Not a Date Ch. 02byMJRoberts©
ALL CHARACTERS IN SEXUAL SITUATIONS ARE OVER 18.
Characters are fictional.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Copyright © belongs to MJ Roberts, 2014. All rights reserved. Please do not reproduce without permission from the author.
Early morning Saturday, sunlight streamed through my blinds. With my brain still foggy about what I may or may not have done with my boss, I reached over into an empty spot that was still warm.
I was alone. I jerked awake.
I vaguely remembered Ryan leaning over me and saying, "I have a really busy day and I need to get an early start. I'll see you at work on Monday."
"Mmn..nnnn..." I had said.
I think I hate waking up to an empty spot when I expect a big, strong body to be there. And, even in sleep, I had expected that when I woke up, he'd still be there.
My mind went back to our sex session on the rug.
Holy heart failure, Batman!
I actually put my hand over my heart as my morning wood bounced a little, remembering.
I looked over at the space in bed next to me.
I didn't even have his phone number.
But surely he had mine. He had access to personnel records. He would call. He had a busy weekend. I had a nothing-planned weekend. The weekend dragged on. To say it went at a snail's pace would be giving credit to the snail. I cleaned my place. I caught up on my bills. I stewed.
Last week I had asked him to go out with me on Friday, on a non-date. I felt pretty sure of who I was Friday afternoon and where we left things late Friday night but as the weekend wore on I ended up doubting myself.
Friday night seemed like the start of something really special. I mean after watching him for three years at work, I could tell you Ryan was mild-mannered, classy, well-spoken. He was always so...reserved. I guess Ryan seemed like a play-it-safe, adult, serious, step-by-step slow and steady kind of guy.
But then last night. Wow! Showing up in the tuxedo? Handing me that single white rose. The way he held my hand when we walked home. The way he kissed me at the door, like he really wanted me but he wasn't sure where I stood.
The man was romance on a stick. (So to speak.)
Then, when I yanked him in (so to speak), gone was the slow and steady guy. Instead, holy fireballs. Talk about going zero to sixty, zero to six thousand, zero to six million, in 6.6 seconds. Whoosh.
And that tattoo. Who would have guessed that?
He was... even more male than I expected.
I was sure it was lust AND romance. I mean, that kind of connection? Gotta be.
But as the weekend wore on, I wondered. Maybe love 'em and leave 'em was his thing.
Even then it would have been worth it.
Fuck he was hot.
Never in my life have I so looked forward to a Monday morning.
"Helllllooooo Monday!" I said out loud to myself and jumped out of bed. I showered with record speed, dressed with care, didn't even need coffee (but had some anyway). I mean who was I kidding, like I was going to make it through a day without coffee.
I considered rubbing one off before going to work so I didn't seem so eager. It sounded like a good idea but it also just seemed so nasty. I mean I was dreaming of tracing down that amazing back tattoo down to that incredible ass with my fingers, my tongue, hell even the tip of my dick. Oh yeah. Sigh. Still it didn't seem right, just because I was a horn-dog didn't mean I wasn't feeling some budding blooms of romance and whacking off to a guy you had one non-date with no matter how hot he was was hardly classy.
My mind went to war with myself over the issue for a few minutes but I ended up just splashing cold water on my face. Really, REALLY cold water, and going to work early. So I'd seem eager, sue me.
I got to work. No Ryan. Nine a.m. rolled around. Still no Ryan. Don't panic, Jake, I told myself. Maybe he has a meeting off-site or something. It's not like he's not going to show up for work. I practiced deep breathing exercises while I focused on my computer. Promised myself I would take up yoga.
Ryan sauntered in late. The fucker.
"Morning, Boss," I said politely, ducking my head to hide my smile.
"Cortman," he said curtly not even giving me the courtesy of turning in my direction or a cursory look.
He'd never called me by last name before.
Fuck. That didn't bode well.
He went into his office. Came back out. Dropped a huge stack of papers on my desk with a loud thud. "Cortman, you've got a lot of work to do," he didn't exactly sound happy. "I expect to see some progress."
What the fuck?
I looked down at the pile. My body resonated with tension. Had he been playing me? No. Noooo. I didn't think so. So what was up with this?
It took a lot of willpower to focus on work. I looked up at Ryan a lot. Glancing at him through the glass walls of his office. He was on the phone gesturing angrily and pacing back and forth for quite a while. At about 10:30 he closed all the blinds on the windows. Then I couldn't even look at him anymore. Whatever. Fuck him.
Lunchtime came around and he opened his door.
"Cortman!" he bellowed. I stood up fast. "Can I see you in my office?"
I hustled in there.
"Close the door." His voice was serious.
I closed the door behind me. I took two steps toward him.
His next stage whisper was like a yell and it rushed over me with the force of a hurricane. "On your knees, bitch."
Faster than I could think my knees hinged of their own accord, bending forward, dropping me to the floor hard.
He stalked over.
Looking at me like I was prey.
But we he got to me he smiled, hugely. It was like being lit up by the sun.
He gently palmed my head and placed it against his hip. His hands stroked my hair; he massaged my scalp.
Oh my God. I melt against him.
Suddenly everything is right, and so right there, so vivid, so...immediate.
"Hi, baby," he says in a warm voice. He rubs my shoulders. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"Fuck, I was worried," I whisper.
"After Friday? Really?" he whispers back.
I nod against him.
"How was your weekend?" Ryan asks me.
You're asking me how my fucking weekend was?
"Good," I say automatically. Pause for a beat. "Sucky. I was obsessing over this hot guy and he didn't call me."
Ryan laughs, a velvet, chocolaty sound that warms me down to my toes. He strokes my hair again.
"I didn't have your number."
"Thought you might get it from the personnel files."
"I thought about it but then I was called down to Jacksonville at the last minute."
"When I didn't hear from you..." I can't stop myself from talking, like some other part of my brain has taken over; jeez, I'm gonna sound like a fucking pussy. "Are you seeing anyone else?"
He speared his fingers into my hair, made a fist, grabbed, and yanked my head back hard until I was looking up at him.
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?"
That was surely heard outside his office.
He went back to whispering. Tightened his grip on my hair harder, crouched down a little bit. "After Friday night you can even ask that?"
"I was just--"
"I think you should know me better than--"
"And that wasn't a no," I said.
"Yeah. That was no," he said.
I smiled up at him. He released me.
"Asshole," he said, but he smiled when he said it.
"I was pretty sure, I just wanted to be--"
"Make me. Give me something to stick in my mouth." I turned my head so it was facing his crotch and breathed out a large push of hot air.
"Don't tempt me." He soothed my hair, went back to massaging my neck.
We were silent again for a moment. I felt completely content. I shouldn't have teased him like that.
"I've known you for a while but I still don't know much about what you do outside of work," Ryan said. "What are your hobbies?"
Hobbies? I'm kneeling at your feet and you fucking want to talk about hobbies?
"Fantasizing about guys with Celtic tattoos. Obsessing about hot bosses. Resisting pleasuring myself over tuxedoed--"
"Yeah, yeah, enough, you'll inflate my ego," Ryan said.
"I can think of something else I'd rather inflate," I breathed on him again. I liked teasing him.
"Nice," he said. "But not what I had in mind for today's lunch menu."
"Your other hobbies," he said.
"I still play soccer."
"Must be what keeps you in such great shape."
"Not as good a shape as you," I whispered.
We were silent for a second. I let my fingers glide over the fabric on this thigh.
Ryan offered me a hand up. He took me in his arms. Then he held the back of my head, tilted it at just the right angle, kissed me. Softly at first, then with more intensity. He brushed his lips against my ear. "I missed you," he whispers.
Not as much as I missed you, I thought.
He let go of me and patted the edge of his desk. "Hop up."
I follow directions.
He pulls my legs apart. Steps between them. Caresses my jaw. Smiles at me like a kid in a candy store. Kisses me again. Fuck, he's a great kisser. He unbuckles my pants.
He is not really thinking about having sex at the office is he?
Ryan pulls my zipper down.
He is definitely thinking about having sex at the office. My eyes dart over his shoulder to the door. He didn't lock it, did he?
"Lift your hips up," he whispers. His voice is harsh, commanding, hot.
I shook my head. Not a no really, just an automatic response.
"Oh yeah," he says.
I lift my hips. He pulls my pants and underwear down, grazes his teeth down my inner thigh. Takes off my shoes and socks. Throws everything aside.
Kisses his way back up.
My heart is pounding. I'm hard. It's partially from fear.
He smiles that wicked, I'm-in-control smile at me again.
"You're enjoying this," I hiss.
"Nahhhhh," he answers.
Then my cock is in his mouth. For like a split second. Almost before I can register it, he stops.
Fucking Joker-Penguin-Riddler lovin' rat bastard.
My heart is in my throat and I'm breathing hard. I look over at the door. I'm sure he didn't lock it.
"Lock the door," I whisper.
He yanks me forward a little, palms my ass, giving it a quick caress then brushes a finger near my entrance.
Panic surges through me like a lightning bolt and my eyes bulge wide.
"Ryan!" My whisper is loud.
He cocks an eyebrow up at me.
Jeez, I can't even fucking say it.
"Bottomed. I was always the taker." I don't know where this is coming from. Again it's like aliens have taken over my brain and are speaking out of my mouth. Yeah, I'm a guys' guy, and I don't always bottom, but Ryan had me that way on Friday for Christ's sake but for some reason it came out of my mouth like I was a virgin. What the fuck?
Ryan looks like I set a match to him.
He fists my hair again. Leans in until we are nose to nose. His stare is intense.
"But, for me, you're going to do whatever I want, aren't you?" There's barely any tone to the whisper. The words come out on a rasp. Savage.
I want to nod but he's got too tight a grip on my hair.
"No," I say. But it is clear from my tone and expression that I mean yes.
He chuckles that warm laughing sound again. Caresses me with his thumb circling my entrance. Spikes my adrenaline.
"Tell me what I'm going to do."
"Put me on bottom," I say very quietly.
He shakes his head. "Say it the way I'm going to do it."
Words fail me.
Ryan caresses my balls. He bends forward until his lips are at my ear. "I'm going to pound my cock into you until you can feel me up in your throat. Drive in and out into that beautiful tight hole until you beg for mercy."
I wanted to beg for mercy now. But excitement wins out over fear.
I look over Ryan's shoulder at the closed, unlocked door again. Anyone could come in at any moment.
"We could get fired," I whisper.
Huge wolf smile from Ryan.
He takes a tiny bottle of lube, a condom, a handkerchief, a washcloth, out of his pocket.
Holy shit, he planned for this.
I close my eyes and practice zen breathing and zen thoughts. Very slow deep breaths. I feel the lube, I hear the condom rip. I work very, very hard at slowing my heartbeat.
Ryan throws my legs up onto him and takes one arm and belts it across my thighs like a steel band.
"Jaaaakkkkeee..." he whispers softly.
"Mmn," I say.
"Brace," he says.
Then one big hand clamps down, hard, over my mouth, and he plunges in hard, opening my body and soul impossibly wide as he buries himself to the hilt.
My eyes widen and I scream soundlessly behind his hand.
He waits for me to adjust.
I bite him.
"Bad," he says with both a smile and a reprimand in his voice. "Bad boy, Jake. No."
I bite him again.
He pulls all the way out and hovers, almost punishing. Then he plunges back in again. Slowly withdraws, slowly pushes in. Then he's off and running, pounding mercilessly and I'm glad he has a hand over my mouth because I don't know what I would do if he didn't.
He bends his knees slightly, changing the angle. Even though he's wearing all his clothes, I see him in my mind without a shirt on, his chest glistening, that fabulous back ink expanding with each thrust, and it's like he's getting wilder and wilder as he moves. His nostrils flare.
My head falls back as my neck seems not to work anymore but he cranks down hard on my mouth and uses his hand on my face like a lever to force my gaze back on him.
"Look. At. Me."
Got it boss.
I can't believe it's possible, but he pounds harder. Holds my face harder. I wonder if that's going to bruise. I look down at his hand and he releases my face, which is good because now I need to pant just to breathe.
Ryan uses his newly freed hand to grab my cock.
I bite my lip to keep from crying out.
He's making a soft growling noise deep in his throat, his lips are peeled back from gritted teeth and he looks like some growing wild animal. A dragon.
And still he strokes me, matching his thrusts with his hand.
My palms slip.
Doesn't stop him; he just leans into me harder.
I shake my head. I can't hold it any longer.
"Together," he demands. "One. More. Second."
Something in my brain fries; I'm not sure I understand the words.
Then he's got the handkerchief over me and I explode. I feel him come in me a second later. My body thunks back on the desk, making a loud noise. I hit my head on a stapler but I don't care. I hit my head on it again and it releases a bunch of staples and jams.
He pulls out. I stifle a groan at the weird sensation of going from so full to not at that angle. Then he's dressing me, moving me around like I'm some limp doll, but I'm staring at the drop panel ceiling still trying to figure out basic functions like blinking while he's putting on my shoes.
Ryan stands me up; my knees wobble and go to jelly and he has to stabilize me a second before they hold. He walks me over to the door and it seems like he's about to usher me through it.
My body comes on-line enough for my hand to shoot out and press a palm flat to the door before he opens it.
"For the love of God, Ryan," I whisper. "Give me a second."
I look at him and he has a 'yeah, I am totally the man' look on his face.
"You're not all that."
That breaks his face into an even wider smile.
"Hey, office sex would be a turn-on for anybody. That's the only thing that makes it exciting," I whisper. "You," I say. I put my hand out parallel to the floor and wiggle it in a so-so gesture. "Enh."
He laughs, puts his mouth to my ear. "Yeah, Pretty Boy. Whatever you say."
"Your technique needs work." Ryan clamps the very top part of my ear between his teeth lightly. I ignore the shiver that runs down my spine.
"Maybe you should watch a Youtube instructional video or something."
He bites down a lot harder.
I elbow him a quick one in the ribs before he draws blood. "Let go, Asshat."
Ryan laughs and muscles me out of the way and opens the door. He pushes me out with a little shove and I stumble forward toward my desk.
"I expect better from you, Cortman," he says behind me in and I hear the door close. Not exactly a slam, but close.
Holy fucking Mary mother of God.
And then some.
I sat back down and stared at the papers in front of me and the words swam. The world was still thundering in my ears; it was taking all my willpower to try and calm down. I stared at the same pages, doing nothing. I cupped my hand around my forehead as if I was deep in concentration when really I was in a stupor. All I could see was a repeat of everything, I-Max-movie-plus style times 1,000 on a channel called 'technicolor multi-sensory holy shit' but even more so: The pulse in Ryan's throat, the feel of the tip of his cock up against me, my glib comments, and oh my God, the smells. I spent a lot of time in the men's room wondering if the drop from incredible euphoria to trying to pretend to be normal was going to make me throw up.
I would have asked to go home but my boss would have known exactly what was wrong with me. To hell if I was going to let Ryan fuck me into fucking off.
Not that I was being very productive at my desk. It was hours before my heart rate came down from stroke level. I wasn't sure if this was just one aberration, a long weekend with moments from Fantasyland, never to be a real relationship or not. Whether it was or it wasn't, I was going to have to start doing more cardio, I couldn't be in as good a shape as I thought if it was three o'clock and I was still feeling like a doctor's visit was in order.
Now, I'm a watch whatever cartoon is on, roll with the punches kind of guy. But my brain was so happy there was no way I could even figure out what channel this thing with Ryan and me should even be on. (Well, obviously a triple X channel, but...)
Ryan, the super quiet, amazingly talented, totally conservative looking, proper-speaking architect guy.
The holy thermonuclear explosion.
Ryan finally came out of his office. Strolled over and leaned on my desk, with all the casualness of any laid-back boss in the world. Picked up the pile of stuff I was supposed to be making progress on, but because of my flummoxed state, hadn't made any changes to.
"Good work, Cortman," Ryan said. "Keep it up."
Double entendre much? I coughed into my hand.
I looked up and I thought there was a smirk there and a twinkle in his eye. He surreptitiously dropped a folded note on my desk. I peeked a glance at it. 'Dinner. My place. Eight o'clock. Stay the night.'
"Definitely keep it up," he said as he walked away.
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