Page 33 of The Boss's Forbidden Assistant

‘What?’

‘Nothing. I have nothing. Why would I?’ he said with a gruff laugh that was lacking amusement. ‘This was definitely not on my radar.’

She swore. ‘I don’t either. Same reason.’

They stared at each other, totally bemused and utterly frustrated. He groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder, his breath rough. Harper’s pulse was thready, her need growing by the second. She moved her hands back to his length, feeling him convulse, feeling his strength and his power. She desperately wanted to feel him inside her, but at the same time she wanted to drive him to the point of explosion with her hands, because she could do that right now, she could make him feel a thousand things.

‘Don’t fight me,’ she instructed, moving one hand and then the other over his tip, down his length, feeling him, worshiping him. His head stayed where it was in the crook of her neck, his desperation at fever pitch, his breath so warm against her skin, his need so absolute that he surrendered to this finally, to her, to whatever they were to each other.

His breath grew rushed, his voice deep, then he groaned, swore and pulled up to stare at her, but she didn’t release him. She moved her hands faster, until he was coming over her bare chest and she was crying out, because it was so illicit and animalistic, so completely full of abandon, that it was the sexiest thing she’d ever felt.

He dropped his head to hers, kissing her, breathing her in, the smell of him in the air, of pleasure and satisfaction, and then he pulled up, staring at her as if he needed to commit this exact image to memory, for all time.

She wasn’t self-conscious. Not even a little. She felt exultant, euphoric, and the way he was looking at her only cemented that.

‘Come with me.’ He reached for her and she put her hands in his, allowing him to pull her to sitting then scoop her up and carry her, cradled against his chest, into the bathroom. It wasn’t overly large, but it accommodated both of them easily enough, so he carried her into the shower cubicle and placed her onto the tiled floor, flicking the switches and waiting until warm water began to flow. He stared at her again, drinking her in, studying her, and then shook his head with an expression that was almost impossible to fathom.

‘Will you promise me to stay here?’

Something lodged in her throat. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To find a pharmacy. Or a vending machine. Any kind of prophylactic. I will ask at the bar if I have to,’ he ground out, so she laughed.

‘I’m sure there’ll be a shop somewhere.’

‘Stay here.’ He hesitated for the briefest moment then leaned in, kissing her hard and fast before pulling away and turning his back. He left the bathroom without closing the door, so a moment later she caught a glimpse of him stalking past, fully dressed and looking more or less completely normal. But Harper had seen him lose his mind and now, she overlaid his passion, his powerful, sensual nature, with the visage he showed to the world and she knew there was so much more to him, so much he would show her.

She washed herself slowly, luxuriating in the way her body was so sensitive all over, in the way it felt to brush a loofah over her breasts, her thighs, her stomach. She groaned as her hand came close to her sex and she remembered how easily he’d undone her, how skilfully he’d mastered her body, and she tilted her head back and pressed it against the tiles as memories overcame her. She stood there for a long time, the water deluging her, reaching for the taps just as the front door opened and Salvador returned.

Her heart fluttered and her insides squeezed. He lifted a brown paper bag, a half-grin making his face so wonderfully sexy that she smiled back fully, properly. She stepped out of the shower as he moved into the bathroom, reaching for a bath sheet, wrapping her in the fluffy fabric and towelling her down slowly from her very wet hair to her shoulders, her breasts, her abdomen, kneeling in front of her to dry between her legs, her calves, her ankles and her feet. She submitted to it, but it was a form of torture to feel him so close yet not have him buried inside her yet—more foreplay after days and days of wanting but knowing him to be off-limits.

She shivered, so he lifted his face from where he knelt. ‘Cold?’

She shook her head.

His smile was knowing, but Harper couldn’t have realised what he was about to do. Her experience was limited, and Peter had never once kissed her most intimate flesh; he’d never even shown any interest in that. But Salvador leaned forward from where he knelt, pressing his lips to her inner thigh first so she gasped, then moving to the hair at the top of her legs, parting her seam with his tongue and skilfully finding the part of her that was so receptive to his touch.

He flicked her and tasted her, sucking her, probing her until she was quivering with desire and moaning into the tiled bathroom, her frantic cries bouncing off the walls. Harper didn’t care how noisy she was, though; she was barely aware of anything: time, space, place or person. She was only a conduit for euphoria now.

He gripped her hips, swivelling her at the same time he shifted his position so she was facing the mirror. It gave her something to lean against and she propped her hands on the marble counter as it became almost impossible to stand. It also gave her a perfect view of this debauched scene in the bathroom mirror—his dark head intently focussed on her femininity, her flushed cheeks, fevered eyes, pert nipples and quivering, goose-bump-covered skin. She looked wanton and ravaged, and she loved it.

She moved one hand to his head, running her fingers through his hair, something bursting inside her at the joy of that—at the freedom to touch him finally, to delight in him like this.

‘Salvador...’ She groaned, almost unable to bear this a moment longer. He understood. His fingers dug into her buttocks and then he sucked her flesh a little harder, flicked and she died against his mouth. Her knees were so weak she almost crumpled to the floor, so his hands at her rear became an essential part of her support. She pressed her own hand into the marble counter, crying out, almost devastated by the strength of her orgasm.

Before had been mind-blowing; this was reality-ending. She moved her hand to his shoulder and dug her nails into his flesh, as if to convey how close she was to ceasing to exist. He waited, mouth moving to the flat flesh of her belly and planting a kiss there. Then he stood, eyes hooked to hers for a moment before he lifted her once more, carrying her out of the bathroom.

She didn’t protest. She really didn’t think she could walk anyway.

He dumped her on the bed, staring down at her again, his breath ragged, his eyes devouring her.

‘You’re over-dressed,’ she said simply.

He grunted his agreement. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

It was a challenge and a dare, and she grinned. What was that expression—something about a goose and gander? She stood shakily, glad when he put a hand out and caught her behind the back, drawing her to him, kissing the flesh in the curve of her neck and making it impossible to think, much less act. But she needed to act, she needed to peel his clothes from his body piece by piece.

Her fingers undid the buttons, just as she had in the office that time, but now there was no fear he’d pull away, no sense that she’d gone too far. She dropped his shirt on the ground then, with eyes holding his, she knelt down in front of him, just as he’d done with her a moment ago. Her head tilted up as she undid his belt first, then his trousers, pushing them down his legs as he stepped out of them. She stayed there, looking all the way up his naked body to his eyes at first, and to the flush of his cheeks, before turning her attention to his rock-hard arousal, smiling a little as she leaned closer and tentatively ran her tongue over the tip.

---