Chapter 32
CHRISTIAN
He’s late, which shouldn’t get to me the way it does, but it does. I’m currently extremely sick of waiting for Gibson to show up where he’s supposed to be.
I’ve already sorted his emails, fixed the double-booked disaster he made of his schedule, and brewed a second pot of coffee because I mainlined the first one.
He finally comes into his home office around one, dressed in a hoodie with a pocket across the front—unexpected—and pajama pants. Shocking. His hair is a disaster, and he hasn’t shaved.
“I’m hungover,” he says. “Don’t give me shit.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You did earlier.”
I roll my eyes and get back to the spreadsheet I’m trying to make sorting all his employees, properties, and relevant contacts. I’m not great at spreadsheets, but messing with this one gives me something to do when I’m having trouble focusing. “I’m a little hungover, too,” I mumble.
He collapses onto his seat behind the desk and taps his mouse to light up his desktop screen.
“How’s your friend?” I ask after a few minutes.
“A little fucked up.”
“Were you able to help?”
“I will be, I think. I hope.”
“How old’s his kid?”
Gibson drops his hand on the desk and gives me a flat stare. “What are we doing today, Christian? Are we working, or are we taking the day off?”
“You’re not dressed for work.” I sincerely wish I could keep my mouth shut sometimes. “Is there some reason we can’t work and have a conversation at the same time?”
He sighs. “No.”
“I was just curious.”
“He’s six. Vaughn is six.”
I nod. “Cool. I hope everything works out.”
“Thank you,” he says curtly.
I get back to my spreadsheet, and he starts clicking away.
After about half an hour, he leaves the office and comes back with a bottle of water and a fresh mug of coffee.
He’s chugging the water by the time he sits down, and I get caught up watching his throat for a few seconds too long.
I’m tempted to offer to get him something to take for his hangover, but I remain quiet.
I’ve begun to wonder whether I fucked up at the door this morning.
I’d been shitty, and he obviously had a rough night.
Mine wasn’t as bad as I told him it was.
I did sleep for more than an hour. Not much more, but technically, sleep happened.
I got a lot of writing done, too. It’s actually not that hard to make blue balls poetic.
Desire, it turns out, is more fun to write about than regret or grief. And blue balls marry the themes nicely.
At some point in the afternoon, he strips off his sweatshirt, leaving an old Pearl Jam concert t-shirt he must have gotten when he was a little smaller because it’s snug.
His clothes have me confused—compartment-wise.
He’s way too approachable-hot instead of corporate-hot.
Neither is resistible, but this one isn’t my boss.
He’s more like a friend who had a rough night, and I missed.
I set my laptop aside. “Can we talk for a minute?”
He looks at me and sets the empty water bottle down.
“I’m sorry about earlier.”
“Why?” he asks, with genuine confusion.
“Because I was a dick.”
“You were fine. I should have texted. I apologize. Time got away from me.”
“How much of that vodka did you drink?”
“We split the bottle,” he says.
I raise my brows. “You sure you don’t want to go back to bed?”
“Oh, I do.”
“You want to switch places? You can have the couch?”
It’s such a stupid offer because his bedroom is probably fifty feet away.
But he gets up, and I start to stand. He holds up a hand to stop me.
When he gets to the couch, he puts that same hand on my chest to keep me still and sits next to me.
“You’re not dressed for a nap,” he says, “but I’ll allow it. ”
“I think I’ve had too much coffee to sleep.”
“Humor me. I’m paying you.”
“Worst boss ever.”
“You didn’t read the paperwork did you?”
“Naps were in the paperwork?” I ask.
“No, but there was absolutely nothing in it that said I couldn’t harass you.”
“Was that on purpose?”
He laughs softly. “You can quit at any time for any reason.”
“But how will I sue you?”
“Just blackmail me. I’m easy.”
“I should be recording this, I guess.” I say as my face drifts closer to his.
“I’ll wait,” he says, gaze dropping to my mouth.
My dick swells in a rush as he leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “I missed you,” he whispers.
“You too.”
“What the fuck are we doing?”
“I don’t have a clue,” I say.
“Are you okay with it?” he asks, serious.
“Of course.”
“You don’t feel like I’m making some power play, or you can’t say no?”
“I have a safe word.”
He gives his head a small shake. “I don’t want this if you don’t want it, too.”
“Just to be really clear—I wouldn’t have agreed to work with you if you hadn’t tied me down in Rome. I already have a boring job. Why take on a new one?”
“Money?”
“I’m fine,” I say and remind him, “I don’t even pay rent.”
“You want to learn the ropes of major real estate?”
“Probably not,” I hedge. His work’s not uninteresting.
“So, you’re saying if it gets boring, you’ll quit?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t have that. But for the record, I offered you the job in good faith.”
“And now?” I ask.
“Now I’m willing to play dirty.”
“You have a conference call in an hour,” I tell him.
“Do I get to sleep until then?” he asks. “Or is that too boring?”
I smile, seeing up close how exhausted he is, but also this close, it seems deeper than just having stayed up all night. Like he’s been under constant assault. “It’s okay if you need to sleep.”
“And it’s okay if I want to keep you on the couch with me?”
I nod.
“Then make yourself comfortable. I’m going down.”
He leans away from me, drawing up his knees.
I stand while he’s getting himself situated on his side with his head on one of the cushy throw pillows.
It only takes a second, and then he takes my hand and arranges me the way he wants me—tucked tightly against him—my back to his chest. He sighs as we settle.
It should be impossible to be this comfortable with a more than full-grown man on a normal-sized couch, but I am—other than my raging erection. “Set an alarm,” he murmurs.
“I’ll set it for forty-five so you can fix your hair before the call,” I say as I check the time on my phone.
“It’s a video call?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t say that,” he whines.
I laugh. “Shh…don’t worry about it. Go to sleep.”
“You feel so good, though.”
“Unless you’ve got lube in your pocket, nothing’s gonna happen, so you might as well close your eyes and make the best of it.”
“Mm…turn over.”
“Bad idea,” I warn him, putting down my phone, alarm set.
He forces the issue, grabbing me by the hip that’s against the couch and trying to forcibly flip me. I do what he wants—as usual.
“Oh.” He lifts his brows when he feels my rigid boner grind up against his crotch.
“Told you.”
He grabs my ass and presses his semi to my hard on. I kiss him because he started it.
“We’re gonna stain your pants,” he says as we mindlessly dry hump each other on our sides.
My response to that is to kiss him harder.
He grabs my ass and traps my legs with one of his.
His mouth is hot on mine, his tongue both lazy and greedy.
It’s so good. Maybe the best he’s ever kissed me.
Probably the best I’ve ever been kissed.
I’m so hooked on him—so fucking hot for him—that who he is to me has stopped mattering.
In his Pearl Jam t-shirt with his sleep-mussed hair and scruffy face, he’s just Gibson.
Just a man who’s as into me as I’m into him.
And as far as getting sick of him or bored or whatever, I can’t see it.
Like he gives me just enough to make me want more.
We won’t have sex now, but maybe later. Maybe it’ll be so good, I’ll want it again.
Maybe the next time I see him in a suit, I’ll want to slide the jacket off him and wrinkle his starched shirt by grabbing fistfuls of it.
Maybe I can unbuckle his belt with my teeth.
I don’t know, but already I’m looking forward to it.
We’ve barely scratched the surface of this fiery attraction.
I can’t name a time when I’ve felt vital to someone.
As well as I understand that he was getting along just fine in life before I hopped a plane with him to Rome, he makes me feel like I got to him just in time.
Like the first breath someone takes after drowning.
Air hungry. Like I’m reviving him, and if that isn’t enough to make me not only want but need to be here, I don’t know what is.
“Get your cock out,” he breathes.
I would, but between the erotic kiss and the crazy friction, I’m so worked up I’ve forgotten to check myself. My release is imminent and there’s no stopping it. “I…fuck…shit.”
He must sense I’m tipping over the edge because he thrusts his tongue back into my mouth and grinds with me harder.
I come with a long groan and rough shudder.
My load soaks my shorts and coats my throbbing cock.
He uses my body to get himself there with me, and when he falls apart, I’m still jetting cum.
I told him it was a bad idea.
But then again, as our kiss goes on and on, getting shallower and even lazier, the adrenaline slowly leaches from my body. I could absolutely sleep.
As our lips finally break apart, and I settle my head on the pillow beside his, he gazes at me with sleepy eyes. His hand is still on my ass, his leg still locked around mine. Pressed this tightly to him, the wet spots we made are warm and hardly annoying at all.
Next thing I know, the alarm’s going off, and I’m running my hand over his hair, trying to make some sense of it. His eyes flutter open, and he smiles softly when he finds me staring at him.
“You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had,” he mumbles, his voice gritty and low.
“You’re still the worst boss.”
“On paper, maybe. Can I get you something else to wear?”
“You’re gonna dress me up like you, too? How many kinks do you have?”