Page 43 of The Secret
I led Con around the delivery van, which was parked closest to the door, and pulled open the passenger’s side door of my silver pickup. He seemed surprised, maybe because we’d never gone anywhere in my personal vehicle together, but then, this was hardly the biggest employer-employee line we’d crossed today.Thathad happened sometime when I was kneeling on the hard, linoleum floor of my own fucking store, swallowing his load.
I adjusted my hard-on and tried to regain just a tiny bit of the self-control I used to think was ingrained in my bones.
Con didn’t say a word as he climbed in, just gave me this grateful, sheepish little smile that sent a bolt ofneedflashing through me and seared away even thehopeof my erection deflating. I waited until he got his seat belt on, gave him an encouraging smile, then closed his door… and froze.
Why was I acting like this was adate? Was it not bad enough that I’d already crossed a billion lines, messed up my priorities, left my work unfinished so I could help my employee through his mental crisis with somesexual healing?Not good. Not good at all. In fact, this was way more troubling than anything else that had happened that morning.
Getting on my knees for Con was not a big deal, in and of itself. Every guy knew orgasms were a handy alternative to a fistfight when your blood was running too hot to talk sense into yourself, and if a blowjob was a symbol of commitment, then Constantine would probably be engaged to half the state.
But the other shit? The part where I’d needed to make sure Constantine knew exactly who was worshipping his cock, who was swallowing his cum? The part where I wanted him to trust me? That was the part I had to put a leash on.
Or maybe a noose.
I’d told Constantine weeks ago that I didn’t have room in my life for sex that meant something, and that hadn’t changed. Sure, I’dthoughtabout this, even if I’d told Con I hadn’t. Hell, I’djacked offthinking about this. I mean, Jesus, look at the man. But attraction did not equal action. It most certainly did not equalfeelings.And even if Iwereinsane enough to go and grow some fucking feelings, whyConstantine Ross, a guy I wouldn’t have trusted to piss on me if I was on fire two months ago?
Maybe Constantine was right. Maybe I wasn’t as smart as I liked to think I was.
But did that realization stop me from climbing into the driver’s seat and heading southwest out of town with a very clear destination in mind?
Hell no. Barely slowed me down.
I was so lost in my own head, it took a minute to register that Constantine wasstillsilent ten minutes later, which was so unusual that I wondered if he’d fallen asleep. But when I turned my head, I found him watching me steadily.
And yeah, that look did crazy things to my stomach.
I cleared my throat. “Nothing to say for once? Not a single demand to know where I’m taking you? No jokes or provocative statements or random bits of trivia to share?”
“Not a damn thing.” He sounded drugged, but his smile widened a little. “I’m kinda fucked out.”
“Well, I guess I’ve found an effective way to shut you up.”
I hadn’t known Constantine was capable of blushing the way he did.
“I guess you have. Keep that in your back pocket,” he said lightly. The leather seat squeaked as he turned his head away. “For future reference.”
Future reference.
Both of us recognized the implications of his statement at the same time. I swiveled my head to look at him at the exact moment his eyes opened wider, and I saw him hesitate before turning back toward me.
This was the moment when I should conjure up that stuffy, self-righteous tone that used to slip out so easily when Con was around, and clarify exactly how meaningless this morning had been.
What came out of my mouth was, “I’ll definitely keep it in mind.”
I gripped the steering wheel more tightly.
“But since you’reinvitingquestions,” Constantine said, sitting up and sounding slightly more awake as I turned off the highway and into the tiny town of Parsa. “Wherearewe going?”
“First we’re getting coffee. At an all-night diner called Dillard’s.”
He frowned. “Never heard of it.”
“No reason you should, unless you hang out in Parsa and have a thing for sub-par pancakes. Coffee’s really good though.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever stopped in Parsa at all.”
“Then this,” I said, as I pulled to a stop in front of the diner, “is going to be a morning of new experiences for you.” For both of us.
I left him in the truck and went inside to get a couple of coffees and some muffins, then drove us through another few miles of endless, relentless trees, and pulled over by a small wooden sign that saidPaston Marsh Overlook.
