Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Nash
There are certain things in life which latch on and embed themselves into the corners of one’s mind; be it a specific moment that becomes a memory central to your very being, a hard-learned lesson that you didn’t know you needed, or a familiar smell that pulls you through time and space toward the best – or worst – moments of your life.
The first time that I smoked a Nicaraguan cigar, the flavor buried itself deep into my mind and I knew that I would never be able to smoke any other import again.
When I abandoned niceness and suddenly found myself surrounded by favors, yes men, and closed deals, I learned that fear was a far more powerful motivator than kindness, and that a villainous mask was far more effective than a friendly one.
When I inherited my grandfather’s empire and my parents finally contacted me, I learned that the idea of a juicy check and even more celebrity could make it alright that they were never able to ‘pray the gay away.’
And when I saw the fear in that boy’s eyes as his fist swung toward me because he thought I’d disappeared on him, something inside of me cracked wide open, and I learned that he was more than just someone that I was having fun toying with.
I relax into my chair, leaning back and propping my feet up on the table in front of me as I scroll through my phone, letting Fowler and his team at the opposite end of the table consider my offer.
Colt, the Texan, the little wife, and Emmett all sit across from me, discussing the plans that I’ve laid out in front of them: a simple merger of our companies.
Bring the two biggest names in the city together and crush the smaller competitors who think that they could ever stand a chance against one of us, let alone both as a joined force.
From the corner of my eye, I see Emmett participating enthusiastically in the conversation, though he occasionally glances over to me and has to hide the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“A merger is simply not an option,” Colt finally announces. “We would never be able to reach civil agreements on minor details, let alone major assets. I just don’t see it working.”
“Uh-huh,” I say flatly, keeping my eyes on my screen.
“We have entirely different methodologies to running our businesses,” he continues, “and our team is not willing to compromise ours. We’re sure you aren’t, either.”
“Not a fuckin’ chance in hell,” the Texan barks in agreement with him.
Always so eloquent.
“Wait,” Emmett pipes up, and I try to ignore the fact that he’s drawn my attention. “We would be stupid not to consider it. There are other options that could make this work.”
I watch as he pulls a sheet of paper from the folder in front of him and he begins drawing out a Venn diagram, explaining to his team the ways that our companies could functionally overlap without absorbing into each other completely or dissolving, only stopping occasionally to take a sip of water.
His team watches, nodding along to his thoughts and ideas, offering their input as they continue to talk amongst themselves. Part of me wishes that they would leave and do this on their own turf, but another, louder part of me is glad to be watching this.
Watching him.
When I see Emmett reach for his glass again, I send him a text message.
Me: I’m thinking about spreading you open on this table and fucking you until you see God.
He reaches for his phone so casually that I wonder my number is saved as; he worries so much about his father knowing about us that if ‘Nash’ was written across the screen, he would have panicked.
I would fucking love to see Colt Fowler’s face seeing that message on his son’s phone with my name attached to it. He acts so cool and collected all the damn time, I would love to see him just snap one of these days and go completely postal.
Sipping on his water, Emmett reads the text message, and his eyes go wide. He sputters, choking on his drink, and he puts his hand to his chest as he tries to breathe.
“Excuse me,” he coughs, “sorry. Wrong pipe.”
“Next time we’ll bring your boy a sippy cup,” I taunt Colt. “Since he can’t seem to drink from a big boy glass.”
The cowboy scoffs. “Man, would you shut the fuck up?”
“No one here has to like the other,” I tell them, ignoring the attack dog. “One just needs to see the potential here.” I pull my feet from the table and stand, closing the folder laying open in front of me. “Take a few days, think about it. The offer stands until the first of the month.”
I move past the table, giving Emmett’s foot a light tap with mine as I move to open the door.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth at our shared secret while he gathers his papers.
We avoid eye contact with one another as he passes through the door with his team in tow, making their way down the hallway.
I take my seat at the table once again and flip through some of the notes that I’d taken during the meeting, sipping on a glass of water as I do so, until the door opens again and Emmett steps inside and closes the door behind him.
“What are you doing, pretty boy?” I chuckle.
“Do it,” he tells me as he reaches for the buckle of his belt. “If you’re gonna talk about it, follow through.”
“You’re very loud,” I tease, despite the swelling of my cock behind my zipper.
“So shut me up.”
Pulling at the knot of my tie, I stand from my chair. “How long do we have?”
“I told them I was getting lunch.”
“Good.” Dropping the tie onto the table in front of us, I meet Emmett’s gaze and he offers a nod in understanding. “Take off your clothes.”
Looking over his shoulder at the door behind him, he peels off his suit jacket and carefully folds it before placing it onto the table.
I watch, slipping out of my own slacks as he removes the rest of his clothing, folding each article just as carefully as the one before it until they all sit stacked on the table in a neat pile.
Taking hold of his shoulder, I push him against the table and ball the silk tie in my hand before stuffing it into his mouth, earning a grunt in response.
“You behave yourself,” I warn him with my lips pressed against his ear, “or you don’t come.
Do you understand?” Annoyance pinches his brows together, and I grab onto the back of his head with a hard yank. “Nod if you understand me.”
He offers a nod accompanied by muffled and inaudible words, which I assume are him giving me attitude, as he likes to do.
Kneading the firm flesh of his ass, I spread him open and spit. He lets out a groan as I tease his hole with the head of my cock, and another as I slowly push inside of him.
“Are you going to behave and stay quiet so you can come?” Squeezing his eyes closed against my thrusts, he nods. “I think I like you better gagged,” I tease.
For long moments – much longer than I expected – the only sounds in the room are those of the two of us breathing heavily and the slapping of my skin against his. The air is thick with sounds that both of us want to make, but won’t – or can’t.
It’s exhilarating.
The din of office chatter, high heels against the tile floor, and telephones ringing spill in through the walls surrounding us and, though no one can see inside, it feels as if we have an audience.
That’s right, I think, watch me fuck Colt Fowler’s son on the same table we just used for deliberation.
“You are my favorite fuck toy,” I quietly purr to him, pressing my chest against his back.
His hand flies up to clamp over his face and a whimper escapes him, muffled through his gag. His eyes fly open and he looks at me as if he’s worried that he’ll be punished for it.
I have to show him that his worry isn’t unwarranted.
Taking Emmett’s hand from his face and the other, braced against the table, I pull them behind his back and use them as a handle while I fuck him harder, pounding my hips against him. His body writhes against mine as his eyes roll back in his head.
“Shhhhhh,” I warn, “I will leave you right at the edge if you make one more fucking sound.”
He’s suffering as he fights against himself, trying to be obedient, trying to take the orders he’s been given; and he’s enjoying it.
His fists squeeze together while I fuck him, his knuckles turning white, and as his cheeks redden, I know that he’s getting close.
To my own surprise, as euphoria washes over me and my balls tighten, I find myself releasing his wrists, using my hand instead to wrap around Emmett’s.
His hand squeezes mine with a vise grip and as our bodies still while we come together, and the quiet is filled only by the sound of Emmett’s heaving pants and my mouth sucking at the skin at the back of his neck.
“Holy shit,” Emmett breathes as I pull the tie from his mouth. He stands as I withdraw my cock from him, and he moves to look at his cum spilled onto the carpet. “I can—”
“I’ll have the room recarpeted,” I tell him with a wave of my hand.
“Nash.”
My brow arches. “Would you rather I have someone on their hands and knees scrubbing it clean?”
“No,” he sighs.
Cupping his face in my hands, I press my lips to his and move to brush back his hair which has fallen out of place.
“Then go fix your hair and get to your office,” I tell him.
As we each pull our clothes back into place and Emmett leaves the conference room, my eyes move up to the corner of the room and the camera which sits snugly tucked into it, and I flash it a satisfied smile.