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“This is getting pathetic, Nash.” An older employee passing in the opposite direction gives me a strange look. I wave. “Just talking to myself. Nothing to worry about.” His pace noticeably picks up. I snort and keep walking.

I toss my lunch into my locker before clipping the radio onto my belt. The odds of seeing Duncan today are exactly the same as every other day I work, but now I’ve had my hands on him. That changes things.

Damn it, I need to get laid. Maybe Max was right about how long it’s been since I had a Daddy keeping my bratty ass in line.

I could hit one of the kink clubs this weekend, find a Daddy for the night and finally scratch the itch. The idea lasts about three seconds. I’ve spent six months finding excuses to linger in Duncan’s office just so I can look at him. Going home with some random man isn’t going to get Duncan Murphy out of my head.

The morning drags by at a pace that should be illegal. I wipe down counters that are already clean, restock supplies that don’t need restocking, and even organize the damn condiment packets by flavor while waiting for the executive delivery cart to be ready.

When it finally is, I balance Duncan’s lunch on my cart and head for his office. I straighten my uniform shirt before knocking, then immediately wonder why the hell I bothered.

As I reach for the handle, I send up a silent plea to whatever cosmic force is listening. Please let the man be shirtless again. Hell, I’d settle for another smile. I’m so fucked. I push the door open and nearly swallow my tongue.

Duncan’s dress shirt hangs open, exposing enough of his chest to make me forget why the hell I’m standing here. His tie is loose around his neck, the ends hanging over his shoulders, and my fingers curl tighter around the cart handle while I stare.

Behave.

Duncan looks up from the papers spread across his desk. One dark eyebrow lifts, and the corner of his mouth twitches. Any hope I had of keeping my mouth under control gets a whole lot harder.

“Hello, Mr. Murphy.” I manage to get the whole thing out without calling him Daddy this time, although there’s a slight squeak at the end that ruins some of the professionalism I was going for.

“Is your shoulder still bothering you?” Please say yes. For the love of all that is holy, please say yes.

Without answering, Duncan reaches for the tube of muscle cream on the corner of his desk and holds it up. I look at the tube, then back at him as my inner brat does a full-blown victory dance. Oh, hell yes.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I step farther into the office, my attention dropping to the open collar of his shirt before I drag it back to his face. “Well… I am on my break.”

Duncan rises and walks toward me without saying a word. Dear sweet baby Jesus. The closer he gets, the harder it becomes to remember I’m standing in my place of employment and not the beginning of one of my favorite fantasies. I’m either going to faint or cum in my pants like a fucking teenager.

Duncan stops close enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne. Without looking away from me, he grips the edges of his dress shirt and slowly slides it from his shoulders. My mouth goes dry. He has to be fucking with me now. The hint of amusement in his eyes answers the question. Oh, he absolutely is.

He drapes his shirt over the back of a chair and places the cream in my hand, letting his fingers brush mine before turning and taking the same seat he did yesterday. His forearms settle over his thighs while he waits for me.

Fuck me.

I stare at the broad expanse of his back and the faint pink tint where I worked the strained muscle yesterday. My cock presses uncomfortably against my pants before I’ve even touched him. Thank fuck he’s facing the other direction. I adjust myself before he can see the buldge in my pants.

I unscrew the cap and spread some of the cream over his shoulder. Goosebumps rise beneath my fingers, and my mind immediately supplies a very different reason for something white to be coating his skin. Jesus Christ, Nash. I bite the inside of my cheek and keep my hands moving. Duncan’s shoulder shifts beneath my hand at the first touch.

“Sorry.” I pull my hands away and rub them together, warming the cream between my palms before touching him again. “That should be better.”

I work the cream into the strained muscle, my palms gliding over warm skin. Fuck, the man is built. Forty-six years old, and his back looks like he could bench-press half the executive floor.

The knot beneath his shoulder blade is still there, but it’s nowhere near as tight as it was yesterday. I press my thumb carefully along the edge of it before working my way across his shoulder.

“That’s a good sign. You must’ve taken it easy last night.”

And there goes my fucking mind, immediately supplying me with an image of Duncan doing the exact opposite to my ass.

I work the last of the cream into his shoulder, taking my time now that the knot is almost gone. His skin is warm beneath my palms, and for once, my smart mouth has completely abandoned me. Damn.

At this rate, I’m going to run out of excuses to touch him. My hands slow against his back. Then again, Duncan took his shirt off before I even asked this time. Maybe I’m not the only one looking for excuses.

Chapter 8 Duncan

It’s finally Friday. Nash was off yesterday, and by the time I get through my morning calls, I’ve checked the clock often enough to irritate myself. He should be here soon. The reports on my desk can wait.

A knock sounds at my office door. Before I tell him to come in, I loosen my tie and undo the first two buttons of my shirt. I want to see that look on Nash’s face again.