I make my way to the semi through the rapidly accumulating snow. Climbing the steps, nearly slipping and falling, I knock on the window of the driver’s side. A few moments later, an older man emerges from the back of the cab and cracks the window.
“Hello, sir. My name’s Jameson Chancellor. Myself and my assistant, Brenna Dillinger, just wrecked a few feet away. Could I please use your radio to call for help?”
“Help’s on the way. It’s gonna be a while, though. Big accident up on 80 they’re trying to clear. Told me it’d probably be morning before they had someone able to get out this way.”
“Okay,” I drawl, trying not to panic. Staying in control is what I do best. Uncertainty and I don’t mesh well. “You seem calm enough. What’s your suggestion? I doubt I have enough gas to run the car all night, and it’s dangerously cold already, only going to get worse as night falls.”
“I can spare a blanket, but if it’s you and the girl...you say she’s your assistant?” I nod my head. “You might have to bust right past those professional lines, Mr. Chancellor. One blanket won’t be enough for the both of you and you’ll need to conserve body heat.”
I know exactly what he means—would’ve even without the “helpful” wagging of his eyebrows—but after the clear-as-hell discussion Brenna carried on about only moments before the wreck, I doubt stripping down with me is going to suddenly be listed in her “job description.” As I ponder on how the hell to save us tonight, the man disappears into the back and returns just as fast.
“I’ve got a few of these protein bars. The wife makes me take ‘em everywhere. Blood sugar problems. At least ya won’t starve.” He rolls the window down further and hands them to me, along with a quilt. “I have a few of ‘em,” he says, motioning to the blanket. “But I don’t have anybody to help keep me warm, so one is the best I can do.”
“It’s greatly appreciated, sir,” I say, taking the quilt and protein bars from him. “Will you please let me know if they radio you back and say help can come quicker?”
“Sure will. Stay safe over there.”
I all but run back to the SUV and jump into the driver’s seat. Placing the survival items on the console between us, I notice the color’s resurfaced in Brenna’s face and her pupils aren’t as dilated.
“I’ve got good news and bad news.”
“Bad first,” she demands.
“We’re probably going to be stuck here all night.”
“Well, then, what the hell’s the good news?” she scoffs, a little snort of “we’re fucked” included.
“I’ve got a blanket and dinner.”
“Jameson,” she groans, exasperated. “What exactly are we going to do with one blanket and a few protein bars?” She peers over at the gas gauge. “And with only a quarter tank of gas left, how long do you expect to stay warm? We’re going to freeze to death.” She visibly shivers at the thought.
“Well, the truck driver said the best way to stay warm without a source of heat is to use our bodies.”
“So basically more bad news? We have to snuggle together under this blanket?”
“Probably naked,” I add, bracing for her blowback.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is my life. Stranded in a snow storm and going to sleep naked, with my boss, under a single blanket to avoid certain death. This is the kind of shit they make movies about. What’s next? A masked freak with mommy issues slithers out of the woods with a chainsaw?”
“Tell you what,” I sigh. “While you toss confetti around your pity party, I’m going to get everything situated in the back so when we do run out of gas, we don’t waste time freezing our asses off having to do it then.”
Without waiting for her no doubt sarcastic response, I jump out the driver’s side and climb in the back. Tossing our bags in the trunk space, I start with the passenger side, pulling on the second-row seat lever and laying it flat. Moving across the SUV, I do the same with the other one until the back is one large, open space.
Next, I unzip my bag, pulling out some of my thicker clothing: sweatpants, a hoodie, and a sweater. After removing the drawstrings from the items that have them, I bunch everything up at the hatch of the trunk so no cold seeps in or warmth escapes. Tying both ends of the strings together, I make one long strand and button the collars of my dress shirts around it. Attaching each end to the built-in hooks on both sides of the vehicle, I accomplish a makeshift curtain in order to keep as much heat as possible in our refuge.
“What the hell are you doing back there, MacGyver?” Brenna asks with a snicker. Finally, she’s acting a little carefree again.
“Trying not to let you die so you can kill me later, when you’re at your best. You alright with that?”
“Sounds like a phenomenal plan, Mr. Chancellor. I like the way you think.”
Dumping the rest of the contents of my bag on the floor, I use all the remaining clothes to create an insulated bottom layer and pack everything else back in the duffle. Doing the same with Brenna’s things, I’m shocked to find a little pink bullet buried beneath her clothing. Since we’re stuck out here, about to be naked together in a matter of hours, I click the dial—filling the car with a loud, vibrating sound—just to see what kind of reaction I can get out of her. Kinda curious how hard I can make always-professional-always-a-hard-ass Brenna blush.
“Jameson?” she questions, voice hedged with nervous suspicion.
“Yes, Ms. Dillinger?” I taunt raspily.
“What, exactly, are you doing back there?”
“Not playing with your vibrator if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“You do know I’m going to kill you, right? Why are you even digging through my bag in the first place?”
“I’m using our clothes as insulation. I’m no meteorologist, but I’m thinking we can use all the extra warmth we can get.”
“I could’ve done that.”
“I’m having fun. Go back to whatever it was you were doing. Unless you need this?” I shove her vibrator forward and she quickly snatches it from my hand.
“I might, actually. An orgasm in near-death experiences never hurt anyone, now, did it? Might even take the edge off.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. All I can do is imagine Brenna hiking up her skirt, shoving her panties aside—which I’m sure are expensive lace, much like her stockings and garter—and fucking herself to orgasm...while I’m lurking behind this curtain of Armani dress shirts. What I wouldn’t give to watch—her back arched, head thrown back while she rides out the wave of pleasure. Listen—what sweet sounds does she makes when she comes? Smell it—the intoxicating scent of her arousal.
I shake away the torturous thoughts and adjust my aching cock, now rock hard against my zipper, and dig through the rest of her things. I decide the other panties and bras can be tucked away as they’re too skimpy to offer much heat to my constructed foundation. I do, however, find her other secret stash.
“Hey, Brenna?”
“Mmmhmmm?”
“Is there a reason you have a dozen mini bottles of booze in your bag?”
“Yep. You pissed me off with your announcement we were driving, so I emptied the mini bar in my room. I’m sure you won’t mind the extra seven-hundred dollars on the hotel bill.” She laughs, and I instantly feel conflicted. On one hand, I’m irritated she cost the company extra money. On the other hand, booze helps keep you warm, so I decide to chalk it up to “everything happens for a reason.”
With our clothing spread out, the curtain made, the draft blocked, and our bags tucked safely under the seats, I decide to stay put. Not only is it all fixed up back here, but I have to hide the massive erection in my pants from her somehow.
Before too long, the engine starts to sputter; we’ve finally run out of gas. Sighing, I rest my head against the window, immediately feeling the warmth in the car start to fade away. The sun’s already dipped beneath the horizon. Damn. I prepared for this as best I could with the tools at my disposal, but I still wish help would arrive sooner, or the gas would’ve lasted longer. Brenna’s shuffling around in the front seat pulls me from my thoughts.
“You should come back here, Brenna. It’ll be warmer if we both occupy the space.”
Her answer’s clear when her door opens and closes just as quickly as the process is repeated with the back one. Climbing inside, she surveys the makeshift lounge I’ve created.
“Not bad. Hopefully, it works.” If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I hear a hint of approval in her voice.
“There’s no other choice but for it to work. Unless, of course, you’d rather go get in with the trucker. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to keep you warm.”
“I’ll take my chances here, thanks.” She visibly shivers...from the cold or the prospect, I’m not sure.
She tosses me a protein bar and we both eat in silence for the five minutes it takes us to swallow down the last bites. Then, of all people, it’s Brenna who throws caution to the wind and cracks open the first mini bottle of vodka, graciously giving me one of those as well.
She holds hers out toward me and says, “Cheers...to getting stuck in the middle of nowhere and not ever being able to walk into work again without thinking about the fact that my boss has seen my tits.”
“What?” I choke on the drink I’ve just taken.
“Well, if we’re going to get naked, you know, for body heat, pretty sure you’ll get a glance at my tits.” She shrugs, seemingly resolved to the inevitable.
“See, I told you there was good news.” I smirk and tap my bottle against hers, and she dips her head, trying to hide her return smile behind her hair. Not exactly what I was expecting. I figured I’d get a sneer or a sidelong glare, but no, she’s all-out grinning and blushing beautifully, her hair a terrible veil.
Roughly an hour or so ticks by and we’ve downed all the liquor bottles, Brenna having seven to my five.
“It’s really warm in here.” She unbuttons and takes off the blazer she’s been wearing since the conference, leaving her in only a short-sleeved, low-cut, button-up blouse. Her delusion of warmth is due to the alcohol, but her pebbled nipples, poking out against the thin fabric, tell the more accurate story. It’s cold.
“Okay, if you’re taking off clothes, we’re getting under this blanket.”
“And you’re really bossy. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Yes. And I am your boss, Brenna.”
“Don’t I know it.” The moon gives just enough light for me to catch her eye-roll. “The way you order everyone around, how could anyone forget? It’d be nice if you asked people things sometimes instead of just demanding.”
“I’ll consider your request. Now, under the blanket.”
“Okay, maybe don’t stop all your ordering. It’s kind of sexy.” She fails to smother her snicker.
“And you’re drunk. No more talking. Sleep.”
“But we need body heat, right?” She kneels on the bedding of clothes and finds the zipper of her skirt, sliding it down effortlessly. After she’s shimmied out of it, she slowly unbuttons her top and lets it fall off her shoulders, leaving herself wearing nothing more than those fucking stockings, garter, panties and a bra...all black silk. All contrasting and very complementing against her fair skin. All begging me to rip it off with my teeth.
I swallow hard around the lump in my throat and wonder how I’m going to follow her lead and crawl under the blanket with her. There’ll be no way to hide my erection—my desire. I’ve been under no delusion or denial that I’ve wanted Brenna since she first walked through my office doors, but there’s been one thing I’ve always prided myself on: the ability to separate my professional and personal lives, never letting the two cross paths. Tonight, stuck in the snow, I’m considering crossing a line I never have, and I’m thinking I’m going to do it without much more hesitation. Or regret.
Stripping down to only my boxer briefs, I bunch up our discarded clothing to make pillows. Moving around to the opposite side of her—so gravity has me at the edge, not her—she looks down at the bulge in my briefs.
“Well, that’s impressive, isn’t it?” she comments with a flirty lilt to her voice.
“Brenna,” I growl in warning.
“I’m just being honest. You gawked at my ass and thighs, the least you can do is let me have my turn. Don’t be a hypocrite.”
“Have it your way.” I lie down across the “bedding” on my side—one arm propped behind my head—and allow Brenna to study my body.
I’ve had women look at me, ogle me, but never anything quite like this. This seems more...intimate. Brenna takes her time, letting her hooded eyes, a smoldering azure, leisurely roam over me—memorizing every angle, contour, and muscle of my body—and has my cock hardening to painful proportions. I could, quite possibly, come right now from her lascivious perusal alone.
When she’s satisfied, Brenna grabs the quilt and lies down next to me, snuggling into the crook of my arm. With her back flush against my front, she pulls the blanket up over our bodies. I’m unsure of where to put my hand and decide going in blind is the best way. Finally settling it on her hip, I can’t stop my fingers from gently grazing along her skin—soft as silk, just as I imagined it would be. A small, sweet noise escapes her as she arches her back, effectively and sensually, grinding her ass into my crotch.
My fingers halt and I still. There’s no coming back from this. We’re already in one hell of an awkward position, and giving into the desires I’ve lived with for months will completely change the course of our future together.
Brenna places her hand over mine and slowly slides it up her soft, toned stomach until it’s at her breasts. She guides us, caressing herself with our combined touch. Just as shockingly, she suddenly detaches from me, and again, I stay motionless.
“Touch me, Jameson,” she whispers.
“There’s a line, Brenna,” I choke out, my dick cursing me. “If we cross it, things will change. If we cross it, there’s no going back. And once I finally get a taste of you, it’s fucking over, Brenna. So...you sure about this?”
Instead of answering, she rolls over to face me. With one hand, she runs her fingers through my hair and finds a firm grip. The other snakes down to my boxers and wraps around my agonizingly hard cock. She inches closer, our lips a mere breath apart, and whispers again, “Touch me.”
Enough is e-fucking-nough.
I hoist one of her legs over my hip and press into her hot, already wet core. “This what you want, baby?”
“Yes.” She throws her head back and moans.
I shove a hand down the back of her panties, grabbing a handful of sweet ass, and drag her closer to me while I continue to thrust against her, those same panties and my boxer briefs the only barriers between us. Continuing upward, I flick open her bra with a practiced ease and refuse to stop there, not until I have her hair wrapped around my fingers—a full, golden handful. Pulling roughly, I crane Brenna’s neck backward and dip my head to lick from her collarbone up the silky column of her neck until I reach her jaw. Nipping and teasing, making her squirm, I grin at her reaction as I move even further north. I finally capture her lips with mine, kissing her with a raw passion and intensity I’ve harbored for far too long, swallowing every moan and giving her my groans.
“God, yes, Jameson.” I think she purrs, but it could be my ego talking...either way, I’m okay with it.
In one swift movement, I roll onto my back, forcing Brenna on top of me. The second she sits up straight, the unclasped bra falls between us, and I toss it away. The hardened peaks of the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen stand at attention, begging for my mouth. Taking Brenna’s hips roughly in my hands, I push her downward, bucking up to again feel her heated core.
“Tell me you want it,” I demand in a feral growl.
“I do, Jameson. I want it so bad. Do you? Want me?” The shy note she ends on does crazy things to my head, spurring me to show her any insecurity she has is insane.
“No. I fucking need you. I need you now.”
Without any further questions, words, or hesitation, I rip the lace of her panties clean down the middle. Chaffing be damned, if I don’t get inside her in the next few seconds, I may die. Somehow, I still have enough blood flowing to my brain to slow down and make sure she’s ready for me. With the pad of my thumb, I rub small, deliberate circles around her clit, thriving on her full-body quiver.
Brenna’s hands move to her ample tits, pulling and pinching at her sweet, swollen nipples. That’s it. I’m done.
Freeing my cock from the confines of my boxers, I stroke slowly up and down a few times then line myself up with Brenna. Her wet heat sears the head of my dick, and with an animalistic roar, I unashamedly thrust so hard and deep into her both our bodies quake at the invasion.
“Fuck me,” she cries, letting go of her tits to brace herself on my chest.
“Working on it,” I promise on a groan.
Biting the inside of my cheek, praying I don’t come like a pubescent teenager, I drive inside her long and deep, hard and fast. It seems I’m not the only one with some tricks up my sleeve, because as I begin to toy with her clit, ensuring she comes first, she snares my hand to stop me. She leans back—bracing herself on my knee with one hand while using the other to manipulate her clit—giving me the perfect view as I continue to fuck her with savage force.
It’s the sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen. Her dainty fingers shamelessly swirl over and tug at the swollen bud while she moans my name. Growling, I plunge deeper into her tight silk.
But I need more. Propping myself up a little, I watch my cock—slick with her first orgasm—enter and exit her body, sensing my own pleasure creeping up the base of my spine. Knowing I can’t wait much longer, I quickly reverse our positions without leaving the warmth of her body, hoist her legs over my shoulders, and drill into her with the intensity of a crazed beast. Her huge, round tits bounce with each thrust until she takes hold of them again.
“I’ve wanted you under me since the first day I saw you. Goddamn, you feel good, so fucking snug. So damn perfect. Your pussy was made for my dick. Fuck, Brenna.” I can’t stop my delirious pants of praise.
Her response is a long, raspy moan, which is barely audible over my thunderous growl of pleasure. Coming harder than I ever have before, I release into the sexy, sassy woman that is Brenna, just as I have in countless dreams.
After a few moments, I roll off her to lay at her side. Using a piece of clothing beneath us, I clean Brenna up first, then myself.
I try to fall asleep, but every time she touches me, snuggles closer, brushes her ass against my ever-ready cock, I’m a man on fire.
A euphoric routine of taunt, tease, and take what we want, over and again, continues throughout the night. Needless to say, we never get cold. That old truck driver had a great idea, and I’ll be forever in his debt.
When the sun shines brightly through the windows, reflecting off the snow and nearly blinding me, I hear commotion outside the SUV. Wiping away the fog, I notice a few tow trucks and snow plows.
“Brenna,” I gently nudge her, “we’re getting out of here. Wake up and get dressed. I don’t want anyone seeing you naked.”
“Just five more minutes,” she whines, and with a laugh, I slap her ass, which has to be sore after all our antics. “Okay,” she yelps. “I’m awake. Hand me something to wear.”
I grab my sleep pants and hand them to her, along with another hoodie, then slip back into my black slacks and the hoodie that blocked the draft for us; it isn’t exactly “toasty” after being against the window all night. No sooner than we’re covered, someone knocks on the window and I crack open the door.
“I assume you need gas and a pull from the ditch?” the man asks.
Is it crazy that part of me wouldn’t mind staying trapped with her a little longer?
“Yes, please,” Brenna says sweetly. Too sweetly.
“That’d be great, thank you. Please send the bill to Chancellor Chemicals. I’ll make sure it’s paid immediately,” I reply.
The man nods and goes straight to work. I cast an unhappy scowl to Brenna, who’s wearing a devilish grin.
“What is it, Jameson?” she feigns innocence.
“You do not talk all soft and smooth to another man like that after I’ve fucked you senseless all night. Another man does not reap my rewards. No other man gets my smile or sexy little voice, Brenna. You save that shit for me.”
“My, you’re touchy this morning. Not get enough sleep?” she giggles.
“No, Ms. Dillinger, I was too busy being buried so deep inside you I can still feel your cum on my dick.”
She squirms in her seat, and now I’m the one sporting a smug smirk. That fine ass fidgets for me.
We’re soon pulled from the ditch, and the tow truck driver graciously, and without charge, puts a few gallons of gas in the tank—enough to get us to the nearest service station. And with that, we’re on our way home.
As soon as we pull into the gas station, I swipe my card at the pump and ask Brenna to run inside and grab us both a coffee and something more substantial than a protein bar. When we’re both back in the car, it’s time to clear a few things up, and I’m more than ready for the fight I know is coming. A fight I will win. A battle I’ve been dying to have since the day I hired Brenna.
“I need you to help me train a new assistant in the next few weeks,” I say matter-of-factly.
“An assistant for what, exactly?” she demands haughtily.
“For me. You’re fired.”
“Fired? Are you shitting me? How in the entire fuck is this possible? Just because we had sex, you think you’re going to let me go?” She’s all-out screeching, pissed as hell.
“It’s quite possible, so much so, it’s happening. And yes, that’s exactly what I think. Actually, that’s what I know.”
“There’s a name for this, Jameson Chancellor. What’s it called? Oh yeah, sexual fucking harassment! We were in that backseat together, or did I imagine my cunt being filled with your cum?”
Damn, that was hot. Brenna gives good filthy talk.
“That’s exactly the point, Brenna. You’re not working for me anymore. I do not fuck my assistants and I don’t plan to start. Effective immediately, you’re no longer an employee of Chancellor Chemicals. You are, however, promoted to mine, and that title comes with a whole lot of perks.”
“You’re such a fucking pig, Jameson.”
“No, I’m a man who told you before I stuck my dick in you, once we go there, it changes shit. There wasn’t any going back. I believe, like you said, we were equal participants...and in agreement. You screaming my name signed the dotted line. Oral contracts are legally binding.”
“I didn’t know that meant losing my job! How the fuck am I going to pay my bills and rent and...fuck, Jameson. Had I known a few orgasms would cost me everything, I would’ve smacked the hell out of you and slept outside!”
“Well, sweet Brenna, your bills will be paid, as will your rent. Actually, rent isn’t even a factor any longer, because since the day I met you, in my head, you’ve been mine, and you made that a fact last night. You can either stay in another apartment in my building or just cut the shit and move in with me. Your bills are now my bills. I’ll even write you an excellent letter of recommendation if you choose to work, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“Oh, what’s that letter going to say, types one-hundred-ten words per minute, punctual, and has great tits and a tight pussy?” she snips, probably not intending for it to be adorable.
“We’ll leave out the tits and pussy part because, while true, those are mine.”
“What do I even say to all this?” She sighs, pushing her hair back out of her face as though exasperated.
“That we can pack you up and move you in with me the second we get back. Then, in our bed, I can fuck you so long and good you don’t even know your own name.”
“And what if you don’t like me anymore in a few weeks? Then what happens to me?”
“Never gonna happen, babe. But, if it makes you feel better, should I for some reason lose my fucking mind, you get your job back or a very sizeable severance package. Large enough for you to live off of for a very long time. I’m willing to bet you’ll be just as happy in my world as I am having you in it, though.”
“Jameson,” she purrs, a sexy smile lighting her face as she rubs my thigh. “If I still remember my name when you’re done fucking me later, the deal’s off. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”