FIVE
DEVON
Work kicks my ass during the next few days.
And I fucking crave it.
It keeps my mind busy. So busy I have no time to think about my soft, red-headed assistant right outside my office door.
About the beaming smile he gave me when he talked about liking grocery shopping.
How warm I felt watching him like this. How my heart fucking stumbled when he placed his hand on my arm.
What a fucking idiot I was, suggesting we see each other outside of work, just because the idea of being able to join him in something that makes him happy filled me with an unimaginable ache.
What was I thinking?
The truth is that I wasn’t, because I can’t. I can’t think rationally when he’s close to me. I can’t control myself when he’s within touching distance, when I’m simply around him. When all I want is to be around him, around his warm smile, his soft eyes, his sweet scent, all the time.
Which is exactly why staying away from him is the best thing I can do. No more invitations to lunch. No more sitting next to him and soaking in his presence. Nothing but work, and making sure I’m working late every day even after Sammy’s gone home.
Sam. Not Sammy.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, the reports in my hand crackling when I tighten my grip.
“That doesn’t sound good,” comes an amused voice, and my heart rate picks up speed before I’ve even lifted my gaze, knowing exactly who I’m going to see.
Nothing prepares me, though, for the sight of Sam, leaning with his shoulder against the door frame, bathed in the light of dusk that bleeds from the large windows.
He’s in dark-blue slacks and a perfectly-pressed white shirt today that looks almost pink now in the setting sun. Just like he does. His skin pink, his hair almost fiery red, his freckles stark against his cheeks and nose.
My whole body tenses with the effort to stay seated, to not go to him, but I can’t help taking him in like this when he looks like a damn painting.
“You know me, Sam. I never miss a chance to curse at inanimate objects.”
He chuckles, and my gut cramps with fucking longing for that sound.
“Yes, you do have a fondness for that. Any particular reason?”
“Nope. Just like to vent my frustrations at things that are absolutely not to blame.” I smile at him, any aforementioned frustrations suddenly soothed, calmed. “What are you still doing here?” I ask, glancing at the time—well past seven.
“I sent you the presentation of all major points to be discussed in the quarterly general meeting, and I thought we could work on finalizing it and be done with it by tonight. One less thing for tomorrow.”
One month. He’s only been here for one month, and the ease with which he handles everything when I know for a fact that the workload is most times overwhelming, is nothing short of admirable.
He’s a good fucking assistant.
“Are you sure? Don’t you have to get back to Eli?”
He shines from within at the mention of his little one, and I want nothing more than to bask in his warm light.
“Eli’s alright. I can stay for as long as you need me.”
Stay forever.
I groan internally.
God, I’m a mess.
“Is this how you really want to celebrate your first month here?”
He chuckles, walking towards me and leaving the office door open. There’s no one on this floor left for the day anyway.
It’s just us.
“Seems fitting. Celebrating work with my boss and even more work. Can’t think of anything better.” His eyes are twinkling as he takes the seat opposite mine, setting his tablet on my desk.
The grin that stretches my lips feels so damn good. I feel lighter than I’ve felt in days.
That’s probably the reason I ask what I really want to know.
“Do you like it here so far?” Please say you like working here. Being here. With me.
I don’t expect the tender look he gives me, or the way it makes my chest pinch.
“I do,” he murmurs gently. “I love it here, Devon.”
“Good,” I croak, and I have to clear my throat to make my voice sound normal and not like it’s slowly killing me having him at arm’s length and not touching him. “That’s good. So, everyone’s treating you okay?” I’ll end anyone who doesn’t.
He nods with a small smile.
“Everyone’s treating me great.”
I nod too, fucking pleased to hear that.
“Well, then. What should we kick this celebration off with?”
“Incident reporting?”
“The perfect warm-up.”
“Or we could go with financials. I know how much you love those.”
He’s looking down at his tablet, tapping away, but his mouth pulls up in a teasing smile. And when he peeks at me from under his lashes, the bolt of want that rushes down my spine makes something dangerous in me stir. Something I’ve barely managed to keep under control ever since I saw him again.
Ever since I met him.
“Pick whatever you want,” I grate out, dark satisfaction curling in my gut at the sight of the blush blooming on his face.
Fuck, I love him shy.
My shy, blushing Sammy.
“Incident reporting,” he says quietly, blush still intact even as he smiles. “Then, risk assessment reporting, technology upgrades, and client satisfaction rates. We’ll leave finances for last.”
My fingers tingle with the need to graze that blush.
“Deal.”
***
The office is dark by the time we’re done, neither of us having bothered to switch on the overhead lights, my desk lamp and our screens the only source of light in the room.
Shit, we’ve been at this for two hours. I never meant to keep Sam here this long, despite what he said.
But when I look at him, whatever I was planning to say to him flees my mind.
He’s not looking at his tablet or me. His gaze is fixed on the windows behind me.
Soft wonder swims in his eyes, and the word simply slips out.
“Beautiful.”
He looks at me then, blinking with his big, brown eyes that are even darker now.
“Hm?”
“The view. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I never meant the view, of course. It was never about the view.
“Yes,” he says with a smile. “I’ve never seen it at night.”
“You’ll see it even better if you get closer. Come,” I tell him, rolling my chair back and standing. “We’re done for today.”
Maybe it’s because I’m tired and it’s been a long fucking day, or maybe it’s because his scent has always been mouthwateringly sweet to me that I don’t notice it at first.
But it’s… different.
His scent is heavier. Fuller. Wrapping around me effortlessly when he steps closer. Grabbing me by the throat ruthlessly.
I inhale it greedily, letting it fill every cell of my body, letting it make me a fucking slave to it.
Letting it make me harder than I’ve ever been in my life.
Fuck, what is—
My gaze falls to his white shirt, and I freeze.
He’s… wet. His chest is wet, barely visible patches forming where his nipples are.
He’s leaking.
“Sam.” His name comes out hoarse, rough. He looks up at me, the bright city lights making his eyes glitter. “Your shirt.”
Surprise crosses his expression, before he glances down at himself.
His breath hitches audibly, his eyes snapping up to meet mine in a look so embarrassed and mortified I know for a fact I never want to see it on his face ever again.
He wraps his arms around himself, swiveling away to hide from me, his shoulders rising and falling with his rapid breath.
“I-I’m so sorry.” His voice is so small. “I-It’s probably because I haven’t had time to pump since this morning.” His back is still turned towards me, and I can see him curling in on himself with every second that goes by. “I’m so s-sorry you had to see this.”
It’s that fucking stammer. It’s that faint hiccup in his words that breaks something in me, that cuts me right open. That has me reaching for him without a second thought.
He tenses when he feels the weight of my hands on his shoulders, but he comes willingly when I turn him to face me again.
He doesn’t look at me, and I won’t have that.
I cup his cheek, tilting his head up. And my heart fucking seizes when his glistening eyes meet mine.
“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. Do you understand?”
His bottom lip fucking trembles as he nods, and every goddamn instinct I have goes ballistic, the animal inside me howling with the need to comfort, soothe, ease.
When a single tear slides down his face, I’m powerless not to lean in, not to kiss the corner of his eye as tenderly as possible.
Rosewater. His tears taste like rosewater.
“Please, don’t cry, Sammy,” I whisper hoarsely against his skin. “It makes me want to kill something with my bare hands when you’re sad.”
I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore, any modicum of propriety, of reason, falling off me layer by layer with every passing second.
His eyes are so wide, and open, and vulnerable when I pull back, questions I mustn’t give answers to swimming in them.
“If you don’t feel comfortable, you can use the bathroom here to wash up, and you can change into one of the extra shirts I keep here just in case. Would you like that?”
His lips part in a soft exhale, and he looks calmer as he peers up at me.
“Yes, please.”
The gratitude in his tone makes my heart squeeze and soar at the same time. Nothing else matters now than making him feel better.
Letting go of his face and stepping back is probably one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, everything inside me screaming at me to pull him in closer, to wrap my arms around him until he feels safe. Until he’s okay.
Sam is still in the same spot I left him when I return with a clean shirt in hand. He takes it from me with a tiny ‘thank you’ and a small smile before he quietly disappears into the private bathroom.
I let out a harsh breath, rubbing my face roughly, trying in vain to restore some of the control I always have. The control I used to pride myself on, and that is reduced to nothing when it comes to this smiling, freckled omega I’m fucking obsessed with.
Even now, my body is still buzzing from his sweet scent, my heart still pounding from his reaction to me seeing him like this.
Like what? Why would he be embarrassed about something as natural as this? For having a body that is so ripe, and full, and so goddamn perfect it’s overflowing?