The Writer's Assistant (ManxMan)

Chapter 25: A Quickie

I forgot Oliver was a big man-child.

"Can't we tell the chauffeur to impose some authority?" I suggested. She shook her head.

"The only person he listens to is you."

My back straightened. "Me?"

"We've hired a couple of assistants before you, but they all quit. They didn't know what to do with Oliver. He was cold, distant, and stubborn. He's like a cat. He chooses who he gets along with. You're the first and only assistant he appreciates. No one has lasted longer than a week with him."

This information surprised me. Sure, Oliver was unique, but he wasn't difficult to work with. You just had to find ways to convince him to cooperate.

"I think what you two share is special," she smiled, and I felt my face turn red. "I hope you stick around. I think he really likes you."

"So what do you suggest we do?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"I'll let you decide," she smiled. "You always seem to have a way of getting to Oliver."

Her eyes sparkled when she said those words.

***

"Oliver?"

He didn't look up from his laptop. He had his thinking face. His eyebrows were pulled together, and his lips were a firm line.

"I think you need better security," I continued.

"Is that your way of calling me poor?"

I rolled my eyes, dismissing his deadpan humor.

"I'm not talking about financial security." Either Oliver had no idea how rich he was, or he was too humble for his own good. Camilia mentioned how much Oliver earned through passive income – his best-selling book was still in the top 50 charts. "How about we go for a ride?"

He finally looked up with a smile. "A ride?"

I stiffened and dropped my gaze, pushing away the dirty thoughts.

"In your car," I clarified.

I could hear the drop of disappointment when he said, "Yes, my car, of course." His eyes fell back to his screen. Thinking face. "I'm afraid I'm busy today."

"What about tomorrow?"

"Let me check my agenda."

"You don't have an agenda," I grimaced. He typed something into his keyboard.

"According to my agenda, I'm busy."

"Typing random words into your computer isn't an agenda," I clarified. "Oliver, you can't avoid your problems forever."

"No, but I can try."

"What are you going to do when you can't avoid it any more?"

"Cry, probably."

"Oliver," I groaned. "That is not the mindset you should be promoting!"

"I am an author, not a motivational speaker. You can't career-shame me."

"What do I have to do to get you to drive? I'll do anything."

He raised his brows and looked up at me again.

"Anything?"

"Nothing naughty," I hissed, but his lips quirked. He crossed his arms over his chest, and I couldn't help but notice his muscles.

"Define naughty."

I pursed my lips. Oliver stood up and came closer, resting his hands on my waist and bringing my hip against his. The immediate contact against my lower member sent a jolt up my spine. My lower member twitched in excitement when his warm lips brushed against my ear.

"Naughty as in–" my breath hitched when he kissed my neck.

"As in?" He coaxed.

"Not doing that during working hours," I growled, finding it impossible to resist him.

"And after?"

I pressed my hands against his chest but didn't push him away.

"Oliver, you're–"

"Hard, I know."

Supposed to be working, was what I wanted to say.

"Camilia is organizing a small party tonight to celebrate your successful interview."

"She organized a party for me without even inviting me?" He didn't seem offended. Just confused.

"She knew you'd say no. She wanted to tell you once it was too late for you to decline." I studied Oliver's face. He didn't seem keen on participating in the event. "You'll come, right?" He looked at me, and for some reason, he smiled. I quickly added, "To the party, I mean. You'll come to the party, right?"

I could see the hesitation in his eyes, and I blurted, "I'm going."

He raised his brows and stared at me, and I dropped my gaze.

"And I want you to be there too."

"Then I'll be there."

I looked up again, my heart skipping at his warm, promising tone.

"Schedule it on your agenda and add my name so I don't forget," he said, without forgetting to add, "Please."

"That's what I always do."

I was the planner. He was the do-er.

Oliver smiled. "Which is why we make such a great team."

I rolled my eyes but failed to hide my smile, but my eyes widened when he pressed his lips against mine. In my head, my consciousness was screaming, Pull away, pull away! You shouldn't kiss your boss! But my fingers curled around his collar and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. My consciousness couldn't compete with the rushing blood and tingling sensation that spread throughout my body.

Oliver eased me against the wall, his hips pressed against mine. My hand slipped into his shirt, and I felt his abs tighten under my touch. I opened my mouth and felt his tongue press against mine. I half-moaned at the pleasant feeling, my knees buckling as he kissed me harder. Rougher. I gasped when he pressed his erection against mine, the overly pleasant friction making my eyes roll in their sockets. He felt big.

"Oliver," I moaned, my hands skimming up the back of his shirt, fingernails sinking into his strong, smooth skin. His palms moved closer to my ass, and I wanted to strip our clothes off.

His lips pulled apart from mine, his mouth kissing my jaw as his nose grazed over my neck. His low, husky pants made my toes curl.

"I really want to fuck you," he whispered into my ear. He sounded hungry like I was his next meal.

"Oliver," I gasped when he spun me around, and I felt heat pool between my thighs. "We can't. Not now."

To my dismay, he stopped. I heard him groan from behind, his head falling against the nape of my neck.

"You're right." His voice came out ragged.

"What?" I almost sounded disappointed.

"I have a meeting soon. We don't have time to fuck, and I don't think I'll be satisfied with a quickie."

His gaze locked on mine, a hint of a smile on his face.

"I want to take my time with you."

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