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“I know.” I leaned against him as we approached the office building. “I just don’t want to steal their thunder.”

It was looking to be a gorgeous wedding, if the leaves would continue changing at the same rate. There were already patches of fire among the foliage in Central Park, and it would only get better between now and then. I started working through my list of tasks, keeping the thought of the wedding in the back of my mind. My mother deserved this. She deserved to be happy. Hell, maybe I deserved to be happy, too.

“I’m going to need to see you in my office,” Peter said, tapping his fist against my desk as he bustled by, jolting me out of my stupor of thinking. I felt dual shots of anxiety and arousal. I knew just what that tone entailed. He had something in mind, and I had a game to play.

With most of my previous boyfriends about as exciting as thinking missionary was my favorite sexual position, Peter had opened up endless new doors for me to walk through — if I wanted. He’d push me, but not too hard. In the end, it was always my choice. I knew that, much of the time, I’d be rewarded by doing something I wasn’t sure I wanted to do. That didn’t make the next time, or even the time after that, any easier. Peter was imaginative, endlessly creative. He always had something new in his head that he wanted to try out.

We could both agree that Peter playing the dominant boss was one of our favorite kinks. He enjoyed ordering me around, making me do his bidding, making me come apart in the end, helpless to his expert torment.

But I’d surprised him one morning, answering his request to come “keep him company” during a long conference call with some of the vice presidents of the company in his office. I’d gleaned the idea from that wretched contract I’d signed, but I thought he’d be pleased with my initiative.

He put his end of the call on mute as soon as I stepped in to the office, someone on the other end droning on and on about profits and dividends, but I wagged my finger in his face and pushed the mute button again, placing my finger against his lips before straddling him.

“You’re going to have to be very quiet,” I whispered, my lips against his ear, and then I very gently eased myself off of his lap and down to the floor, at his feet. He used to keep the window blinds to his office open, but since he closed them practically every time I entered the room, he figured it would be a good idea to just keep them closed all the time to avoid any suspicion.

Honestly, I would’ve been sure that at least somebody in the office would’ve caught on by now, but it was a discreet workplace and they all adored working for Peter. He was an incredibly giving supervisor, making sure everyone had whatever resources they needed at any time. He was lenient about time out of the office, including giving employees the option to work from home, and he gave raises every single year no matter how the company was faring. Maybe it was just a testament of a happy workplace that no one seemed to notice or care that the boss was screwing around with his secretary. We were adults, and we both liked it. There wasn’t any crime in it.

Now, though, half listening to several voices on the conference call start talking at once over an apparent point of contention about stock options, I slid Peter’s belt open and unfastened his pants. He kept his eyes on me, his chest rising and falling rapidly, the bulge in his underwear proving to me that I was doing a very good job holding his attention.

I easily found the slit in his underwear and drew out his erection through it, maintaining eye contact as I moved my head closer and closer to it until I was just inches away. If possible, he’d begun breathing harder, his blue eyes locked with mine, neither of us paying attention to the ebbs and flows of the conference call.

Painfully slowly, I stuck my tongue out — playfully, at first — then extending to delicately touch the dewdrop of arousal that glistened on the head of his cock. Peter’s eyes fluttered closed, and he inhaled, long and sharp. I noticed that the conversation on the phone had halted, and froze.

“Mr. Bly? Would you like to cut in?” a voice ventured.

“Yes, now that you ask, I would like to offer my two cents, for what it’s worth,” Peter said easily, not opening his eyes. Ever so gently, as he began talking about expanding their hotel business in other countries, he pushed the back of my head, indicating that I should go about my business without minding his. It was so sexy watching him as I ate him inch by glorious inch. He struggled to maintain composure. I didn’t think he understood what he’d been signing on for, trying to talk to probably dozens of businessmen in rooms across the world while getting head from me for the first time. It was electrifying, and I instantly understood why he always liked to be in charge.

It was a lot of fun to be on top, to control the other person’s feelings and perceptions, to maintain whatever pace you felt like.

I licked him languidly as his thigh muscles bunched and shook through his pants, taking his entire length in my mouth, the tip brushing the back of my throat, before revealing that length of wet flesh again.

“We will be moving forward with the Paris acquisition,” he said, opening his eyes, staring at me from beneath the lashes. “It’s a good idea, and one I want to pursue. Start thinking about other foreign locations we might see some success in.”

With that, he stabbed the mute button and seized me by my shoulders. I hadn’t stopped my ministrations, suckling at the tip and rubbing his shaft with one of my hands, and he arched his back against his chair, giving a loud groan as he emptied himself into my mouth.

I swallowed because it was cleaner, because I loved the man, because I thought he’d like it, and he pulled me up into his lap and kissed me.

“You are a minx,” he said, his tone accusatory.

“I had no idea you liked Paris so much,” I said innocently. “And I’m sorry that I'm going to cost you so much money.”

“Nonsense,” he laughed. “I have plenty of money. And I wanted to expand to France. Sorry that I used your fib as an excuse to do something I’ve always wanted.”

Was life good? Yes, I could answer truthfully. Life was very good. I walked the handful of yards between my desk and Peter’s office, my pussy already wet with anticipation over what game he’d have for me today.

I shut the door behind me as he opened a letter with an ornate opener, slitting it from one corner to the other.

“Don’t you have someone to open your mail for you?” I asked him, teasing.

“I think I do,” he said, “but I’m trying to stay humble here. There’s actually something else I’d like to open before lunchtime. I was hoping you could help me.”

I smiled and walked around the desk, trailing my fingers over the surface. “I love to help. It’s my favorite part of this job.”

He gently pushed me back so that I sat on the edge of the desk, sitting between my legs, spreading my knees, trailing the business end of the letter opener up my shin, then twirling it around my calf, then circling my knee.

I shuddered as it approached my thigh, then opened my eyes when its movement stopped.

“Trust me?” Peter murmured, and I didn’t even have to think about it. I nodded wordlessly and he continued the abstract patterns he was drawing out with the edge of the letter opener. The tip climbed higher and higher until it traced the lips of my naked pussy. With any other person, I would’ve squirmed away with fear that their hand would slip and I’d be pricked in a very uncomfortable place. But I trusted that Peter knew what he was doing, his pupils dilated, watching me breathe and lick my lips, knowing just how much he was turning me on.

He was as patient as he could be, but he suddenly flung the letter opener aside and flipped me over, upsetting his cup of pens and drafting pencils, scattering them across the surface as he prepared to whip my skirt up and enter me.

Just then, though, a brief knock announced someone’s presence at the door, and it opened without waiting for permission. I gasped and looked up to see Frank and my mother’s faces, peering in.

Peter pushed away from me abruptly as the door opened, and I lunged for a pen that was rolling across the desk.

“Got it!” I announced, well aware that my face was bright red. “Sorry for being so clumsy.”

“No worries,” Peter said easily, discreetly turning away to tuck his erection beneath his belt, I could only assume.

“What a surprise!” I said quickly as my mother’s lips pursed in a question I knew she didn’t really want to know the answer to. “Peter and I were just going over some figures for the…France acquisition. We have some really exciting properties to consider. What are you all doing here?”

“Well, we were just in the city,” my mother said, her eyes darting between my red face and Peter’s back. “We thought we’d drop by and see you two here at the office, but I’m afraid it’s inconvenienced you in the middle a busy work day.”

“Nonsense,” Peter said, turning cheerfully and pecking my mother on both her cheeks. He’d done a masterful job of concealing the bulge in his pants. If only I could learn to hide my infernal blushes. “It’s wonderful to see you both.”

“So you’re really going through with expanding to Paris,” Frank said, pumping Peter’s hand up and down before slapping him on the back. “Good for you.”

“Good for me?” Peter laughed. “You were rather dubious about the whole thing yourself.”

“That’s because it came as a surprise, is all,” Frank complained. “Your blasted secretary — no offense intended, Gemma, dear — knew about it before I did.”

That didn’t help my flush whatsoever. The only reason I’d known about the so-called France acquisition was because I’d made it up, spun the tale out of thin air as a way of convincing my mother I was something much more important than a dog walker and cocktail waitress. I’d pretended, back then, to have the life that I had now so that she wouldn’t worry about me. I was convinced that Peter had swooped in and saved me from certain discovery of my lies by agreeing to snap up a group of hotels in Paris. It was a deal worth millions of dollars, and he’d done it for me. It was yet another reason I felt inferior. What could I ever do for him that would even hold a candle to this Paris debacle?

“None taken,” I said faintly.

“We’re not here for hotel business, of course,” my mother interjected before Frank could quiz Peter further about the acquisition. “It’s strictly wedding business.”

“Ah, the wedding,” Peter said eagerly, beaming. He was probably just thrilled not to have to go over the details of a plan he didn’t want to do. “How is the planning going?”

“Pretty frantically,” Frank chuckled. “That’s what we get for a short engagement, of course.”

“You’d better not be complaining,” my mother said, prodding him with a finger. “It was as much your idea as it was mine not to prolong the agony of planning.” She turned to Peter as if to appeal to his sense of justice. “If there wasn’t that much time to plan, then there wouldn’t be as many choices to make. So we couldn’t agonize over what cake or what venue or what dresses. It would only be what could be quickly made available.”

“For the right price, anything can be quickly made available,” Peter mused.

“Which is what we’ve discovered,” Frank said grimly. “Money’s no object, of course. I want my Lydia to have the wedding she’s always deserved.”

I had to hide a smile behind my hand at the way my mother gazed up at Frank, her eyes full of love. Of course she deserved a beautiful wedding. She deserved all the happiness in the world, which was why I’d lied to her for so long about my dire money situation in the city prior to crossing paths with Peter.

“There are just too many decisions,” my mother sighed. “We’re more or less out of our depth, here. We need some help.”

“There’s no ‘we’ about it,” Frank said, raising his hands, alarmed. “Now, Lydia, I told you that you were in charge of planning all of this. All I’m going to do is show up in a tuxedo. We can do it in Vegas, if you like. Officiated by Elvis.”

“Absolutely not,” my mother gasped, appalled. “We’re going to do this right. It’s just … I’m overwhelmed, Gemma, and I was hoping to get some insight from you. Especially since Frank’s no help at all.”

He shrugged, and I finally had to laugh.

“I can help you,” I told her. “I bet you’ve already made all the right decisions. You just need someone to validate them.”

“Do whatever you want to them,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “I just need someone to say yes or no to several dozen people and things.”

“Can you spare your secretary to my fiancée for the afternoon, Peter?” Frank all but begged his son. “I don’t see how else we’re going to get everything done before it’s time to walk down the aisle.”

“For the greater good of mankind, and for my father’s happy marriage to a lovely woman, I would gladly spare my secretary,” Peter said, winking at me as I rolled my eyes at him. “Go, Gemma. We’ll suffer here without you, but you are needed elsewhere today.” I snorted. The only “we” he was referring to was him and his cock, which had been left hanging by our parents’ sudden arrival.

“I’ll catch up with you later tonight,” I said, letting my eyes drift downward, to his crotch, for a fraction of a second before smiling at him. I hoped he understood my meaning. I’d been looking forward to that little tryst just as much as he had. “You can…fill me in.”

“Let me take you out for lunch,” Frank boomed as my mother and I left Peter in the office. “We can talk all about Paris.”

I winced as we made our way to the elevator. My multi-million dollar mistake. It was a wonder Peter put up with me.

He snagged me before I could follow my mother too far across the office. “A quick word with your daughter, Ms. Ryan,” he said, jovial.

My mother smiled. “Of course, Peter. And it’s just Lydia. Or just plain ‘Mom’, sooner or later!”

I couldn’t hide my wince at that one. “I’m the only one who gets to call you Mom.” It would be too weird, otherwise, to be sleeping with someone who enjoyed such a familial connection.

“I’ll be by the elevators,” my mother said, shaking her head at me. “You take your time, Peter.”

“It won’t be but a minute,” he promised, watching her go before grinning at me. “You little minx.”

“I am not!”

“I bet you’re enjoying this,” he said, licking his lips at me. “You dodged a bullet this afternoon, but not for very much longer. That ass is mine, girly.”

“That remains to be seen,” I said, my cheeks growing hot.

“You said we’d see each other tonight,” he reminded me, a little too close for anyone to think our posture was even remotely business related.

“Maybe.” I shrugged and feigned disinterest, making him laugh.

“I will be waiting for you at the penthouse,” he promised. “And it’s there I’ll do unspeakable things to you. Things your mother would cringe to consider.”

I couldn’t help but shove at him. “Don’t be disgusting, Peter. You can’t talk dirty to me and reference my mother in the same breath. Too far.”

“Duly noted,” he said somberly, his blue eyes sparkling and belying his amusement at me. “Have fun with your mother.”

“I’ll have fun encouraging her to spend your family’s hard-earned money,” I teased. “She’s a real gold digger, that one. Only the best for Lydia Ryan.”

I darted across the office before Peter could muster a response and joined my mother in an elevator that had just arrived.

The elevator doors rolled closed, and my mother cleared her throat.

“You and Peter Bly,” she said, leveling a gaze at me. “You’re seeing each other, aren’t you?”

My face went hot. “Of course we see each other. We work in the same building — on the same floor — every day.”

“Don’t pretend to be dense. It’s not becoming.”

I shrugged helplessly at her, my heart thumping in my chest, the walls of the elevator seeming like they were closing in on me. Didn’t this thing go down any faster? I mashed the button for the lobby again and again as if I could will it so.

“Wouldn’t you rather focus on your wedding this afternoon instead of my love life — or lack thereof?” I said finally as the elevator doors rolled mercifully open.

“You can’t fool me, Gemma,” my mother said, matching my swift pace across the lobby and toward the car, which was already waiting outside for us. Peter must have called the driver to come pick us up. “I know when you’re going gaga over someone. You can’t smother that blush no matter how many lies you tell.”

Maybe that was why I’d kept her away from New York City after I’d first moved here. Because she was terribly easy to lie to over the phone, when she couldn’t study the color changes my face made. That, and the obvious — she’d have witnessed my shoebox apartment, along with my menial jobs.

I tried to use the distraction of getting the two of us loaded into the car and situated in the backseat to my advantage — that, somehow, between accusing me of seeing Peter romantically and sitting in the car, rolling away to her first appointment, my mother would forget she’d suspected anything about me and her future stepson.

I glanced at her to see if she was at least looking out the window and up at the glittering buildings we were passing as we sped down the street.

My mother had crossed her arms over her chest, her eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline.

“Well?” she asked, her voice high. “I’m waiting for you to give me an honest answer, Gemma.”

I sighed heavily and pressed my forehead against the heel of my hand. “I don’t know that an honest answer is going to make you very happy, and I think this day should be all about you.”

“Just a yes or no would suffice.”

“A yes or no to what?”

“Are you and Peter an item?” she demanded, exasperated. “Tell me!”

“Yes, fine, we are an item,” I said, throwing my hands up in the air. “Are you happy?”

“Are you?” she countered, giving me pause.

“Well, yes,” I said, after a beat. “Yes, I am happy.”

“Well, good,” my mother said, and turned to ogle the buildings.

My mouth fell open. “Good? That’s all you have to say? Good?”

She turned back to me and shrugged. “You seemed like you didn’t really want to talk about it.”

I gaped at her. “You’re the one who forced me to answer.”

“I just wanted to know. That’s all.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What do you think?” I exploded. “Are you upset? Outraged? Disgusted?”

“I’d only be upset if you weren’t happy,” she reasoned. “If he was treating you poorly. Do I have a reason to be upset?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Isn’t it weird that you’re marrying his father and Peter and I are…an item?” I winced at using her word for it. What we really were was difficult to define. Hot sexual and spiritual partners might best fit the bill. I’d never met anyone I had more of a physical connection with, and he’d quickly become my best friend, as well. I hadn’t had much time to develop any friendships in the city, but Peter had been a fast one. We loved to explore together and spend time together whether we were having sex or not.

“We’re all consenting adults,” my mother said. “There aren’t any laws against it. The two of you aren’t related by blood. If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”

“That’s funny,” I mused. “You sound like Peter. I was the one who tried to break it off, tried to tell him it would be too weird. He had many of your same arguments.”

“Well, it’s true,” my mother said. “Peter’s a smart man. He understands. And if you enjoy your relationship with him, that’s the most important thing.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, the driver ferrying us across the city, before bursting into conversation again.

“It’s kind of complicated. We didn’t — I didn’t — neither of us knew our parents were marrying each other until that day at dinner. But we don’t want to be a distraction for your wedding. We won’t even tell anyone, if you don’t want anyone to know. We’ll even sit on opposite sides of the reception hall during dinner — you all are planning on having a dinner, aren’t you? Or will it be a morning wedding with lunch? Maybe brunch?”

My mother laughed. Even now, even after seeing how happy she was with Frank, it was a foreign sound. Her life during my childhood hadn’t allowed for many laughs. She could’ve even been described as dour while raising me. I’d only gotten cues on how to laugh and be silly from my classmates during school. Ours was a house that didn’t hear much laughter.

“You’re the one who has to help me decide all of this, Gemma,” she said, patting my knee fondly. “Honey, I am in way over my head. Frank says money is no object, but money is all I can think of. How can he have so much money to spend on whatever he wants? It boggles my mind.”

“I know exactly how you feel,” I gushed. “Peter must’ve inherited that from his father. He gave me a card and told me to start spending — that I could buy whatever I wanted.”

“Where have these men been all of our lives?” my mother nearly screamed, and we dissolved into laughter, the driver eyeing us not so subtly from the front of the car.

The rest of the day was filled with appointments with bakeries and dress shops and florists, my mother turning to me anytime there was a decision she thought was too close to call. For the most part, her first choices were wonderful — she’d only needed someone else to confirm them for her. But that still meant we got to try bite after bite of delicious cake samples for the reception, mulling over everything from color to icing.