Under My Boss's Authority: Office Romance Collection by Jamie Knight (small books to read .TXT) 📕

Taking my time, starting with his jacket, I got him out of his tux. His beautiful cock was already hard and waiting for me. It made my heart hurt to think how long he might have been in that condition. All I could do was relieve him as soon as possible.

It was a coordinated effort. Using my hands to stimulate the areas my mouth couldn’t reach, I worked his cock. Moving ever further down, up to and then past my gag reflex. There was only a bit of discomfort when I first got past. It got a lot easier after that. My lips caressing up the length of his cock until the tip of my nose brushed his pelvis.

I stayed a while. In recognition of the achievement, if nothing else. Hugo gently stroked my back.

Gathering my courage, I started to move again, delicately throat-fucking myself on his massive cock, drawing his tasty cum from his beautiful balls into my mouth. Hugo sighing in sweet relief as I swallowed it all down.

Working inch by inch, Hugo helped me ease his cock out of my throat without incident. “Your turn, I think,” he said, lightly cupping my pussy.

The mattress came up under me, Hugo gently spreading my legs.. Using his hands to hold me open, he kissed me all over. When I couldn’t handle any more teasing, he used his tongue, and then fingers, to coax me to quivering orgasm. My pussy squeezed him tight, never wanting to let go.

I barely noticed him move. Hugo getting into position, the head of his cock stroking against my sensitive pussy. The effects of all the hormones drenching my system, fully brought to bear. It made sex feel even better than ever.

He was going easy on me. Not that he was usually rough, unless I asked for it. Even so, Hugo was taking extra care, going in a little under half his full length. His gentle rocking rhythm brought me to the brink of orgasm within minutes.

Hugo kissed me as we came. Unleashing his beautiful cum deep inside me, I shook in sweet ecstasy. My husband sank into the mattress beside me and drew me into his arms, dropping a loving kiss on my forehead.

“Delphine Maya Boucher-Alejo,” I murmured when I’d caught my breath.

“Hmm?”

“Her name,” I said softly, rubbing my hand over my belly, then repeated it. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s perfect,” Hugo murmured, “I can’t wait to meet her.”

THE END

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Sneak Peek of

Under My Enemy’s Roof

The seventh collection in the Under Him series is Under My Enemy's Roof, which contains Stuck Together, Cramped Quarters and Lock Step. Click here to read it.

Chapter One - Dean

From the moment the plane’s tires touched down on the tarmac, I was seized by an impending sense of dread. I was back home in New York City and not for any reason I wanted to be.

Plus, there was the crisis that the world was in, and New York was the epicenter of the virus. If it wasn’t for my money, there was no way I could set foot on American soil. Only by sneaking in on my own jet did I avoid the long lines and the likely-hood of quarantine. I couldn’t do that, not yet. I had a promise to fulfill first.

There were so many advantages to living in London. The lack of snow for a start. Sure, there was the rain, but a drizzle never kept an affair from starting as far as I was aware. My accent was considered charming rather than a punchline as it was in most parts of my homeland. There was just something about being from Brooklyn that was considered universally hilarious among Americans. Or, 'yanks', as I had come to think of them. Though I did eventually acquire a pretty close approximation of an upper-class British accent.

Britain, or at least the England portion of it, also had five meals a day. The standard three plus two so-called 'tea-times' which were more like light lunches. And no one looked at you sideways for having sausages and bacon at breakfast.

They also had respect for their elders, dagnabbit! I was only thirty-three, yet kids in their late-teens would routinely call me 'sir.' It was both a wonderful tip of the hat and a terrible reminder of one's fragile mortality in the same three-letter word. Not that death was far away from one’s mind during these turbulent times.

Aside from the cultural advantages, another thing that made London so much more tolerable was the nearly endless list of people who did not live there. My asshole brother and my bastard dad, for example. My ruthless social climber of a mother who seemed to equate marrying into old money with joining the aristocracy. All nowhere to be found among the skyscrapers and spires of Olde London Town.

The problem. The unspoken pain. The ghost in the room was my beloved sister, Simone. Not only did she not live in London, or indeed New York. As a result of recent events, she was no longer living on the physical plane at all. I liked to think about it in metaphysical terms. It helped things to hurt less.

In Simone's place was her six-year-old daughter, Jessica, whom I was given legal guardianship. The coin there was two definite sides. On the one side was the fact that my sister trusted me to raise her offspring. No small thing, even to a fuck up like me. On the other hand,