Wanting My Assistant

Chapter 39

I'm so full I don't think I'll be able to eat for the rest of the week. Dawson's food is as good as it gets. I'm never going to eat anything but his food for the rest of my life.

No Dawson cooking equals no existing Isadora.

The kitchen still smells of the delicious spaghetti he made. He's all mine. That large, sexy man.

He's all mine.

Large hands slide around my waist and a smile instantly makes its way across my lips. Dawson. "Do you want to go cuddle, baby?" His raspy voice echoes in my ears, warming my body from head to toe.

The hum that leaves me is the only response he gets. Dawson kisses my neck again and the shape of his lips that press into my skin gives the smile he's been hiding away. His whole body is pressed against me. He's a human fucking heater. He radiates heat. Warm heat that I want to bury myself in and never leave. He's like an electric blanket. So warm and cozy and something that makes everything seem to fade around you. So relaxing.

Him standing and walking around in just his boxers isn't doing much to stop my greedy little pussy from fluttering. I'm so sore. My thigh muscles hurt like hell and my pussy, as excited to see him almost naked as it is, feels like it got ran over by a bus.

When I walk, I stumble.

Four fucking fantastic orgasms.

   All those dirty, wet thoughts I've been having are definitely playing rock-paper-scissors to see which one is going to happen next time.

   Some dirty, twisted part of me wants to be fucked on his desk. Rough and hard right before a meeting. To watch him have to walk into the meeting, his cheeks flushed and eyes dazed, adjusting himself as he tries to keep focus on the presentation makes a fire burn inside me.

   Dawson's hands give my hips a squeeze before he slides one large, muscular arm under my knees and clamping the other around my waist, cradling me.

   My eyes snap wide, "Wait! Dawson—" he pulls me up into his arms with nothing more than a simple breath. My arms wrap around his neck, my legs dangling over the muscles of his forearms.

   "Wait, no, put me down, I'm too heavy—" Dawson just kisses me. Hard and passionate. The kiss itself sends sparks down my spin, and when his tongue licks across mine, I'm a goner. A whimper leaves me and a groan is returned by Dawson before we slowly pull back from one another for air.

    "Darling, you aren't heavy, not even close. I feel a little offended that you think I can't carry you." He states, shifting me in his arms softly before taking off at a steady pace, heading for the living room.

   We pass through a hallway, the floors cleaned and shined to perfection. Dawson's apartment makes mine look like a homeless shelter. It's so clean and precise. So neat and expectant. Not a single thing seems to be out of place.

   The dark black hallway opens up to a large high-ceiling living room. Accents of white in the rug along with the full white couch. It's so modern and sleek. I'm so jealous of his apartment. And his cars. Jesus. He's got everything.

   A large flat screen TV is mounted to the wall that the hallway comes out, the sky outside dark with the late hour and sparkling with the stars. Every point with a window in his apartment has the most beautiful view.

   Dawson's warm body seems to heat mine, his scent all around me, each step he takes smooth and as easy as the last one. My eyes dance all around the large room, dedicated for hanging out and watching the larger-than-average TV.