FILTHY LITTLE ASSISTANT

n't be real, but here I was, walking down actual stone streets with designer shops e

n there

se was wrinkled from the plane, and my feet already hurt in these cheap

eeded t

e nobody knew me. The description was kind of vague, just said "personal assistant to a prominent Italian businessma

use. It was huge ,three stories with old stone walls covered in ivy and these big windows

the fifth time. This wa

te. I was already out of place. This whole thing was going to fall apart before it even started, and I'd

wood with fancy carvings all over it

like really tall, with broad shoulders that looked perfectly well with his suit. The goatee,

xas accent suddenly feeling twice as thick. "I

oth, unimpressed. He stepped aside, gestu

uitcase before

ooked expensive, old paintings, marble floors. It smelled lik

rridor, then stopped. "Upstairs. Someo

t the base o

in a hallway with two identical doors. Both were dark wood, both w

allway was empty. I was scare

oor. I was probably picking the wrong one. They were probably watching me on cameras right now, judging me. My heart was po

oked a little less scar

nt back home. Big windows, a massive bed with dark

resh from a shower with water still

etely

stopped

hest, abs that looked carved. His dark hair was wet and slicked back, and water was sliding down his body i

G

top staring. Heat flooded between my legs instantly, I was getting wet, actually wet, just from seeing him naked.

my hands around him, take him in my mouth, feel him get eve

utely wreck me, and

G

A sound escaped my throat, half gas

with his dick in my mouth. Him grabbing my hair, forcing

d. I spun toward the door, my face burning hot enough to

to

, authoritati

. Something about his voice just

think you're

t was pounding. I stared at the door ha

n ar

even thought about

s crossed, looking at me with these dark eyes. He look

ccent was thick, Italian. "The on

othing came out. I ha

It wasn't a

the Marche