After all the time we’d spent together in the office as colleagues, I’d never really noticed his laugh. I’d noticed that he laughedoften, but not how it sounded. Clear and sure, like he wanted me to know exactly how much I delighted him. “Look, I don’t have sex with people I don’t give a shit about. I want to get between your legsandget to know you.”
I squirmed. Could I even handle that? Or would the sex and closeness be too much for me? He caught my discomfort.
“Okay, okay,” he conceded. “I’ll let you lead on the friendship thing.”
He pressed a kiss to my temple, soft and tender, and tugged me back to my feet.
“Now, about the sex part. How about tomorrow?” he propositioned. “We can have our first sex toy lesson, and then you can take me back to your place. Make sure you’re totally comfortable.”
There it was. That zing he talked about.Zing!
He cares about you.God, how fucking sexy was that?
Dizzy, I leaned back against the desk for support…and admired my handiwork. With his hair all askew, his shirt half-buttoned, his glasses slightly crooked on his handsome nose, and a slight dark spot punctuating the outline of cock hidden by his dark-wash jeans, he screamed sexual frustration.
And I’d been the one to make him that way. I’d been the one to get him hard and wet and a half second away from turning my office into a porn shoot.
I could have kicked my feet and squealed for how thrilling that felt.
“Yeah. That sounds great. Better than losing it on a desk, anyway.”
“Exactly. Besides…” he said, gesturing over to the 3-D printer, where the painfully long and thick dildo I’d been printing now proudly stood. “It’s hard for a man to perform when he’s competing against that.”
The sound of my laugh bounced gleefully off my office walls.
There were, it seemed, some criteria I’d forgotten on my perfect-man list.
He has to be great at making me laugh.
Then another thought struck.
Oh, and making me cum, but I guess we’ll see about that tomorrow, won’t we?
13
The Entrance Inter-You
The next morning, a question shattered me awake and I bolted upright in bed.
It’s a Wednesday. Do people even have sex on a Wednesday?
A remarkably stupid question. Of course people had sex on Wednesdays. Wednesday was not a particularly unhorny day, and even if it was, there were probably some deranged sex freaks who would do it anyway. Statistically speaking, Wednesday sex was a mathematical certainty.
But that was how the day was for me. Whether I was building a rocket ship or a vibrating butt plug, I would never enter a high-status task without doing the research, asking probing (haha) questions, or having all the facts. My questions stacked up.
Should I wear lingerie? Or is that too try-hard? Do I even own virginity-loss-worthy lingerie? Should I google where the nearest lingerie store is? What if he’s not into lingerie? What if he is into lingerie, but he wants to be the one wearing it? I’m not judging, I just need to know what to do in that case. Like, would he bring his own lingerie or am I expected to provide it? What size does he even wear? And where would I even get men’s lingerie at this time of day on a Wednesday?
It was…a lot. Too much for a transaction that should have been simple. Meet boy. Like boy. Fuck boy. Never think of him again.
That last point was imperative. Hudson may have been comfortable with casual sex for the next five weeks, three workdays of his contract, and while I agreed with, well, everyone that I could stand to loosen up, loosening up didn’t mean letting go completely. One night of freedom would be fine. Manageable, then right back to work. Blow off some steam. Prove to myself that I wasn’t unfuckable and I wasn’t incapable of human contact.
Five weeks, three workdays, though? The same five weeks, three workdays during which I needed to finish the prototype of the next generation of sex toy?
Impossible.
No matter how much I might want it. Our work was too important, and my Fluorine Scout propensity for letting my personal affairs interfere with my professional ones too strong.
So there I was, worrying over my impending virginity loss when Clara popped her head into the kitchen, where I’d been mindlessly searching for caffeine reinforcements.
