Continental Beginnings

Continental Beginnings

(Continental Affair #2)

Continental Beginnings (Continental Affair #2)

© Ella Dominguez 2013

All right reserved

Dedication

To the family, the friends and the fans: Love you, cherish you, thank you.

Acknowledgements

Special thanks goes out to everyone who beta read for me and has continued to read my less than stellar writing.

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

Chapter 1

If I have to sit through another one of these bullshit interviews, it’s going to get ugly in here. Who’s next?
Bella Darcy, age 26.
It’s 1:30 in the afternoon and I’m two interviews down. How many is that this week? Five? Six? I’ve lost track.  Or maybe I’ve just blocked them from my memory. Not one single person seems suitable for the position of my personal assistant. The candidates have been attractive enough and well-educated, but they’re just lacking
something.
I can’t put my finger on what it is they’re missing. Personality? Charisma? Allure? All of the above.

“You’re next interviewee is here, Mr. Pettifor,” my temp calls out.

Damn. Here we go again. I’m shuffling paperwork around on my desk and scanning the applicant’s qualifications, or lack thereof, when she walks in. I smell her before I see her. What is that scent? Inexpensive musk with an undertone of something sweet. I look up and,
my God
,
those eyes
– deep sapphire blue, large, and inquisitive – are gazing at me expectantly, waiting. But waiting for
what?

“May I sit?” she asks politely.

Why the hell is she asking permission
? I nod my approval and she seats herself gracefully in the chair across from my desk, crossing her slender yet muscular legs. She tensely tugs her skirt down over her thighs and shifts uncomfortably and I can’t help but wonder what she’s wearing underneath her cheap, form-fitting, yet deliciously flattering pale blue tube dress. Her dark shoulder-length hair is slightly tousled and she’s wearing too much make-up for her natural beauty to show through.
I could really clean this one up nicely
. She coughs anxiously when she catches me gaping at her.
Nice going, Xander. 

Damn it to hell. She has no real experience as a personal assistant, or anything else for that matter, and the only thing she has going for her is the fact that she’s a new graduate of a technical college with a degree in Medical Office Administration. Why the hell did she apply here and how the fuck did she slip past the screening process? I’m scanning her resume hoping to find something positive or any reason I should hire her, but it contains only the basic crap that discloses absolutely nothing about the stunning individual seated across from me. She moves in her chair again and her fragrance wafts past me, breaking my concentration.

Before I have a chance to say anything, the sweetest of sweet voices fills my ears.

“I realize I have no experience, but I’m a fast learner and very eager to please…”

My eyebrows go up to her remark.
Eager to please, is she?
She immediately tries to retract her statement, but the seed of desire has already been planted in me.

“What I mean is… I’m a fast learner,” she sighs.

I realize I haven’t spoken a word to her yet but words seem to have escaped me.

“Bella, a perfect name for a beautiful creature,” I say quietly before I can stop myself.

Mortified with myself for my lusty remark, I’m rewarded for my honesty with a genuinely shy smile, the likes of which I haven’t seen in my lifetime. I’ve dreamt of a smile like that, even read about it, but never actually seen one.

“Thank you, Mr. Pettifor,” she replies melodically, her tongue caressing my name as if no other name was meant to be spoken from her unspoiled mouth.

“Tell me more about yourself, Ms. Darcy,” I request, her name still lingering on my lips.

“What would you like to know?” she asks, looking worried.

“Anything. This resume divulges nothing.”

“I’m a fast learner,” she repeats for the third time.

“You’ve already told me that. What else?”

“Um, I’m from Montana.”

It’s painfully obvious that this woman has no interview skills whatsoever. Not that I give a shit. Her interview skills aren't the ones I'm particularly interested in. I'm keen on a whole other skill set that she might possess. I press my index finger to my lips and tilt my chair back and watch her as she readjusts herself in her seat. Once again, her aroma fills my nostrils, both arousing and irritating me.

“Please sit still, Ms. Darcy. You appear uneasy and nervousness is an unbecoming trait for an attractive specimen such as yourself,” I state evenly.

I’m unsure how she’ll react to my mild reprimand and criticism, but to my sheer delight,t a look of revelation crosses her face. She obediently places her hands in her lap, sits up straighter and remains motionless.

“Yes, Sir,” she says, her lids heavy with desire and longing.

And there it is. That
something
I’ve been looking for - that submissive quality that I seek in all women. Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?
I want her.
My heart beats uncontrollably at the thought of having her. I scan her up and down. Her hardened nipples speak directly to my cock and right on cue, it immediately awakens and rises to the occasion.
I wonder…

I stand and move in front of the desk, hoping my hard-on doesn’t frighten her away. She watches me as if mesmerized by my movements, her eyes never leaving mine. Taking her hand firmly, I pull her out of her chair, and without hesitation she follows me around to the back of my desk.

This is a bad idea – really bad.
I could end up with a lawsuit against me for the things I’m thinking about doing to this woman. No – for the things I’m
going
to do
to this woman.

“I’m hungry, Ms. Darcy,” I whisper as I lean down into her ear, wanting to taste the sweet nectar between her legs.

Inhaling her feminine scent, my animal instincts kick in. I reach around behind her and pull her close, waiting for either her rejection or acquiescence.

“I’m here to please you in whatever way you want, Mr. Pettifor,” she squeaks out, her body going limp in my arms.

Eager to please, indeed.
Who is this woman? What the fuck is she doing to me?
I pull away from her, confused by my emotions. I’m not a man who is easily denied and I want her –
badly.
Staring into her eyes, her mouth parts and her panting, mint-scented breaths flutter past my lips. Damn the consequences. I will have this woman. She will be mine.
All mine.

“Lean back,” I command as I lift her onto my desk.

Hiking her skirt up slowly, her firm, smooth thighs and lace covered pussy are unveiled to me in spectacular fashion. She’s a vision of absolute fucking perfection. I slide her panties down as she spreads out on my desk, her legs opening up to me, her cunt wet and glistening with excitement. I ghost my nose up the inside of her thighs to the apex of her clean shaven pussy. She smells of soap, cheap perfume and arousal.

One long, slow lick into her silken folds later, my fate is sealed and there’s no turning back.

With my tongue buried deep in her sweet cunt, I mumble, “Yes, you’re definitely the girl for the job.”

I’ll regret my decision; I just know it. I’ve never done anything like this and for good reason. Getting involved with a stranger let alone someone I want to work for me has nightmare written all over it. I’ve avoided all forms of long-term commitment because of the complications and drama they inevitably present, but the way this woman’s body responds to me… no one has ever given them self to me so willingly. Looking up into her eyes, she’s watching me languorously – her tongue poking out to slick her dark pink lips.

I have to be inside of her. I need to fill her.
Standing in between her legs, I reach into my back pocket and pull out my emergency protection. I pause when her eyes widen and for a moment I think she’ll reject the fucking I intend to give her. Instead, she does something so adorably subservient, my mind is instantly made up about her.

She sits up, reaches over and takes the condom from my hands, opens the foil package with poise and slides it gently over my stiff shaft. She then lies back on the desk and spreads her legs open for me. She teasingly circles her middle finger around her clit as she waits for my penetration, her breathing quickening with anticipation.
She wants me.
But I have to be sure before we go through with this.

“Are you sure you want this?” I ask with desperation in my voice.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispers, licking her lips again.

And so our dance begins. I fuck her slowly and deliberately, the look on her face orgasmic with each of my gentle thrusts. She’s close – I can feel it. My thumb finds her swollen button and I stroke it with purpose. When I press down on it firmly, her eyes close tightly, she fists her hair and screams out.

“Oh, Sir!”

Those passionate words spoken so true and meek - this woman has bewitched me.

Chapter 2

After our unplanned and extremely inappropriate sexual tryst, I put my new pet back together, fixing her just-fucked-hair. She accepts my touches, but seems confused by my actions. Has no man ever taken care of her like this? Does she have a boyfriend? I’m tempted to ask, but it’s best that I don’t know. The less personal information I know about her, the better. I’m already smitten with her more than I want to admit and I will not allow myself to get any more emotionally involved with her than here at work.

I guide her back to her chair and then make the necessary calls about her employment.

Calling my temp, I tell her, “Cancel all future interviews.”

With that, Bella smiles at me. Damn it.
That smile
. I almost smile back but resist the urge.

I send Bella on her way with plans to see her soon, though, in my opinion, not soon enough.

After Bella leaves, her scent lingers in the room making it damn near impossible to focus on anything. It will be good having her close by. Perhaps then I can get my work done.

Unfortunately, I need to do a background check on her. That part I cannot let slide – it would be irresponsible for me not to do one. All of her records are completely clean and frankly, quite boring. One thing stands out: She’s one of three children to her parents, and the middle child, which is something we have in common. She’s lived a completely uneventful life. Perhaps I can change that for her.

Nearing the end of the day, I make a call to Sachs Fifth Avenue and speak with someone about providing a complete wardrobe for my new assistant.  Exhilaration courses through my veins at the thought of grooming and training her to my tastes and preferences and watching her blossom under my tutelage.  Hopefully she will be pliable in my skilled hands.

Shit, I almost forgot about my class tonight. Glancing at my watch, I realize I’m going to be late if I don’t leave immediately.

Arriving just in time to get settled, my trainees file into the room one at a time. I do a head count and make my way around the small room, eyeing each of the women’s attire and posture.

“Shoulders back, Ms. Garcia,” I state sternly. She promptly adjusts her pose and keeps her eyes forward.

Bella.

“Where are your pumps Ms. Bartlet? Did I not make it clear that heels are to be worn at all times when you’re in my classroom?”

“Yes, Sir, you did,” she sheepishly answers.

“Where are they?” I snap.

Bella Darcy.
Damn it. Stay focused.

“I got drunk last night and broke a heel,” she says quietly all the while batting her lashes at me wildly as if that’s going to help her cause.

“You know how I feel about excuses so stop before you dig your own grave. Drinking too much is unacceptable behavior for a proper lady and for someone who is representing this school, public intoxication followed by jackassery is even worse.” I announce harshly as I reach into one of my desk drawers, pulling out a thick, black leather bound rule book and move towards the unruly student.

Her eyes lower to the desk and her breathing becomes shallow. Normally I would feel excitement at punishing noncompliance, but my heart isn’t in it tonight. Bella keeps invading my thoughts and it doesn’t help that the smell of her exquisite pussy is still lingering on my clothes.