Page 62 of Work: Strictly Professional

He does it again.

Again.

Again.

Words fail me.

I should probably think about whether it’s appropriate for me to touch my dick. Derek paid for my prostate, and we didn’t discuss anything else. I’m not all that sure about the ins and outs of the matter.

Is it a bonus if I come on his time, or am I taking liberties?

That’s what I should be thinking, maybe even asking.

I don’t because, sadly, thoughts fail me too.

My hand clamps onto my dick with the force of a strong magnet, and I start tugging it as if my existence depends on it. Derek watches the whole time, my face, not my hand or even his.

His eyes are still on mine when I feel his big hand envelop mine. He wraps his hand around mine and moans softly as we move together. I can’t feel his hand on my dick, only on the back of my hand. I know it’s because Derek wouldn’t do that. He won’t take liberties. He won’t touch me unless he’s asked first.

His touch is there but not there, and for some reason, that makes it even hotter. It’s intense. Forceful and concentrated. I feel vulnerable. Laid bare. Spread out and experimented on. Used in the best possible way.

That’s not all though. I also feel beautiful, mystical almost. And lying there, splayed out and probed, I feel more powerful than I can ever remember feeling.

“Can I taste you?” It’s a question, not an instruction, but it sounds like mine did earlier. Like a plea.

I nod drunkenly, head lolling up and down more than I intend.

Derek slides our hands down to my base and sinks his mouth onto me, sinking down and pulling back with exactly, precisely the amount of suction I like.

I come instantly.

It’s explosive. A violent eruption that shows no sign of stopping. It’s long and hard, a primal force that makes me feel like I’m floating and on solid ground.

Swimming and flying.

Free and found.

It’s early, but I’m in bed. I was sent here by Bridget after failing to pay attention to a story she told me about Kiki, her whom we both loathe. Of course I haven’t actually met her, but from what Bridget has told me about her, I’d hate her on sight. Anyway, when I wasn’t suitably horrified about Kiki calling a meeting that so should have been an email, Bridget diagnosed me with post-wedding blues and sent me to bed early.

I know I’m off my game, and I feel bad about it. But when Derek and I got into the elevator together at the end of work today, he hit the button for the ground floor, looked straight ahead, and calmly asked, “How much to put my dick where my fingers were earlier?” So, I don’t really think I can be blamed.

I think anyone’s grip on reality would be a little wobbly under circumstances like these.

Still, I feel bad about Bridget. None of this is her fault, and she deserves better. Maybe I’ll go back to Gucci tomorrow and buy a pair of sneakers for her too.

No. Can’t do that. She’d want to know why and how I’ve suddenly become a wealthy man.

No, I definitely shouldn’t do that.

To reduce the temptation, I remove the wad of cash from my wallet and shove it into my top drawer. In addition to sexual services rendered, Derek paid me for being his fake boyfriend in cash the day after the wedding. Seeing all the bills together like that makes my ass sweat. It’s a lot, and while Bridget doesn’t go through my things, she is welcome in my room anytime.

What if she needs something—small- to medium-sized jars, for example—and decides to open my drawers to see if they’re here.

What the hell would she think if she saw all this money?

She’d interrogate me for sure, and I’d crack and tell her everything. I know it.

She’d be appalled. Truly, truly shocked. I think she’d be so worried she might call my mom, and that’s something we’ve both sworn to each other we’d never do. She might even call my friends and stage an intervention. That’s how worried she’d be. They’d all be shocked shitless. I mean, Trouble would definitely support me. He’d be totally cool with something like this. He’d probably encourage it, especially if he heard Derek hadn’t been with a man before. He loves that kind of thing. And Gould would probably be pretty good about it, if I’m honest. I don’t think he’d bat an eye. He’d probably find it funny. In truth, if Trouble was fine with it, his dude-bros, Mat and Will, would be fine with it too, and Luke and Jessie are generally cool with everything as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else, so they’d probably be fine as well.

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