ONE
Dominic Price worked hard. Federal prosecutor. Liaison between the Northern District of California’s US Attorney’s Office and San Francisco’s FBI field office. Co-owner of Gravity Craft Brewery.
Professionally, as Assistant Special Agent in Charge of said FBI office, Cameron Byrne witnessed the first two daily, riding into the Federal Building with Nic each morning and frequently working cases together. Personally, as Nic’s fiancé, he just as frequently witnessed the brewery owner, the two of them spending much of their spare time at Gravity. Evenings, weekends, and sometimes in the middle of the night if this or that pressure sensor went off and Nic’s phone woke them with an alert.
Today was one of those days when Cam understood just how hard Nic worked at his side hustle. With Gravity co-owner, Eddie, called out on an emergency Coast Guard operation, Nic was managing Gravity’s fall release solo. Sure, the brewery had two assistant managers and multiple other staff, but they were all busy setting up the event area and back lot for tonight’s food truck rally. A weekend ritual at Gravity, it would be more packed than usual tonight with the new release. Which left Cam andNic with their hands full in the warehouse—tracking inventory, moving boxes, shifting pallets, and loading crates for each distributor, shipper, or restaurant that pulled up to the loading dock.
It was a day full of hard physical labor. And unintended foreplay that cranked Cam’s sexual frustration to the max. Stolen seconds eyeing Nic’s lean and powerful body, imagining the sway of tattoos under his snug Gravity tee. Countless minutes reveling in the pride shining from Nic’s blue eyes and daydreaming of tasting the sweat that trickled from his silver-flecked temples. Too many tempting hours drowning in the scent of the person Cam loved most.
So after they packed the last shipment onto its truck, sorted the boxes in the warehouse, parked the forklift, and retreated to Nic’s office—where Nic practically fell into his worn leather chair—Cam fell to his knees in front of him, determined to exact revenge for the hours of torture and reward them both for the day of hard work.
“Cam, what?—”
“If you have to ask what I’m doing, you’re not half as smart as I thought you were.” He shoved Nic’s knees apart and buried his face in his groin, inhaling deep as he nipped at the inseam of Nic’s jeans.
Nic groaned and his thighs trembled beneath Cam’s hands. Taking advantage of the rare moment of weakness, Cam wrapped his fingers under Nic’s knees and yanked him forward, sliding his ass to the edge of the chair, bringing Nic’s cock even closer. Cam mouthed the growing length through the denim while teasing his taint, making Nic’s moans deeper... and louder.
“Jesus, Boston.” Nic squirmed in the chair like he couldn’t decide whether to thrust up against Cam’s mouth or drive down on his hand. But while his body was obviously on board foreither, his mind was still protesting. Arguing was the other thing they did best, after all. “Anyone could come in.”
A token protest, judging by Nic’s whimper when Cam removed his hand and mouth. And besides, they’d fucked back here before—after the great pumpkin-keg incident, after Nic’s proposal, at least a dozen other times over the year and a half since.
“Your co-owner is gone,” Cam said as he worked the button on Nic’s fly free and lowered the zipper. “And everyone else is too busy to notice the boss man missing.” He pushed the denim ends aside, dipped a hand inside Nic’s briefs, and pulled free his cock. “It’s just us, baby.”
Cam leaned in and nuzzled Nic’s groin again, this time getting the full effect. Musk, sweat, Nic. He ran a tongue along the underside of Nic’s cock. The taste... mmm... Even better than the FBI Stout Cam had spent all day sampling and loading onto trucks. Wanting more, he closed his lips over the tip, sucking hard and then hollowing out his cheeks as he swallowed Nic to the root.
Nic surrendered—hips tilting up, ass scooting forward, arms dangling over the armrests, head hitting the chair back. But Cam wasn’t done getting his payback. He sucked up and down twice more before pulling off and sitting back on his haunches, enjoying the debauched view in front of him. “Seeing you do something else you love is almost as much of a turn-on as seeing you suited up for the courtroom.”
Nic righted his head, cheeks flushed and eyes hazy with lust. “Almost?”
Cam smirked. “You wear a suit better than anyone, Counselor.” He ran his hands over Nic’s quivering thighs, preparing to get back to Operation Blow Their Minds, when Nic stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.
“I think I have a solution to your ‘almost’?” He tilted in the chair, reaching down to open his bottom desk drawer. He rooted around inside it, then after a moment, righted himself with a metallic blue necktie in hand. Cam’s favorite. Grinning, Nic draped the tie around his neck. “Better?”
Cam laughed. The tie looked ridiculous hanging over Nic’s rucked-up T-shirt, but taken together with the erect dick jutting out of his jeans and the about-to-get-fucked look on his face, the whole picture was hot as hell. “I’ve only got one complaint,” Cam said.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“That tie needs to be wrapped around your cock.”
“Christ, the mouth on you.” And from the way said cock hardened more, Nic wanted Cam’s mouth back on him too.
“You like it,” Cam said with a wink, then gave them both what they wanted, taking Nic’s cock in his fist and guiding it back to his mouth.
“Thank fuck.” Nic raked a hand through Cam’s hair, grasping the sweat-dampened strands, hanging on for the ride.
Cam hummed in pleasure as he worked Nic over, setting a relentless pace, one Cam mirrored with his other hand stroking his own cock, freed from his jeans and boxers. He loved getting them off together like this. Nic’s cock swelled in his mouth—he was close—which drove Cam there faster too.
Nic bucked up. “Fuck, I’m—” His words died, and his body froze.
Except not in the about-to-come way.
Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.
Cam had heard it in the same instant. High heels striking the brewery’s cement floor, growing louder as the person walking in them approached the office. Realization dawned the next instant. He recognized that confident gait and all-too-familiar staccato rhythm.
Fuck.
He moved to stand, and Nic moved the opposite direction, rolling the chair forward, spreading his knees on either side of Cam and forcing Cam under the desk. Cam fell on his ass, the silk tie hit his face, and a split second later, the office door creaked open.
