Wild in the Highlands Read online

  She yanked her straying gaze back to the computer for the thousandth time since he’d neglected to close it behind him and squirmed in her chair. Her silk panties clung to the damp, swollen flesh between her thighs. She bit her lip to stifle the whimper that sprang to her tongue.

  “Have you finished yet?”

  The rough, deep sound of his voice ghosted over her hyper-sensitized skin like a firm hand, sending another flood of moisture to wet the folds of her sex. How had he crossed his office and entered hers so silently?

  Rhys stood just at the edge of her desk, looming over her like a dark idol, the faint smoke and salt scent of his skin wafting toward her.

  “Y-yes, Mr. Maddox.”

  Damn it. Cassandra had thought she’d conquered her tendency to stutter in his presence, she’d gone three whole days without doing it once. But all it took was one stealthy approach and she was once again the quivering prey she’d been on their first meeting.

  His nostrils flared. Dark eyes glittered as he stared down at her. Cassandra watched with wide eyes as Rhys lifted one large, tanned hand. It seemed to move in slow motion, and yet happen instantaneously at the same time.

  When his calloused fingers touched her chin, her entire body went up in flames. She could feel her uneven breaths panting from between her parted lips. From the heat creeping under her skin, she knew she was flushed pink. Her breasts heaved against the raw silk of her blouse, swollen and topped with achingly hard buds, threatening to suddenly spill out of the formerly modest-seeming neckline.

  She remained utterly still, staring up at Rhys with unblinking eyes.

  His smile was sharp and full of teeth. His eyes seemed to flicker with inner fire.

  “Oh, little rabbit,” he said, words full of dark glee. He chuckled, bending forward until they were nearly eye to eye. He took a deep breath in through his nose.

  “What are you so afraid of?” His thumb stroked along her jaw before sliding over her chin to rub over her lower lip. Rhys flashed another toothy grin, his voice dropping even further until it seemed to reverberate through her very bones.

  “Do you think I’m going to bite?”

  Then his mouth was on hers, but he wasn’t biting. He was kissing. And holy hell, did Rhys Maddox know how to kiss!

  His full lips were firm, warm satin against hers, mobile and coaxing and claiming all at once.

  No wonder women are always hanging off him, Cassandra thought, but the distressing understanding that she was merely one of many who were unable to resist him was burned away a moment later as his tongue slid hot and slick against hers.

  She didn’t recall getting to her feet — had she stood? had he pulled her there? — but suddenly she was pressed against the length of his body and oh god…

  Rhys Maddox dressed in a black designer suit cut to perfection to hug his broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, long-legged frame looked amazing. But he felt even better. All hard muscle under soft fabric warm from his skin.

  Cassandra could feel the rapid thump of his heartbeat echoing hers, both of them vibrating through her aching breasts. She took advantage of the proximity, running her palms over his shoulders and back, touching every part of him she could reach like she’d been longing to do since the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

  He growled into her mouth, and the kiss grew even deeper. He bent her back over the steel bar of his arm. Then his other hand yanked her blouse free of her skirt and snaked beneath.

  She whimpered as he claimed her breast, squeezing the ripe flesh through the lace of her bra, but he swallowed the small sound. His fingers rolled the stiff peak, pinching until she jerked against him at the sharp shaft of pleasure that lanced through her straight to her clit.

  Cassandra would have cried out again as he shoved aside the last of the fabric keeping him from her skin, but his tongue was there, lapping up all her noises.

  The cool, smooth wood of the desk dug into her upper thighs, making her aware of her position, pinned between the massive slab of beautifully carved mahogany and the even more gorgeously chiseled personage of Rhys Maddox.

  It was not a horrible place to be.

  A tiny voice in the back of her mind was trying to remind her she was at work, he was her boss, he was a dragon, and all the other reasons this was a terrible idea. But even the voice sounded resigned, as if it knew the outcome was inevitable and was merely listing its objections as a matter of form.

  Rhys’s mouth devoured hers, the almost intimidating length of his rock-hard erection digging into the swell of her hip.

  Cassandra thought it felt as right and necessary as breathing to slide backward onto the desk, heedless of the papers and keyboard her ass knocked aside, and spread her knees. Rhys must have agreed because he stepped between her parted legs immediately, shoving them wider.

  Her skirt rode up, baring the creamy swell of her thighs all the way up to where hip met leg.

  The weight of Rhys’s warm, hard body pressed her back until she had to prop herself on one hand to keep from sending her monitor sprawling. With the other hand she managed to fumble open a few buttons of his shirt.

  Everything was happening so fast and all at once and it all felt so good. It was hard for Cassandra to follow.

  She felt the heated satin of his skin against her palm as she traced the shape of his ribs and the ridges of his abdomen and rubbed through the crisp, curling hair that trailed down toward his slacks. She felt the nip of his teeth on her swollen, tingling lower lip and her throat. Then his mouth was on her breast, sucking it in, and the wet heat of his tongue prodded at the bud of her nipple.

  Her own mouth felt empty and bereft without his. She choked on her own moans and whimpers as he suckled first one breast, then the other, the pull of his lips tugging strings of pleasure deep in her belly.

  At some point, he’d managed the buttons on her blouse and now it hung open and useless from her arms. Her bra was gone, though how he’d managed that trick without removing her shirt she couldn’t guess. And didn’t quite care. She was only glad it was out of the way and he could touch her.

  “Mr. Maddox,” she whispered in a broken, lust-drenched voice. “Rhys. Please...”

  He made a noise in his chest, not a growl but a rumbling, like an almost inaudible roar that shook her entire frame. His teeth bit gently down on the sensitive, puckered flesh of her nipple.

  Cassandra arched her back, offering him more of her abundant, flushed breasts. He bent his head to the task, sucking, biting, kissing, nibbling, kneading. He made her entire body quake with need.

  She dug her fingers into the thick, heavy silk of his chocolate brown hair, holding him to her as he feasted on her chest. She murmured his name, over and over.

  He left her breasts to claim her mouth again, pressing deep into the V of her thighs, rocking his rigid shaft against her panty-covered slit as his tongue thrust between her lips.

  “You are definitely more than just a mouthful, my tasty little rabbit.” He chuckled against her lips, teeth nipping.

  Her free hand tugged at his belt, yanking it open to get at the button and zipper confining his eager cock.

  Rhys gave another of those bone-shaking rumbles as her long fingers wrapped around the thick shaft and squeezed. She fisted him, sliding down to the root with its nest of curly soft hair and then tugging upward and twisting around the fat, glistening head.

  She repeated the motion, drawing back the taut foreskin to tease the dip underneath with the pad of her thumb. Pre-cum slicked her fingers and palm, easing her languid, pulling strokes. Rhys thrust into the squeezing tunnel of her fingers as his mouth roamed her lips and throat, groaning and muttering.

  “Fuck. Fuck! Need this so bad. You. Driving me crazy, little rabbit. The smell… So lush and fuck!”

  Rough fingers dug into her hips, curling around the waistband of her panties. Cassandra shifted on the desk, lifting her ass to help, but Rhys dispensed with the formalities and just tore the delicate silk to scraps.

&nbs
p; Cassandra gasped, but he caught her gasp with his lips, and then the broad, slick head of his cock slid up the length of her slit and prodded at the tingling bud of her clit. She wrapped her hands around his shoulders, clinging to him as he teased her, his breath hot on her ear.

  “So wet for me, little rabbit. So ready.” He nudged forward a little, barely dipping into the wet, fluttering heat of her sheath. She dug her fingernails into the expensive fabric of his suit coat and rolled her hips, chasing him.

  “Yes, Rhys! Yes! Please!”

  She spread her legs wider and curled her ankles over his thighs. One heel dropped to the carpeted floor with a soft thunk. Rhys gave a rough, breathless chuckle as he stared between them, his forehead pressed into her sweat-slick shoulder.

  “That’s it, rabbit. Come to me.” He hissed as she scooted closer and arched, her body welcoming another inch of his cock.

  “Fucking gorgeous.” He met her eyes, his own burning like magma. “You look fucking gorgeous like this.”

  And then he plunged into her completely, stretching her and filling her.

  ***

  Rhys had never felt anything like the silken, clutching heat of Cassandra’s pussy.

  He’d fucked his fair share of women, more than his share according to his friends. Tall women, short women, skinny women, fat women, younger women, older women. Women of myriad ethnicities and socio-economic origins. He’d been with smart women and dumb women, talented and mediocre women.

  Lazy, adventurous, funny, boring. If there was an adjective used to describe a woman, he’d probably slept with one who fit that adjective. He liked women. He liked sex even more. He wouldn’t apologize for it. He never led anyone on.

  Still, in all his years of reveling in flesh, he had never once felt the intense, burning pleasure that raced up his spine and tightened his balls as he pumped between Cassandra O’Hare’s soft, pale thighs.

  It was more than just the tight, hot, wet squeeze of her rippling channel, too. It was the clutch of her fingers in his hair, her nails pricking gently against his scalp. It was the flex of her feet behind his knees as she tried to pull him back to her each time he withdrew, and the damp press of her breasts against his half-open shirt.

  Her nipples were hard points brushing his chest. He could still taste the lingering sweat and salt of that eager, puckered flesh on his tongue. He could happily spend hours licking and sucking and biting at her full, heavy breasts and long, stiff pink nipples.

  Cassandra mewled into his mouth, her swollen flesh clenching around his pistoning cock. Rhys wasn’t overly religious, but his dick felt like it had died and gone to heaven.

  He wrapped a hand around her waist, getting a palmful of her plump buttocks, and yanked her closer, grinding his pubis against the engorged nub of her clit as he sank back into her to the hilt.

  He’d thought she looked enticing fully clothed, but now…?

  Spread out over her desk with her upper body bare and flushed and marked by his mouth, her thick honey-blonde hair in a tangle around her shoulders, soft belly trembling and jumping, lips red from his kisses, green eyes sparkling with need, and her porcelain thighs spread wide as he thrust between them, she was a fucking goddess.

  Rhys untangled her hands from around his neck and urged her to lean back on the desk. He gripped her round hips tightly in his big hands as he slid in and out of her, burying his cock in her wet, hot flesh over and over.

  Each hard thrust made her gasp, and made the soft flesh of her breasts, belly, and thighs quiver and ripple. He loved seeing the evidence of their fucking wash over her body like a wave.

  They both watched his cock, slick and glistening with their combined juices, move between the swollen lips of her pussy, their breathing loud and ragged in the otherwise silent room.

  He caught the flutter of her lashes, the arch of her alabaster throat, a second before he felt her tighten even further around him.

  “Yes!” he hissed between his clenched teeth. “Come for me, little rabbit. Come for me!”

  Cassandra’s mouth fell open, her eyes sprang wide. Rhys watched the orgasm move through her, felt the curl of her feet and the tensing of her thighs. Her hips jerked and rolled, pressing herself tighter to him, pulling him deeper.

  Her back arched, her shoulders widened as she lifted slightly from the desk. The flush on her chest and the upper slopes of her heavy breasts deepened. Her eyes narrowed, but didn’t close all the way, as if she wanted to watch him still, even as her body fell into the raptures of orgasm.

  She squeezed him so perfectly, the silken hot ripple of her inner muscles milking the length of his cock as if she’d been designed to fit him.

  Then she called out his name and he felt his other self stretch beneath his skin and he was lost. All of him.

  His pounding rhythm grew ragged and rapid as he sought to bury himself deeper. His heartbeat thudded against his chest so hard it shook his whole body, and his ears rang. Still, he could hear the bellowing roar that sprang from his throat as he threw his head back.

  Pleasure ripped through him, from the soles of his feet, up his spine, to the very top of his scalp. His testicles drew up almost painfully tight as his throbbing cock spurted endlessly into the sweet, quivering heat of his whimpering little rabbit.

  Rhys had no idea how long the orgasm lasted, but it felt like forever. He slowly drifted back to himself as the faint double beep of the intercom in his office sounded.

  “Mr. Maddox?” Ursula’s usually inflectionless voice was tinged with an edge of unease. “Is everything all right?”

  Without opening his eyes or lifting his forehead from its comfortable resting place against the soft, damp skin of Cassandra’s still-heaving breasts, he flailed one hand outward until he found her phone.

  He skimmed the buttons quickly before finding the one that he thought was the reception intercom.

  “Everything is fine,” he managed to rasp, his throat rough with satiated lust and his beast’s lingering triumph. “Please hold any calls or appointments that arrive for me or Ms. O’Hare, Ursula. We…need to take care of something.”

  Rhys let go of the intercom without bothering to hear her response.

  Now that the overwhelming need that had swamped him when he smelled her arousal earlier was slaked (at least for now), he was beginning to realize what a colossal mistake he’d made.

  This was his business. She was his assistant. Temporary or not, she was an employee under his care. And he’d…

  He’d been behaving himself, damn it. Despite the lure of her scent and her lush body and the mix of trembling fear and arousal that filled his head every time they were in the same room, he’d managed to not so much as utter a single suggestive word since they’d met. He’d remained professional.

  Until this morning.

  He had only himself to blame. He’d been going out almost every night since Warren had sent Cassandra O’Hare, the tempting little rabbit, right into his lair. He’d hoped to find someone else with whom he could quench the fire of desire that burned within him.

  None of the many women he’d surrounded himself with had roused him in the slightest. Even the women who had previously graced his bed and were very satisfying companions failed to cause even the faintest spark of interest.

  Last night, he’d forced himself to call Annette. He hadn’t seen her in over a year, but the brash brunette had always driven him crazier than any other woman he’d known. It was one of the reasons he’d stopped contacting her. He didn’t do feelings, and the craving he’d felt for Annette’s body was too close for comfort.

  She was as beautiful as ever. The high, sharp cheekbones, strong nose, and full lips that spoke of her Eastern European ancestry had graced the cover of more than one magazine before she’d decided she wanted to be the one designing the fashion instead of wearing it.

  And yet…

  Rhys had found her just as charming as he had a year ago, just as exquisite. Only his appreciation of her physical attribut
es was distant, the way he might appreciate a particularly well done piece of art. He felt not even a flicker of the desire that he’d once worried would consume him and tether him to her permanently.

  Even when he’d kissed her soft (had they always been so overblown and pouty?) lips, he wasn’t stirred. However, just thinking about the way Cassandra tapped one buffed fingernail against her own curved lower lip while she contemplated his calendar, or how her green eyes sparkled with amusement when he teased her and requested his roast beef sandwich ‘extra rare’, or her breathy sighs drifting from the adjoining office, heated his blood like the heart of a volcano.

  Rhys had left Annette at her own doorstep with nothing more than that single abortive kiss. Then he’d gone home to his own, cold bed, unable to resist the dreams of his plump, gorgeous secretary trembling with need.

  He’d awoken more aroused than he’d gone to sleep, pent up from months of waning interest in the women he spent company with. That, coupled with his seeming inability to distance himself from his lust for Cassandra O’Hare, had left him surly and off-kilter.

  That was the only explanation for how he’d managed to mess up so badly.

  He buried his face between the warm, soft mounds of her breasts for a moment longer, making her squeak, and drew in a deep breath.

  It was the middle of the morning and they were at work. He was her boss.

  He had no viable excuse for having her pinned half-naked (all naked, really, except for her skirt bunched around her waist) on her desk. He had no excuse for kissing her, for literally tearing off her clothes — her panties were shredded and he wasn’t sure about her bra — and fucking her. No excuse except, god, he’d wanted to… and she had wanted him to, as well.

  But Rhys didn’t do relationships because they were messy, and he couldn’t think of anything messier than getting involved with a subordinate, relationship or no.

  He grimaced as he straightened, reluctant to pull away from all her soft, welcoming warmth. He felt a deep, sharp pang in his chest as his spent shaft slipped from her.