A knock frays the last of my nerves.
“Yes?” I say, voice cracking like I’m Patrick’s younger brother instead of his boss.
Doug’s voice comes through muffled. “Is Brady in there with you?”
Brady’s eyes widen, and we are going to have words later, but I yank the door open. Doug takes a step back.
“Yes, he is. Why?”
“Oh.” Doug looks apologetic. “Well, he showed up a few minutes ago. I told him he could wait in your office, but then you left the podcast meeting too fast for me to tell you he was there so...” His gaze shifts over my shoulder to where Brady must be and back again. “Anyway.” He jerks a thumb over one shoulder. “I’m going to go. Calvin and I have a suit fitting tonight.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Doug.”
“No problem.” He gives a quick wave. “Good night. Night, Brady!”
“Bye, Doug,” Brady says.
I watch as he disappears into his office and can’t help myself when I wait to make sure he’s really leaving before I shut the door.
“You are in so much—” My threat gets cut off by Brady’s mouth on mine. I sigh. No matter how many times we do this, no matter which sentences get stopped short or where we might be, this moment of collision, the need that sparks low in my belly and spreads all over me as Brady’s hands and mouth take control of me... I can’t deny how much I want this, even if it feels risky after Harpreet’s questions.
But I brought that on myself, trying to make things easier for Brady. She can’t possibly guess what was motivating it, other than maybe she thinks I’m looking to save us some cash on Brady’s monthly invoice.
Letting go of my worries, I tangle my fingers in Brady’s hair. The curly strands catch in my grip. He puts something in them that makes them smell of vanilla. Since I’ve never stayed the night as his place, I don’t know what kind of shampoo he uses, but my brain has very quickly learned to associate the scent with the overwhelming hunger that takes me over whenever he’s close by. If the boys ever want to learn to bake, I’m fucked.
Adjusting based on last time, I take a few steps forward, propelling us away from the door. I don’t know what he has in mind, but we are going to be more discreet.
“Brady,” I say between kisses.
“Want you,” he says.
“Yeah. Yeah, let me get my stuff and we can go.”
“No.” He pulls me toward him. “Here.”
My pulse thunders beneath my jaw as he presses himself against me. His fingers are working quickly on my belt, and even if I’m still catching up, my dick is not. It is fully on board.
“Here?” I say.
“Been thinking about it for weeks.” He’s pulling open my shirt now.
“Have you?” Since the first time? Since before that?
Maybe I’m overthinking things. Maybe this protective streak I’ve suddenly developed is going too far. We always said just sex. I’m not here to look out for him. I’m here to be a—very willing—participant as he slowly takes me apart.
“Nash?” He spreads his hands across my chest, following with his tongue over my nipples. “Can we?” He looks up at me with his endless dark eyes.
I pull one of his hands down to my aching cock, showing him exactly how willing I am. “Whatever you want.”
17
Brady
Turns out sex in a wheeled office chair is trickier than I thought it would be.
At least everything starts well. Makes up for the shit show that has been my day so far.
I had three interviews this afternoon. Well, I was supposed to have three interviews. One didn’t show up. The second did but was twenty minutes late and didn’t so much as apologize or blame transit or anything. The third one, he had clearly either bought his resume online or stolen it from a friend, because he looked completely confused every time I asked him about his past job experience. When I finally threw him a softball question and asked what part of his education or career history he was most proud of, he gave me a shy smile and said, “Well, everyone I’ve ever worked with really likes me.”
