A Virgin Enslaved (Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male Erotic Romance) (4 page)

Next morning, I’m at my desk before he arrives. It’s seven fifteen and I’m one of the only people in the office. Chris usually arrives at seven forty five, and I want to be fresh and early with my computer started up for more Communicator message flow from my boss. Besides, I couldn’t sleep last night. I tossed and turned and curled myself silly with blazing dreams of Chris – his gorgeous, gorgeous face, that just-fucked-somebody hair, and that chiseled diamond hard body he must possess underneath his ritzy clothes.

He hasn’t even arrived, and already my body is sweaty and clammy with anticipation. What do I say to him? Pretend nothing happened last night? Would he
pretend
along with me?

Maybe it was all a mistake, and he realizes it now that the sun is shining and his senses have returned with the vengeance of reality.

He walks in at seven thirty, a good fifteen minutes before he’s due.

Oh shoot.

He’s as handsome as ever, so handsome that my breath stops in its tracks. No man should ever do this to me, I berate myself. Let alone my own boss.

He stops short too when he sees me.

“Good morning,” he says before I can say anything.

I curse myself for being tongue-tied, and I can feel my cheeks blushing furiously.

“Good morning, Chris.”

We stare at each other, both self-consciously and awkwardly. I swallow, the lump moving visibly in my throat.

“Do you have a moment, Elizabeth?” he finally says, gesturing to his office.

“Yes, sure.” My palpitations start up again, staccato and frenetic in their rhythm as I get up from my chair.

He waits for me and holds one of the double doors open as I compose myself enough to walk in without tripping. Once we are inside, he firmly closes the door.

“We have to talk,” he says.

“Yes.”

We are both standing and facing one another. I feel like shifting my feet – I’m that antsy. I raise my eyes to his, and am almost blown back by the scorching intensity of his gaze. Oh sweet mother of God, he’s so
beautiful
. How am I going to stand before him like this – like an errant schoolgirl – and wilt the way I’m doing now?

He begins in an earnest voice, “I’m so sorry about last night. I don’t know what came over me. It won’t happen again, you can be assured of that. I want us to continue to work together, and I promise you I won’t do that to you ever again – ”

He pauses to gauge my reaction.

I don’t know what my expression must be like to him, but inside, my conflicting emotions are roiling in a maelstrom.
I won’t do that to you ever again
. A stab of disappointment (disappointment! I know . . . I’m amazed and shocked at myself too) so piercing that it’s almost visceral assaults me. Even now, the vivid memory of his hot melting kisses and the feel of his warm flesh against mine swarms in a prickly wave across my consciousness.

A tide of what I now recognize as desire bubbles in my core to encompass my entire torso, up my breasts to my cheeks. From the look in his intense hazel eyes, I think he sees it too.

Oh dear God.

He repeats, “I won’t do that to you ever again . . . unless – ”

Yes? I will him to say it.

“Unless . . . you want me to.” He lets it trail, his expression hopeful.

What do I want?

That’s the trouble. I don’t know what I want. I want him to kiss me again, to hold me, to explore me, to make me feel desired and wanted and a million other wonderful things that a man can do to a woman. But at the same time, I want him to fall in
love
with me while he’s doing all that – something I don’t believe he’s capable of.

I want us to start a normal relationship. I want to be the one.
His
one.

But I don’t think he’s capable of that either. I would be merely one of his ‘friends with fringe benefits’. Adult dating, that’s what he calls it. Sex that is purely physical – the hollow and vacant form that fulfills the Id but not the soul.

He says, “Do you want me to?”

His face is guarded. He knows he’s treading on dangerous territory, crossing into the boundaries of boss-employee relationships. One false move on his part, and I can construe it to be sexual harassment.

I swallow.

“I need to know something,” I say.

“Yes. Anything.”

“Your PA before me. The one with the red hair. What happened between the two of you?” I know I’m getting bolder in asking this, but I need to know.

He doesn’t flinch. “We were friends too. Well, at least in my definition. I never coerced her or anything. It was consensual. Then she wanted
more
. . . and I couldn’t give that to her either.”

Yes, I suspected as much. My heart is sinking.

I say, “And so she went away.”

“Yes. She went away. Put in her resignation and stayed because her contract required her to until I got a replacement.”

I digest this.

Do I really want to be the next PA – in a long line of previous PAs – to give themselves to him, only to succumb by falling in love with him without the hope of him ever reciprocating?

Maybe I’m thinking too hard with my head. Every fiber of me aches to have him hold me, to ravage my mouth as he has ravaged it before. How can such an overpowering desire be so wrong, even if it’s destined to end up in disappointment?

He takes one step closer to me. My feet are rooted to the spot.

“Elizabeth,” he says urgently, “I want you. And I know you want me too. We have something real between us here and we owe it to each other to give ourselves up to explore it. Just do one thing for me.”

“What?” I say, trembling.

“Kiss me. Kiss me, and then tell me if you don’t
feel
something. If you don’t feel anything, I’ll walk away and leave you alone forever. We can go back to being employer and employee and we’ll forget anything ever happened.”

He takes another step closer, and he’s so near now that I can feel his radiating body warmth. I can’t take my eyes off his magnificent features – his chiseled blade of a nose, his marvelous bone structure, his lush full lips and those melted chocolate hazel eyes that are so warm and crystalline, drawing me into their very pools.

I make a decision.

It is not with my head.

I’m the first to move into his space. My lips crush against his, and he responds hungrily. There’s nothing tender or sweet about our pure unadulterated passion. It’s lust – brutal and naked and raw. I’m drawn into it. No,
sucked
is a better word. He opens his mouth and his tongue prizes my lips open.

I’ve never been kissed this way before. Never.

His arms creep around my back, as do mine around his shoulders. His kiss escalates in intensity, and he’s devouring my mouth now, twisting his neck to press his lips and tongue onto me in every angle possible. I’m drowning in him – drowning in that kiss and his ardent touch, and I can’t help but be swept away by his incredible fervor.

Ohhh
.

He wants me. He really, really wants me. The thought of this virile, handsome man desiring me is combustive and exhilarating.

He comes up for air. His face is flushed and his chest rises and falls with effort.

“So,” he says in a low drawl, “do you
feel
something?”

Do I feel something? That is understatement. Define ‘feel’. Is it physical or emotional? Does the sudden moistness between my legs constitute
feeling
something?

“I do feel something,” I murmur.

He visibly relaxes.

“Then come home with me. Let me make love to you.”

I feel his animal magnetism pulling me in. He has not taken his arms away from around me, and I luxuriate in his closeness and scent – a musky eau d’toilette that makes me think of coupling beasts.

I whisper, “I can’t. I’m a virgin.”

There. The cat is out of the bag.

He leans his head to one side in a quizzical manner. “Seriously?” The corners of his mouth are beginning to crinkle.

My cheeks start to burn.

“I’m saving it for someone special.” Like on my wedding night, I don’t want to say.

“And I’m not special?”

“You know what I mean.” I suddenly feel like a doofus. A small town girl with unnatural and archaic values in front of a big city sophisticate.

“You don’t think I’ll be someone special,” he says softly. He nods, commiserating. “I get it.”

It seems to hit him harder than I thought. My chest winces.

He says, “I have a proposition.”

I hold my breath. It’s uncomfortable being pressed against him, because he’s so damned supernaturally attractive and I just want to lose myself in his kiss again.

He continues, “Why don’t you try being with me . . . for seven days?”

At first, I don’t think I’m hearing right. “Being with you?”

“Yes. Give me a try.”

“You mean sleep with you?”

He pauses. “You’re really hung up on saving it for someone special, aren’t you? OK. I respect that. Yes. Be with me . . . for seven days. I’ll make love to you . . . but there’ll be no intercourse . . . unless you want it.”

I don’t believe we’re having this conversation.

I back off, and he releases me from his arms, looking dismayed.

“I didn’t scare you off, did I?” he says. “I meant what I said. We’ll take it as far as you want to go – on your terms. Anytime you tell me stop, we stop. And there’ll no penetration, so you get to keep your virginity.”

“What’s in it for you?” My head is reeling.

“Me?” He laughs. “Are you kidding? I get to be with you. Maybe for once and for all, I get to satisfy this
thing
I have about you that drives me crazy. Do you know that I dream about being with you every night since I first laid eyes on you?”

I find myself shaking my head. “Coming from anyone else, I would have loved to hear that. But you don’t want a real lover, as in my definition. You want another
friend
. . . with benefits.”

“Yes. I’ll admit I really want you as a friend.”

“So what’s this seven days trial for? For you to try me out?” I’m getting really peevish here, and more than a little mad.

“No, it’s for you to try
me
out. To see if you want to be my lover.” He nods convincingly.

This is all going wrong. My cheeks are burning. There’s something wrong with the way he sees women.

“A lover without love. That’s not the way I am.”

I back away even further. I know I’m subconsciously backing away from his ideals, and not him. Are you kidding me? Every fiber of my body wants him physically. It’s just his world vision I can’t abide.

“I know. But that’s the way I am.” He reaches for a tendril of my hair and brushes it lovingly from my forehead. If I hadn’t known he was incapable of love, I’d have thought it a loving gesture. “Just seven days, I beg of you. Just try me out . . . and if you don’t want to be my friend, I’ll be OK. We’ll go back to this.” He waves his hand around his office.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to feel. The tornado of emotions churns in my head – desire, lust, anger, futility.

“Elizabeth,” he says, “you know you want me. You know I want you. What can be so terrible about two people wanting each other desperately? For once in your life, don’t think about it. Just go with what your body tells you to.”