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Welcome to today’s stop on the Executive Assistant Blog Tour!

Today I’m participating in Sizzling PR’s blog tour for Evernight Publishing’s seriously sexy new anthologies, Executive Assistant and Executive Assistant: Manlove Edition. Since my story “The Art of Grant Management” appears in EA:ML, that’s what we’ll be focusing on today.

Executive Assistant: Manlove Edition

Unleash your naughty side with Evernight’s Executive Assistant: Manlove Edition anthology…

These sizzling hot stories dare to explore the taboo world of office romance. From X-rated job interviews, controlling Doms, to the unprofessional use of office furniture—these seven stories have it all.

Our bestselling authors are determined to make you squirm. You may never see the office the same way again!

Authors

Cat Blaine, JC Holly, Xondra Day, Nicola Cameron, Noelle Keaton, Pelaam, Nikka Michaels

Excerpt from “The Art of Grant Management”

Peter pushed the Men’s Room door open, ready to argue. “I do not appreciate being ignored when you’re the one–” he started.

And stopped, breath clogging in his throat. A shirtless John Quincy stood at one of the sinks, scrubbing angrily at a large oily stain on his Oxford button-up and cursing under his breath.

Half-naked, the short man was disconcertingly muscular, with broad shoulders and lean, well-defined arms. But it was his torso that was truly a thing of beauty. Peter’s mouth abruptly went dry as he studied the delineation of muscle, ligament, and bone that made up John Quincy’s midsection. Oh, damn me. That’s just not fair.

The administrative assistant looked up and spotted him. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” he grumbled. “Aleksis ran right into me and splashed this shit all over my shirt. And it reeks.”

“Ah.” Peter took a tentative sniff, then winced. “Glutaraldehyde, I believe. You won’t be able to get it out of a shirt.”

Quincy scowled, holding up the soaking shirt. A pale, greasy looking stain was still very obvious across the chest. “Goddamn it. I liked this shirt, too.”

Still muttering, he started wringing out the fabric. The motion did wonderful things to his obliques, and Peter had a sudden, utterly insane urge to step closer and press his lips to one pale shoulder, tasting smooth skin and salt. He could trail down across the firm curve of a pectoral muscle, listening to Quincy’s soft, surprised noise as he mouthed a nipple, before moving to the low valley between pectorals, a fine line of dark hair prickling against his lips as he kissed his way down—

He realized the other man had stopped wringing and was staring back at him. “What?”

“Uh, you’re giving me a weird look.” Quincy glanced down at his chest, then at his reflection in the mirrors over the sinks. “Do I still have some of that crap on me?”

Peter sucked in a long, deep breath through his nose. The pungency of glutaraldehyde, the astringent scents of cleaning products, the lingering biological odors of the room’s raison d’etre. None of it squashed his newborn lust the way he’d hoped. “No. It’s just—I wasn’t expecting you to be so…”

The other man raised an eyebrow, obviously expecting another of Peter’s usual insults. “Pale?” he snarked. “Freckled? You already knew I was a runt, so that can’t come as a surprise.”

“Muscular,” Peter managed. “You’re muscular.” Dear Christ, you’re gorgeous. Bernini would be reaching for a hammer and chisel at this point.

“Oh.” Quincy’s brows lowered in surprise, and for a moment Peter panicked that he’d said the thought out loud. “Uh. Yeah, well, when you’re 5’7” and a smartass, you learn to hit the gym if you don’t want to get the shit kicked out of you on a regular basis.”

“I see.” Peter let his gaze trail down, to the lovely V-shaped crease of the inguinal ligaments. It was one of his favorite spots on the male body, and Quincy’s were beautifully defined. Unable to resist, he studied how they disappeared under the man’s waistband, a natural arrowhead leading to the groin and— Oh.

To his shock, he realized Quincy was slightly tumescent, the outline of what looked like a very respectable cock just pressing against the twill fabric. With an effort, he dragged his attention away from the mouthwatering bulge, back to the other man’s face. It was flushed, and Quincy’s green irises had shrunk to a thin line, almost disappearing around the dilated pupil. An artery in the administrative assistant’s throat pulsed to an accelerated beat as his chest rose and fell more rapidly, pale pink nipples tightening and turning into tiny rivets.

Pupillary dilation. Flushed skin, increased respiration and heartbeat. Erectile response. The unconscious reflexes of physical attraction. He wants me, too. Peter felt a rush of elation lighting up his nerve endings with an unholy delight.

A simple experiment came to mind. He stepped forward, licking his lips. As he’d hoped, Quincy stared at his mouth, reflexively mimicking him. “Um, was there something else you wanted?” the administrative assistant asked.

That question again. The answer made Peter breathless. You, spread out naked on my desk so that I can examine every inch of you, then run my tongue over those inches for good measure. I want you hard and in my mouth, babbling incoherently as I savor your precum and suck you deep into my throat. I want your knees hooked over my arms, wrecked and helpless to do anything else but lie there and moan as I push into you. I want to make you scream my name so loudly the entire center can hear it.

I want you to belong to me.