Chapter 24 – Mason
Chapter
Twenty-Four
MASON
The headline about Astyn Bartley makes me snort: “Tech wiz who’s about to take the AI world by storm.”
More like “Tech wiz who somehow stole Jamestech’s patent and is getting all the credit.
” Nothing but a fucking fraud. I scroll down to his picture and shoot daggers at him through the screen.
There he stands in front of his Bugatti, wearing a sweater tied around his neck.
Who the actual fuck dresses like that? Pompous jackass.
He’s smiling, and I can tell they’re not his real teeth. Porcelain veneers I’ll bet.
I scroll to the message at the bottom of the email. This goes live tomorrow. Thought you’d want to see it first. Shelby xoxo
I went to college with Shelby, and we once got so drunk on tequila that we were arrested by campus security for stealing a bust of Shakespeare from the library.
For the rest of our time there, we were inseparable.
She’s a journalist now. A top-class one who reports on important stories, like wars and presidential elections, but she keeps an ear to the ground for the kind of stuff that she thinks would be on my radar. She’s a good friend.
I fire off a quick thank-you email, then shoot a text to King, asking him why he hasn’t found my leak yet.
It’s been three weeks, and he doesn’t seem any closer to the truth.
While I’m willing to cut him a little slack given his personal tragedy, the article has really shined a light on the importance of getting answers.
Thus far, King’s updates have consisted of who the leak is not.
Funny thing is I used to respect Astyn as a contemporary, even with his pretentious name and diabolical taste in fashion. We were rivals, but I never begrudge people anything they earn through talent and hard work. Now I see he’s nothing but a fraud, and it’s annoying that I ever admired the guy.
Less than two minutes after I sent my text, my secretary shows King into my office.
Despite him looking nothing like any health and safety auditor I’ve ever met, I will admit he’s done a good job of fitting in here.
We run a casual office, and most of our male employees don’t wear a suit and tie every day.
King has adapted his uniform accordingly, and it now consists of slacks and a fitted white shirt with long sleeves, which he obviously rolls up.
Why hide those beautiful tattoos if he doesn’t have to?
He looks more comfortable than he did in a suit. He looks fucking hot.
And I wish that having him relieve my bad mood by asking him to relieve me wasn’t the first thing that popped into my head when he sauntered into my office.
Pretty sure yesterday’s mutual masturbation isn’t helping the whole situation.
Also sure it was a violation of at least one health and safety policy.
And if it wasn’t, then we should probably write some.
I can see the fine print now: Senior management will absolutely not administer handjobs to—or receive handjobs from—their employees or any contractors.
He drops into the seat across from me, brow furrowed. “You wanted to see me?”
“I want some answers. Who is our fucking leak?”
He clears his throat. “I’m working on it. You have over four hundred employees. If you want this done discreetly, then it’s going to take time. You know how difficult it is to hack into someone’s personal emails?”
“You’re hacking into people’s personal emails?”
His scowl deepens. “You think they’re gonna be stupid enough to sell company secrets using their work ones? Of course I started with those, because I do my due diligence. But that’s not where I’m going to find the answers and we both know it.”
I screw my eyes shut. “How about you don’t tell me about your highly unethical methods and just find me my leak? That way I can claim ignorance when one of our employees sues us for violation of privacy.”
He laughs, dark and dangerous. “You seriously underestimate me if you think anyone will ever detect my methods, Mr. James.”
My eyes snap open and I scowl. “Mr. James? Seriously?”
He smirks. “Thought that might be more appropriate when you’re chewing me out for not doing my job. Something piss you off this morning?”
I push my chair back and begin to pace. I need to move. To think. To do something to sate this constant feeling of being on edge. “An article about Astyn Bartley taking the AI world by storm,” I grumble.
“Ah, that’ll do it.” He jumps up from his seat and walks toward me, stopping my pacing.
“I promise I’ll find your leak. I promise I’ll get you the evidence you need to bury Bartley if that’s what you want to do.
I know you don’t trust me on a lot of things, but please trust me on that.
” He sounds sincere. Sincere and concerned, and I wish that the sound of his voice alone didn’t have the power to soothe me. But fuck, it does. Soothe and ignite.
I take a half step closer so we’re within touching distance. Kissing distance.
He glides his hands inside my suit jacket, and his fingers dig into my waist as he pulls me closer. “Do you trust me?”
I swallow, need already working its way through my veins. “About that, yeah.”
“And what’s it going to take for you to trust me enough to let me fuck you again?”
Keep talking to me like that, and trust won’t matter.
I chew on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying that out loud.
But the truth is the other night at my apartment was incredible.
Doesn’t mean I want to open up all those old wounds and be his submissive little fuck toy again though. Hell no.
“What if I tell you that’s never going to happen, Hotshot.”
He glances down and smirks. “No? You wanna tell your dick that?”
“Well, my dick is a fucking idiot. I mean it. Not a single brain cell in his head.”
“Don’t insult him like that.” He trails the fingertips of his right hand over my zipper. “He’s sensitive.”
“He’s a jerk. Seriously.”
King’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. Predictably, my slutty idiot dick stiffens, and I picture King’s tongue running over the crown, licking the precum I can feel collecting there. “Quit playing games with me and let me fuck you,” he says.
“This all feels very one-sided,” I argue. “Surely there has to be a little give and take.”
His pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. We’ve been doing this dance for far too long, and he wants it as much as I do. He swallows. “What kind of give and take are we talking about, Mase?”
Mase? I bite on my own lip to stop myself from groaning. Plenty of people call me that, but the way he says it … Fuck, it does something to me. Something feral. How far can I push him? “Suck my cock. Then I’ll let you fuck me again.”
His pupils grow larger, and his breath hitches in his throat.
God, I fucking love having him on the back foot for once.
I narrow my eyes, drinking in every slight change in his usually confident expression.
“You do still suck cock, right?” He was never seriously into it when we dated back in high school, but he did it. And he was damn good at it too.
Moving tantalizingly slow, his tongue runs over his lips. The wicked glint in his eyes and his veneer of confidence, bordering on downright arrogance, are firmly back in place. “Better than anyone else you’ve ever had.”
“That’s quite the claim to make.”
He tilts his head to the side, scrutinizing me. Testing me. “Not a claim. More like a promise.”
I shake my head, a laugh bubbling from my lips. “You’re a cocky fuck, you know that?”
He shrugs and inches closer, eating up the remaining empty space between us. “Just sure of my talents.”
I palm the back of his neck and run my fingers over the short hair at his nape. “How about you stop talking about how good you are, get on your knees, and put that smart mouth to much better use.”
His narrowed eyes rake over my face. I sense a moment’s hesitation, and it’s clear he’s not used to being spoken to like this.
At this point, I’m not entirely sure how things are going to play out.
Maybe he won’t be able to handle me after all.
Perhaps that would be for the best, given our complicated history and our newfound professional relationship.
But he sinks to his knees, and every drop of blood in my body, not to mention common sense, heads south.
He unbuckles my belt, and there’s something oddly Pavlovian about the way my already stiff cock jumps at the sound. His fingertips brush my zipper, and I tip my head back and let out a groan that makes King chuckle.
“You’re so impatient for my mouth, baby.”
“Because you’re moving slower than anyone in the history of blowjobs has ever moved,” I snap.
That gets another dark laugh, but to my relief, he finally lowers my zipper, allowing my aching cock some room. But instead of taking pity on me, King mouths me through my boxers, sucking and licking until his saliva is soaking through the fabric.
“Fuck!” I grunt, rocking my hips against him.
He keeps a tight grip on my thighs, preventing me from moving too much, maintaining the control he seems to crave. “You know that sucking cock means you have to actually touch the skin, right?”
He digs his fingertips into my quad muscles. “Such a fucking brat sometimes, Mase.” Before I can reply, he tugs down the waistband of my boxers and runs his warm tongue up the length of my aching shaft. Lord have mercy, it feels like fucking heaven.
I moan, running my fingers over his buzz cut.