Page 64 of Work: Strictly Professional

I step back and take a long, wheezing breath when I see his milky white cheeks bared for me. There’s a raw, rampant sexuality to the sight of his ass that I haven’t experienced before, but that isn’t all. There’s an unbearable sweetness to it as well. Yes, I want to fuck this man. I want to bury my dick so deep inside him that he’ll never think of anything else. I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but what I want at least as much, if not more, is to stroke him and kiss him. To pet him gently and make him laugh. To hold him so close that the lines between us blur into nothing.

He turns his head slightly, offering me a glimpse of his beautiful face. He looks sweet and serene. Then he arches his back slightly, and he looks like sex. My legs give way, and I crumple, landing heavily on my knees on the floor behind him. One hand floats through the air and lands lightly on a perfect, pristine cheek. The other one joins it. My skin looks dark againsthis, each hand covering a vast expanse of silky skin. I take a second to appreciate the sight, reverent almost, before prying him open. The second I see his hole, I spring into action. I go on the attack. It’s like before, when I was feral and grinding him like an out-of-control teen. This time, I grind with my face and my tongue. I kiss indiscriminately, lips landing on any part of him I can make contact with. Tongue too. Teeth as well. I kiss and lick, and when that’s not enough, I bite, softly scraping my teeth over the underside of his ass. I knead at him frantically, groaning when he does, finding his puckered hole and sucking on it before fucking it with my tongue.

Wyn’s groans become panicked and high-pitched, and he wrestles himself free of my grip. He kicks his shoes off and his pants too. His jaw hangs open and his pupils are so blown out I can hardly see a trace of blue. “Professional…” he slurs, “…job description…”

It makes less than no sense.

He totters to my desk, naked ass and bare legs on display.

He’s there. I’m here. That’s wrong. It can’t stand, so I move to where he is. I’m on my knees, so I crawl. You’d think that would embarrass or shame me on some level. It doesn’t. It feels just as right as it did a minute ago when my tongue was inside him. I move slowly, hand-knee, hand-knee, as he watches, mouth still ajar, eyes flaring at the sight of me like this.

He switches the gallery window to opaque and gets the lube out of my top drawer. If I was thinking clearly, I’d probably be horrified that I just rimmed Wyn in my office without giving a thought to the fact that if someone came up to our floor two minutes ago, they’d have seen me on my knees, eating his ass.

Fortunately, I’m not thinking clearly. So instead, I just think how efficient and organized Wyn is to be taking care of all this.

He leans over the desk, palms flat on leather inlay, and I watch, transfixed, as he spreads his legs. I can’t move. I don’twant to. I want to stay right here, in this moment, forever. It’s a big moment. A watershed moment. A moment that comes after a lifetime of wrong-for-me, a moment before a new chapter begins.

“Hurry!” he hisses, snapping me out of it.

He’s right. Of course he’s right. We’re in the fucking office in broad daylight. This is no time for introspection. He passes the lube back to me and faces forward.

I burn as I prepare him. One finger, then two. I stay on my knees and watch my fingers slide in and out of him. Slick skin slipping into the heat of him. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. His ass is beautiful. It’s a beautiful hole that was made for me. He’s responsive, and Jesus, that’s beautiful too. He omits tiny oohs and aahs to urge me on and teach me how he likes to be touched. My insides quake as I commit every touch to memory. I feel his every reaction like a strong bolt of electricity. Every sigh, every gasp. I feel it in my core. It’s solid and heavy. Hot. It sinks slowly and pools in my balls.

“One more?” I pant.

He looks back and nods unsteadily. I withdraw and stagger to my feet. I place my left hand on his back, pushing his shirt up to expose as much of his skin as possible, and with my right, I circle his opening once or twice before pressing three fingers together at the tip and pushing them firmly inside him. His ring quivers and stretches, smooth now, no longer puckered. The way he moans is different too. It’s a sharp sound, a deep sliver carved out of him. It speaks to me on a level I didn’t know existed. I understand it though. I must because I answer with a broken sound of my own.

I tend to him gently until he’s thrashing on the desk, legs shaking, and shouting a mish-mash of orders at me.

“That’s enough…don’t stop…more…fuck me, Mr. MacAvoy…” I love it. I live for it. I can’t get enough. I want to keep him likethis all day and maybe all night. I don’t want to stop. Ever. “Now, Satan, you fuck, now…”

“It’s Satan Honey to you,” I correct, tongue thick and dry in my mouth.

“Derek! I’m ready… Please.”

It’s the please that does it. Soft and helpless, it speaks to my cock. It reminds me that as much as I’m living for this, as much as this moment is perfect, the next one will be better. There’s a strong jolt as my arousal shifts from wanting to bring pleasure to a desperate, rampant need to receive it.

I slather my cock with lube, groaning in relief as I do it. I keep one hand on Wyn, stroking his back gently, raking up goosebumps and smoothing them down again as I line the head of my cock up with his pinkened hole. It doesn’t look like it will fit. It doesn’t look possible. I slide my slick cock up his crack, the length of my shaft extending to the small of his back. That looks impossible too.

It isn’t.

By some miracle, the tip of my dick slips into Wyn. He cries out, fists clenching and beating the desk as his back tenses. There’s a change in his breathing. Shaky but controlled. His hole softens and stretches. It’s a tight fit, true, but it’s possible. I watch, amazed, as my whole head disappears. The pleasure is acute. Severe. It’s so concentrated and strong it feels almost like pain.

“Are you okay, baby?” I wheeze when I’m able.

“Don’t stop,” he growls. He sounds different. No longer chirpy. No longer human.

I ease myself into him, rocking my hips gently and then pulling back, inching rather than thrusting, backing up as soon as I feel the slightest resistance. It angers him. He pounds on the desk and lets out a long sentence made up entirely of cuss words. Then he reaches back frantically, hands grabbing at mythighs, nails scratching and pinching, and he pulls me forcibly into himself.

There’s a distinct sound. A sound I hear in my soul.

Click

I shift from man to machine. A well-oiled machine. My hips snap forward and draw back repeatedly, sawing in and out of Wyn with unprecedented vigor and speed. I don’t think. I do. Mind and body on autopilot. Thrusting, fucking, because that’s what I was made to do. Wyn cries and wails, thrusting his hips back almost as hard as I’m thrusting mine forward. Our bodies crash together, slapping every time we make contact. It’s frenzied and wild, but it’s also the calmest I’ve ever felt. Pure pleasure surges through me, rising and falling at first and then rising and rising some more.

Wyn reaches down with one hand and starts jerking his dick. I want to stop. I want to turn him over and watch him touch himself. I want to see how he looks when he’s stuffed full of my cock. I can’t though. I can’t stop because Wyn needs this. I can tell. His hole has started to tremble around me. Gentle flickers that quickly grow stronger. A sudden spasm that feels different. A clench that comes on the back of a moan that makes my whole life make sense. I keep thrusting, but I’m a man now, not a machine. I feel every spark, every wave, all the pressure, all the tension. I feel it all and cling to the edge, nails digging into stone until I’m positive I’ve wrung every ounce of pleasure out of my lover.

When he collapses onto the desk, face grating the smooth surface as I pound him, arms and hands loose at his sides, I let go. Stone cracks, crumbling and turning to dust. Life, a new life, a different life, explodes into being. My hands contract around Wyn’s hips. I thrust and pull him toward me as hard as I can, desperate to be as deep as I can, and then I shoot. Shot after shotafter shot spurts out of me, leaving me shaking and moaning, groaning until I’m empty.

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