We go slow. When I try to pick up the pace, the door rattles a bit too tellingly, and I have to slow down again. He whispers encouragement, though, and he’s hard and salty on my tongue, so I know he’s enjoying it as much as I am. He never lets go of my hair, and as my jaw starts to ache, he takes over, thrusting gently into my mouth. Yes. This. I need this. Need him to take control and do what he wants.
Once, he thrusts a little too far. I gag and push back to sit on my heels, trying to find the space to breathe, but my retreat gives him more space to move. He’s thrusting in earnest now, taking a few tiny steps away from the door so he can fuck my face and not give away what we’re doing to the people outside.
The people. I groan around him at how this must look. I’m still fully dressed, while he’s completely pulled open and exposed above me. There’s inappropriate comments on the phone between colleagues, and then there’s risking being discovered by your employees while you let the IT guy shove his dick down your throat.
The thought of it, of what we’re doing and how much risk is involved, makes me feel giddy. Turned on like I haven’t been in years. Decades even. Not since I was Brady’s age.
I struggle to undo my belt. I’m going to come. I still haven’t touched myself, but the thrill of this whole situation is enough that I’m about to blow all over the inside of my pants.
“No.” Brady’s voice is ragged, and I still, looking up at him. “Not yet.”
I frown, but he takes another step toward me, forcing me to crawl back another few inches.
“Me first,” he says. The greedy light in his eye has me squeezing the base of my dick for all I’m worth, trying to hold off my orgasm, because, yes. Him first. Him, that’s what I want.
“Good,” he purrs, and my whole body is going to go up in flames, but I hold still as he works, letting him take what he needs from me. His breath is uneven, and his thighs shake under my hands. Pre-come trickles steadily from his slit over my tongue. I hollow my cheeks and try to relax my throat, blowing him, watching him, trying to tell him how grateful I am for this one time, even if it’s the only time we ever have, because I needed to feel this, something, anything but the regret that has plagued me for the past year.
“Nash. I—” Brady squeezes his eyes shut, and his body bows over mine as he comes. His fingers go tight, pulling at my scalp, and the pain nearly has me coming too, but I squeeze and count and swallow the semen that coats my mouth and spills over my lip as he pulls out, breathing in great gusts.
I sit on my knees, hand pressed over my desperate erection, waiting for him. His eyes are still closed as his face breaks out into the sweetest smile. Brady laughs to himself as he runs his hand through his hair, then finally glances down at me.
“Wow,” he says, almost as if he’s talking about something else other than the come that I can still feel on my chin or the way my knuckles are going white as I try to hold off the orgasm making my dick shudder in my palm.
“You look good like that,” he says.
“Brady, I need—”
“I know.” He leans over, running a thumb along my bottom lip and then sticking the digit in his mouth as he reaches across to my desk. There’s a familiar sound, and then he’s placing a couple tissues in my free hand. “Go ahead. Let me see.”
I pull my dick out from my underwear, smoothing fluid over the head, trying to decide how much of a show I need to put on. I’m so horny I’m not sure I’d even be able to manage buttons if he wanted me to.
Brady is tucking his softening dick back into his underwear, but he waves an indulgent hand toward me. “Go on.”
Yes. My palm is hot and rough, and it takes all of about four jerks before my balls seize, and I gasp as they empty themselves, my dick bucking and pouring itself out into the tissues Brady gave me. I bite my lip to keep from making any noise while my body trembles and shakes.
When it finally stops, Brady is in front of me, also kneeling. It takes a while for me to remember how to make my limbs work as I sag back, nearly banging my head on the edge of the desk.
“That was so hot,” he says. All I can do is nod.
I manage to drop the soggy tissue into the wastepaper basket, and I can’t stop my hands from shaking as I slip my dick back in my pants. Brady moves in, touch gentle, mouth sweet on mine as he does up my fly and puts the belt back into its buckle. I want to wrap my arms around him and pull him down to the floor, so we can lie next to each other for a few minutes. I need the world to stop spinning.
Instead, he helps me to my feet and sets me against the desk like a forgotten mannequin. He goes about the business of doing up his own pants and fastening the snaps of his shirt. His hair is a mess, but a few fingers into it and the curls settle down again. He leans into me, kissing some more, and somehow I still can’t get my voice to work.
Finally, he gives me a soft smile that would be sweet—except he ends it with my lower lip caught between his teeth, eyes roaming up and down my body, making me flush.
He reaches around me, invading the tatters of my personal space, and just when I think he’s going to force me onto the desk, he stands up again. The twisted extender is in his hand, and he gives it a friendly wiggle in my direction.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he says.
I’m so afraid of what he means by that.
“Okay,” I say, voice hoarse, and I know part of that is adrenaline and a lot is the remembered burn of his dick in my throat.
He gives me another once-over, then points at my chest. “You’ve got a little...”
I glance down, and my cheeks heat at the drying smear of come on my tie.
“Oh shit.” I reach behind me for another tissue, wiping madly at the mess. “Damn. I’ll have to get this dry-cleaned.”
