“Don’t sound so grumpy, Grant. I told you, when I hired you, this was a full time job.” John glares over his shoulder, his expression stormy as though I’ve insulted him by wanting a social life. “I deserve to be grumpy. I did what you said and tested that damn chair for three days. It’s a piece of shit. I don’t need the massage mode. I need something I can sit on.”

I sigh. Other top executives raved about the chair, claiming it relaxed them. “I’ll return it tomorrow, sir.”

“And why am I attending this event?” He bumps against me, the contact sending a surge of sweet sensation over my body. “Couldn’t we have written the charity a check and be done with it?” He slides a finger between his neck and collar and pulls, loosening his bowtie. “You know I hate these things.”

I do know he hates these events, his mood always darkening before he has to make an appearance. “A wise man once told me we all have to do things we don’t want to do,” I quote him.

He turns his head and narrows his brown eyes at me. “That wise man should be working.”

“That wise man should take advantage of this event and hobnob with the Mayor.” I give my goal-oriented boss a task to accomplish. “The zoning issues won’t fix themselves.”

“Are you handling me, Grant?”

“I wouldn’t presume to do that, sir.” The doors open and I walk in front of him to the waiting limousine. Dave, John’s smartly dressed driver, stands by the vehicle. “The Mayor made a comment to the press recently about the absurdity of non-fraternization policies so you might not want to mention that topic.”

“I don’t want to mention any topic. Small talk is a waste of time.” John pauses, looming over me, big and tall and very, very male. “It would be more efficient if assistants could attend these events.”

He wants me by his side. A fierce joy fills me. “This is personal, not business.”

“For me, it is always business.” John’s gaze lowers, lingering on my legs. “Your skirt seems to be shrinking.” His eyes glow. “You might want to look into that.”

He noticed the length of my skirt. “I’ll add that to my long list of things to do.”

“You do that.” John chuckles softly, the sound unexpected, arousing, real. “Don’t leave the building without letting me know first. I’ll call you.” He climbs into the limousine.

I wait, watching as the man I love, the boss I adore is driven away. He’ll spend the night being wined and dined by the city’s elite, touched and held by one of the most beautiful women on the planet. I’ll be alone. Again.

As I trudge toward the bank of elevators, my phone buzzes. The number displayed on the screen belongs to John. I’m not completely alone. I smile, my spirits lifting.

Chapter Two

“The Mayor wants me to attend his wife’s cocktail party tomorrow,” John informs me hours later. He was truthful when he said he wouldn’t talk to his date. He has been talking to me all night. “You’re right about avoiding all talk of non-fraternization policies. The ass was caught last Tuesday sticking his cock into another big-breasted assistant. It cost him a bundle to keep those photos off the internet.”

I hear the disgust in my boss’ voice. He doesn’t believe in mixing business and pleasure, his views well known within Toronto’s social circles.

“His poor wife.” I sigh. And poor me. John will never see me as more than his assistant. I wiggle my ass into his about-to-be-returned chair.

“The man is a fool.” In the background, glasses clink and voices murmur. “What are you doing? Your voice sounds strange.”

My boss’ skills of observation are frightening. “I’m trying your chair’s massage function, sir.” Leather hands grope my back. “It’s an unusual experience.”

“It’s creepy as hell.” John laughs. “Thank the lord. This dinner is finally wrapping up.”

I move the lever in the armrest to vibrate. “Oh my God,” I moan, the chair rubbing against all of the right spots.

“Are you okay, Grant?”

“I’m fine, sir,” I lie. I’m not fine at all. I’m shamelessly aroused by my boss’ kinky chair. The leather smells of his musky cologne. I’ve heated the seat to match his body temperature. The friction against my cloth-covered pussy is divine.

“Don’t leave the office,” John instructs. “I’ll send the car for you.”

“Okay.” I’m too distracted by the good vibrations to argue. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, sir.” I certainly plan to.

Before he can ask me for anything else, I end the call and set my phone on his desk. He’ll be cross with me tomorrow, but this, I need now. I lean back in the chair, swiveling my hips. I need it so badly.

There’s too much fabric between my body and the chair. I hike my skirt to my waist, baring my ass. My mons is covered by a skimpy G-string, the bright pink silk already soaked with my readiness.

Once or twice, after a heated encounter with my oblivious boss, I’ve retreated to the bathroom and touched myself, bringing myself to quiet fulfillment. I’ve never masturbated in public, in my boss’ office, where anyone can catch me, where he can catch me.

John isn’t here. He’s in the lavish hotel room I reserved for him, cavorting on the luxuriously soft sheets, reaching his own satisfaction, balls deep inside a gorgeous actress.

I’m alone and unneeded. My phone is silent. The rest of the floor is dark. No one else is around. Even the cleaning lady has left for the night.

I can release my inhibitions and not worry about being caught. No one will know. I grind into the vibrating seat, branding the leather with my scent, my wetness. My boss won’t realize it’s my pussy he smells tomorrow.

I tug on the waistband of my panties, pulling the silk tight against my folds, against my clit. My neatly trimmed brown curls escape their confines. I play with myself, moving the fabric over my sensitive skin, escalating my desire.

I imagine John is behind me, holding me, manipulating my panties, my passion. He’ll be as ruthless and demanding with my body as he is with business. The flimsy ribbons crossing my hips snap and the silk falls to the floor.

I’m nude from the waist down. If a coworker, a board member or my boss enters the office, they’ll see my pussy. I prop my heels on his desk and spread my legs wide, giving my imaginary audience a better show. Cool air sweeps across my bare skin, driving my arousal upward.

I close my eyes and touch myself, skimming my fingers over my feminine folds, spreading my wetness, my heat. In my fantasies, John is the person touching me, his fingers thick and rough, calloused and scarred. I circle my clit, winding my need, my want tighter and tighter. He’d be hard for me, focused on my body.

I dip one finger into my entrance, the grip snug from sexual neglect. For three years, I’ve lusted after my boss exclusively, having no interest in any other male. I stroke in and out, in and out of my pussy, working my body, my tempo slow and steady.

The chair hums against my ass, supplementing my intimate caresses. I add a second finger, stretching myself open. The darkness intensifies John’s scent and, in my fantasy, I hear him breathing, feel him watching me. He’s here with me. I’m not alone, never alone.

John is large, a massive man. Emulating his size requires all four of my fingers. I pump my pussy, the sucking sound of wet flesh against firm skin obscenely loud. My breathing grows ragged, a tight band of emotion strapping around my chest, squeezing my lungs.

“John.” I arch my back and lift my hips, rising into each thrust of my hands. I call his name again and again as I plunge my fingers into my pussy, rub my thumbs against my clit. My juices splatter against my upper thighs, against the leather seat. I work my body faster, trembling, satisfaction fast approaching.