44. Drew

Imissed an email from my boss saying I would be training a new employee tonight. At first, I'm irritated because I really did want the time to think about everything Olivier and I have said to each other over the last twenty-four hours, but ultimately, it makes the night go by faster, even if constantly talking is exhausting.

Matthew is training as a fill-in—part time, no guaranteed shifts, but one of a pool of about four or five people the management can call on to cover vacations and sick days.

He fits the mold of the ideal doorman on the Upper East Side. Young, tall, built, handsome. Like a more refined version of a club bouncer. It makes the tenants feel safer to have some muscle on their door, and the better-looking, the more attractive the property. He's looking for a full-time gig, but hasn't found any openings on this side of town.

It's one of those annoying reminders that as stupid as my job is, it's a coveted position. Posh as hell.

Matthew, who prefers the long version of his name, is also a sculptor. During some of our downtimes he shows me his metal and stone work on his phone.

"I know nothing about art."

"I'm not sure I do either," he says, and we both laugh.

When my food arrives from the Italian place down the block with the spinach calzones I'm obsessed with, Matthew gives me a disapproving look. "When did you order this? I mighta wanted something."

"Oh, I didn't. My, uh…" My face heats. "My boyfriend did."

"Is there enough to share at least?" he asks.

"Probably."

Just my luck, Olivier comes down with a coat on just as I'm passing off half the calzone to my trainee.

He glares viciously at me. "Who's this, Jack?"

"Matthew, this is Mr. Arnaud. 1204. Matthew's training as a fill-in."

"Nice of you to share your dinner with him."

"My boyfriend's very generous. He always orders more than I can eat. I think he's trying to fatten me up so no other men will look at me."

"Smart man," Olivier says, but some of the bite leaves his tone. He acknowledges Matthew. "Nice to meet you. Welcome to The Eastmoor."

"Thank you, sir." Matthew rises to open the door. "Happy to be here. Have a lovely evening."

I immediately pull out my phone and text Olivier.

Where are you going??

Olivier

For a walk.

Everything ok?

Olivier

Not really. I'll talk to you later.

Love you.

His last message rocks me back in my seat. Totally unsolicited. Not said in the throes of hot, passionate, shower sex. Simple. Unmistakable. I gulp past the rising lump in my throat and text him back.

I love you too.

Matthew sits back down and digs into his hunk of calzone. "Why'd he call you Jack?"

"He's an asshole. Better to just steer clear of him."

Midnight comes and goes with no sign of Olivier. Since this was my mental deadline for wanting him back, I text him again.

Where are you?

It takes a nauseatingly long eight minutes before he replies.

It's a selfie with Jersey in the background, meaning he's all the way down by the Hudson. In the photo, his face is obscured by the puff of steamed breath coming out of his mouth. I text him again.

Get a ride and come home.

Olivier

Make me.

Asshole.

I set my phone back down, and the elevator dings. Matthew stands to greet whoever it is, but Elodie barrels right past him, bruised face, black eye and all, and leans over my desk. "I need to talk to you."

I glance over at Matthew and give Elodie a what the fuck look.

"Why is Jericho calling me?" she asks.

Scowling, I take the phone she's offering me out of her hand and glance at the screen. It's a text from Jericho's number explaining who she is and asking for a call back.

"Not sure." I hand the phone back to Elodie. "You should call her."

"Tonight? What does she want?"

I squirm in my seat, feeling Matthew's complete attention on this highly unusual situation. "I think she might have an offer to make you."

"What kind of offer?"

"Call her," I say.

"Drew—do I look like I'm in the mood for a mystery right now?" She gestures at her battered face.

"She has this idea for a book…that's all I can tell you." I don't want to get anyone's hopes up. Especially mine.

"A book? What does a book have to do with me?"

I glance meaningfully at Matthew, and Elodie's gaze follows. Her entire demeanor changes in a millisecond, from demanding to seductive. "Oh, hello." She sweeps her hair over her shoulder, I guess forgetting she's got a black eye.

"Matthew, this is Elodie Lafayette. She's a guest on the twelfth floor. We have a mutual friend."

Matthew shakes her hand, and they share a brief eye fuck as they assess each other. "Nice to meet you," he says, charm he hadn't bothered to use with me oozing from him.

"Same. Are you new?"

"I am. I'll be filling in here from time to time."

"That's amazing," she says.

I clear my throat, and they both look at me, dropping each other's hands. "I'm sorry, Drew," she says, still all sultry and trying too hard. "I would have called, but I think my phone must've lost your number."

"Sure," I say. She's never had my number. I have hers because I made Olivier give it to me, but I've never needed to use it. "Happens to me all the time. So frustrating."

"I'll write mine down for you," she says, with another not-so-subtle glance at Matthew. "Just send me a text and I'll re-add you."

Matthew is quick to hand her a notepad and pen. She hands it back to him with a slightly desperate smile.

Jesus.

"Anyway," she says to me. "Should I call her tonight or wait for tomorrow? It's kinda late."

"If she texted, she's still up. Your choice."

"Okay. Well. Sorry to barge in. Good night. And nice to meet you, Matthew."

He smiles, playing it very cool. Once she's safely tucked into the elevator, he says to me, "Muse."

"Really? Are muses really a thing anymore?"

He shrugs. "I'm a romantic. Is she single?"

"She's complicated. You can look her up."

"You think she'd mind if I called her?" He gestures at her phone number.

"You should probably look her up first."

He sits back, opens his phone and speaks out loud as he types. "Elodie…Lafayette… Oh."

Olivier textsme at two in the morning to come to the service entrance. I tell Matthew I'm going to the bathroom and walk to the back to let Olivier in. He's frozen and shivering and pushes me straight into the wall with his arms around me.

I hug him tight to my chest, rubbing his back and trying to push some of my body heat into him. This would work better naked. All the survival shows emphasize this fact.

Irrationally, I wonder how long I can leave Matthew on his own, and I decide getting Olivier warm is more important than how long the new guy thinks I spend on the toilet. "Come here." I pull Olivier into the Staff Only bathroom and tell him to get shirtless while I do the same.

Once we're bare-chested, I grab him again and press my skin into his, as much of it as possible. I also kiss him, deeply, and with no small amount of frustration for making me worry and possibly giving himself hypothermia.

His skin heats quickly, and as it does, my feelings for him—all the anxiety and the desire I can't seem to keep in check—come pounding to the forefront. I need him. My cock, already hardening, needs him.

"You scared me," I whisper against his cheek.

"Sorry."

"Want you," I say before covering his mouth with mine again.

His grasping fingers digging into my sides tell me I can take whatever I'd like.

Spinning us until his back is against the wall, I kiss my way down his neck and shove my hands down the back of his joggers. He groans, and I fill his mouth with my tongue to shut him up. "Shh."

He nods and kisses me back with more urgency. "Need you," he whispers.

He's got me. "Turn around," I tell him.

Maybe Matthew can get his permanent gig after all. I don't want to do anything else in the foreseeable future but fuck Olivier Arnaud. It's the only thing I get any joy from whatsoever.

I shove down his pants, and while I'd rather do this face to face, I don't want him to have to take off his shoes.

Using only our spit and precum for lube, I do the best I can, but ultimately, I'm too fucking impatient to be inside him, and he's whimpering and rubbing his ass on my cock like a needy slut.

I shove inside, fighting my way through his tight channel until I'm buried deep. The lack of lubrication makes for short, rough, high-friction strokes, and I can't lie—it feels fucking phenomenal to me.

I can't say for sure whether he likes it or not. He's got his teeth wrapped around his bicep to muffle his grunts, his face red and his eyes squeezed shut. I can safely say, however, he's all warmed up now.

My orgasm comes fast, slamming into me like a baseball bat to the spine, and I latch onto his neck to keep quiet as my cock throbs inside him and cum gushes, slickening and elongating my strokes.

He shudders and reaches down to jerk himself, but I feel bad for coming after only a few thrusts. In a heartbeat, I'm on my knees, turning him by the hips and sucking his cock to the back of my throat.

His hips move mindlessly, fucking into me while I try to keep him from pushing too far. I lick him, sucking aggressively, until he grabs me by the hair and exhales harshly as he spills on my tongue. His cum is thick and hot, his ocean-water taste an aphrodisiac of the highest order.

I suck at him to drink my fill, but there's not enough, and maybe there never will be.

"You taste so fucking good," I say, running kisses up his softening length while he tolerates it with soft whimpers and hisses. He worries my hair with trembling fingertips until finally I bury my nose in his groin and take a deep, deep breath. "Love you," I whisper.

"Love you," is his soft reply.

Pulling up his pants, I rise to stand before him. He looks into my eyes, and I see something broken there, but also adoration and awe. "You okay?"

"Better now," he says, voice low. "Definitely warmer."

I cup his cheeks and kiss him intimately. He sighs, melting in my hands, against my tongue. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"I really was just walking."

"For four hours?"

"I'm sorry," he whispers again.

He doesn't need to be sorry. He needs to talk to me. "What's wrong?"

"Don't you have a job to do?" he asks.

Fucker. If he knew what being kept in the dark does to me internally, he'd tell me everything right this second. But I have to play the strong one right now. "Can I see you in the morning?"

He scowls at me. "You fucking better."

I don't want to kiss him again because I'm afraid I won't be able to stop, but in the end, I can't help myself. And it does last an excessively long time. He's the one who has to stop me.

With his hand on my chest, he returns my hungry gaze. "Ready to quit this job yet?"

"Asshole."

He smirks. "I love the way you keep calling me that. Like my asshole is the only thing on your mind."

I wish.But I do think about it a lot.

I hand him his shirt, and I grab mine from the floor, too. I let him fix my hair and then I smuggle him into the service elevator.

Matthew stands when I reappear. "My turn. Dairy, am I right?"

For the second time tonight, I laugh.