Chapter 18 – King
Chapter
Eighteen
KING
Laughter drifts through the open office door. Unrestrained laughter, the kind that only happens between two people who have a connection. It’s after six, and most of the building has cleared out, so it probably isn’t work. Does Mason have a guy in his office?
I haven’t seen him since Grampa and I bumped into him on Saturday, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve missed him. He hasn’t been here for our usual update the past two nights either and I have no idea why that is.
I brace myself for what I might find when I walk in.
He knew I was coming here tonight because I told him so via email.
So is this some kind of punishment? Does he want me to see him with whichever guy this is?
To witness someone else sharing something with him that I never will again because I lost that right a long time ago.
The door is wide open, so I walk in without knocking. Mason is still laughing, and the guy next to him—big, tattooed, stacked, exactly Playboy’s type—is smiling back at him like he’s landed the most incredible man in the world.
My research on Mason has led me to the conclusion that he doesn’t go short of offers, yet he remains terminally single.
But perhaps that’s a cover. Maybe being New York’s most eligible bachelor is simply an image he likes to curate.
Maybe he and this guy are actually living together and have two puppies and an old one-eyed cat they rescued from a sewer drain.
They’re doing nothing more than sitting next to each other on the large sofa, but they may as well be fucking for the way jealousy courses through my veins. Their thighs are touching. They’re close, and not just literally.
Mason looks up, and all too suddenly, his laughter halts. There’s not even a hint of a smile on his face now. It fucking stings, but I swallow down my anger the same way I always do. One of these days, it’s going to be the cause of a massive heart attack or something.
“I’ll catch you later, Ty,” Mason says stiffly. I can’t help but feel like he doesn’t want me to see that side of him—the vulnerable, open side.
Ty squeezes Mason’s shoulder and offers me a polite goodbye before leaving us alone.
“That your boyfriend?” I ask as soon as he’s out of earshot, and I’m annoyed at myself for being so damn obvious.
“Would it bother you if I said yes?” Mason is standing right in front of me now.
“Disgust you to think about my hands on his cock? Make you feel sick to imagine me fucking him? Right here. Over my desk.” He jerks his head at his desk, and the willpower and restraint I’ve been holding onto for the past two weeks snaps like a tightly wound rubber band.
My hand is wrapped around his throat before I can think through the consequences of what I’m doing.
I yank him forward and his chest crashes against mine.
“The only thing that makes me feel sick, Mason, is imagining anyone’s hands on you.
” I slide my free hand over his cock and suppress a growl at finding it semi-hard already. “Anyone’s but mine.”
His pupils blow so wide it’s hard to see the sparkling brown of his eyes. I squeeze him over his suit pants and he groans. “Fuck you, King.”
Keeping a firm grip on his throat, I dust my lips over his jawline until I reach the spot beneath his ear. “I bet you’d like to. But I’m the one who does the fucking, or have you forgotten that?”
His cock stiffens at my touch, and I fumble for his belt and tug it open.
Mason’s breathing grows faster and heavier.
I unzip his pants, and the sound is full of promise and temptation.
My own dick strains at my zipper. Slipping my hand into his boxers, I wonder what he’d do if I simply spun him around and bent him over that desk.
Fucked him the way I’ve dreamed about for eighteen long years.
When I wrap my hand around the base of his thick shaft, he groans. “You always were such a good boy for me, Mase.”
He grinds into my hand. “I said fuck you!”
“You are fucking me, baby. Fucking my hand like you’ve been desperate for me to touch you.” I flick my tongue over the shell of his ear. “You are desperate, aren’t you? My needy little fuck toy.”
He grunts something unintelligible.
I work my hand up and down his solid length, reveling in the feel of him, hot and smooth.
Swiping the pad of my thumb over his crown, I collect the precum there and use it as lube to work him over.
And while I do, I grind my aching shaft against his hip, feral with need for him.
Eager for him to touch me the way I’m touching him or to sink myself into any part of him.
Mason James is unraveling me. Every time I have any contact with him, it pulls at another loose thread.
Soon, there will be nothing left of me but a mess of desire.
“Tell me how good it feels to have my hands on you after all this time,” I growl in his ear. “I’ve waited so fucking long to touch you again.”
His hands rake over my scalp while he fucks my hand. “Jesus, fuck, King,” he cries, spilling warm ribbons of hot cum over my fist.
Panting for breath, he staggers back and glares at me. “Get the fuck out of my office.”
Fuck. Did I push him too far? He did want that, right? “Mason, I’m sorry, I just …” I wipe my hand on my shirt, staining it with his cum.
“Get the fuck out, King!” he bellows.
Filled with remorse and anger, I walk out of his office and make a vow to never go back. This job was a mistake, and jerking off my boss in his office was a bigger mistake. One I won’t make again.