He was fucking magnificent. And I wanted him with every fiber of my being.
Whatever spike of attraction I’d had fifteen years ago on the night of the tournament celebration had been child’s play compared to how I felt sitting across from Grey Blackwood, the billionaire venture capitalist and infamous hostile-takeover expert, with only a conference table between us.
Little did Grey know, I was at his mercy. And I had been for fifteen long years. I’d fantasized about him more times than I could possibly count. Sure, most of those fantasies had involved naked body parts and grasping fingers, lips swollen with beard burn and breathy gasps filling the silence around us. For sure a big one had been about finally being able to reciprocate by taking his dick in my mouth and trying my best to swallow it. But some of the fantasies had been different. Some had included heartfelt apologies and long-winded explanations of what a coward I’d been. Some had simply been dreams of coming home from a particularly horrible day at work and walking silently into his comforting arms.
Over the years, I’d turned my memory of this one man into the representation of everything I wanted in a partner. I was well aware of how unreasonable and unrealistic it was. I knew the real Grey Blackwood was most likely nothing like the dreamy version of him in my head, but it gave me comfort to imagine someone like him in my life. Someone who’d clearly trusted me. Who’d intrigued me. Who’d offered to help and who’d given a shit about me even for one moment despite who I was.
“Do you agree?” I asked Grey after declaring I would, in fact, act as his personal assistant for two weeks if he’d let my parents keep their house.
He tilted his head as he assessed me.
“You will be at my beck and call at all hours and do as I say.” It wasn’t a question, and the way he stated it as a fact made my lower belly tighten.
“Within reason,” I said, just to try and keep some semblance of cool. I’d already determined the best way to get close enough to figure out how to tackle the problem of Grey Blackwood was to go along with whatever he said. “I will not shave your face or scramble your eggs, for instance.”
The image of Grey Blackwood dripping wet and wrapped in only a low towel around his waist waved happily to me like a flag in the stands of a major sporting event. It wanted my attention, desperately.
I ignored it. For the moment.
“But you will stay in the guest room at my penthouse. We’ll need to work late every evening to make the most of these two weeks.” He looked back down at his paperwork, so I couldn’t interpret his expression.
My throat dried up like a raisin. “Uh. Huh?”
I’d meant it as a clarifying question, but my grunt must have come out as a sound of agreement because he nodded. “Very well, then. They can keep the house in Greenwich.” He waved the back of his hand through the air as if the twenty-million-dollar property was child’s play.
As though two weeks of my time was adequate compensation for it.
I didn’t know what to say. I had no idea how to feel. Except…
“Excuse me for just a moment.”
I pushed my salad away and stood abruptly, nearly stumbling from the room in my haste to get to the executive washroom down the hall. Once inside, I locked the door behind me and took my aching cock in my hand. Christ, when was the last time I’d been this hard?
Maybe fifteen years ago, my brain helpfully reminded me.
Grey Blackwood had pushed every one of my buttons even before I’d heard him order my father removed from York Capital as easily as he’d ordered lasagne for dinner, but now? After witnessing that? Fuck. I was so turned on I couldn’t possibly sit in the room with him without embarrassing myself.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I felt embarrassed and out of control, hot and dirty. I’d never jacked off at work before. But Grey Blackwood was here and bossing me around like he owned the place, and oh, by the way… he owned the place.
“Agh.” I sucked in a breath of cool, climate-controlled, air-freshened oxygen. The dim lighting in the washroom glinted off black granite countertop and nickel faucet. The hard throb of blood in my cock made my legs tingle and shake.
This was happening. I was going to jack off to the image of my new boss, the man who’d gone down on me and rocked my fucking world. I fumbled for a few pumps of hand lotion from the tray of toiletries on the counter.
I grunted, grabbing my dick again and wondering if I wanted to come fast or draw it out. “Fucking fuck.”
At this rate, I wouldn’t have a choice.
I’d noticed every sexy inch of Grey in that conference room. While he told me I’d have to be at his beck and call, my dick had started chubbing up, and my brain had gone on a porny fantasy spree. Then he’d mentioned me staying in his penthouse and…
“Oh god.”
I thought of seeing him broad-shouldered and shirtless as we accidentally met in the kitchen in the middle of the night, running into him dripping with sweat coming out of his home gym, or seeing him unshaven and tired after a long day.
My balls tightened. This was awful. It was like an odd kind of invasion of privacy, wasn’t it? I was using thoughts of him to get off while he was busy working like a responsible adult.
He was a hot fucking adult. Bossy and confident and powerful as hell.
I felt my orgasm approaching quickly, and I let my head fall back against the door with a thud. Behind my closed eyelids, I replayed the memory of Grey on his knees for me in that storage closet, of Grey saying…
“Ellison?”
Oh, fuck. Grey was outside the bathroom. Literally inches away from my naked dick.
My eyes popped open, and I saw my own reflection in the mirror over the sink. Red-faced. Glassy-eyed. Totally lost.
“Y-yeah?” I said a little breathlessly.
“Are you okay?”
My suit pants hung around my spread thighs. My Brooks Brothers oxford was rucked up over my chest. The head of my dick was slick and shiny with precum and lotion. I was a fucking mess.
“Never better,” I assured him in a strangled voice, my hand still working my cock slowly and—I really hoped—noiselessly. “Be done in five minutes or less.”
Less. Definitely less.
I could sense his hesitation through the door.
“If you… if you need anything,” he began almost reluctantly. “I could—”
Oh, god, I needed so many things. For him to touch me. For him to want me. For him to go the fuck away so I could finish this without mortifying myself further.
“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath. In a louder voice, he commanded, “Hurry it up, York. I need your ass in the conference room. Come now.” Then he stomped off down the hall.
I stifled a little whimper and throttled the base of my cock quickly, unable to reply without giving myself away. His words echoed in my head, in my ears, in my throat, and in my balls.
Come now.
Come now.
Come now.
As soon as I let go and drew my fingers up my shaft one more time, it was all over. I bit down on the fist of my free hand while I stroked myself through my release with the other.
It had been a while since I’d come at all, but I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I’d come this hard.
What the fuck was wrong with me?