28. Derek

Anticipation has never felt anything like this. My skin is crawling with it. My mind too. Everything is heightened. The sounds of the city waking are exaggerated. Car horns and sirens reverberate through me long after they've passed. The air in my building is cooler and crisper than usual. The hair on my arms stands on end when I move, and I feel it, the air on my skin. I feel it in a way I haven't felt for a long, long time. It's a whisper, a promise of something major.

It's clear I'm a little out of control right now, I'm not denying that, but for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel alive. I'm so alive I can feel each individual beat of my heart. I can feel oxygen leaving my lungs and blood flooding my veins. The prospect of being with Wyn and doing what we're going to do today feels like that, like blood in my veins. It feels right. It feels true.

I got to work two full hours early this morning, and I've been pacing my office since then. My dick hasn't been this hard for this long since I was fifteen. My ear has been trained on the elevator since I got here, despite the fact that I know damn well Wyn doesn't get in until eight. The elevator doesn't ding, but eventually, the tiny numbers above the doors start to light up. The fifth floor is the first to come alive. It lights up four times before any other floor does. Looks like my admin staff needs a raise.

Might call HR about that later.

The seventh floor is next. My legal team isn't bad either. Nor is finance and planning.

By the time it's a few minutes before eight, almost every light above the elevator door is glowing. I stop pacing and stand at the gallery window, narrowly managing to avoid pressing my face against the glass. I physically jump when the light for our floor blinks to life. If I thought my dick was hard before, I was wrong. It's steel now, hard and hot, throbbing with excitement.

Be cool, I tell myself as the doors open and Wyn appears. He's in a pale-blue shirt today, one that's maybe two shades lighter than his eyes, and he's wearing the same bow tie he wore the first week he started working here.

A beautiful boy wrapped in a pink-and-blue checkered ribbon.

The sight of him makes me ache. It makes me hard on the outside and soft and flaky on the inside. I feel hollow and uncomfortable, overly aware of my belly twisting and cramping.

Hungry. I'm hungry. Starved. Ravenous for him.

I watch as he sets his bag down and checks his messages. He holds the handset in his right hand at first and then clamps it between his ear and shoulder. He's facing the elevator, face in full profile, and oh God, that ski-slope nose needs to be kissed. His lips too. The full, puffy bottom one especially. That one needs to be pulled into my mouth and clamped gently between my teeth. He takes his pearlescent notepad out and writes in it as he listens to his messages.

His handwriting is neat and curly with long, swoopy tails for letters like G and Y. I know that from the Post-its he sticks on the documents he leaves on my desk for me. Usually, the note is unnoteworthy, a simple do this or do that, but recently, they've gotten a little stronger, a little more audacious. It started when we got back from the wedding. On Tuesday, I got a Don't even think about heading home until you've read this, and yesterday, he left Put the red pen away, Satan. These minutes are perfection.

I folded the Satan note and put it in my pocket when he wasn't looking. I took it home and carefully unfolded it, pressing it down and smoothing it out as much as I could, and then I put it in a box I keep next to my bed for safekeeping.

Be cool, I tell myself again as he hangs up his handset. I ignore my own good advice completely, grabbing my phone and hitting one on speed dial so fast you'd be forgiven for thinking I was in the throes of a medical emergency.

"Good morning, Mr. MacAvoy," he chirps.

"My office. Now." He turns his head and time slows. His chest rises and falls, and even over here, through a wall and solid glass, I feel the breath he exhales on my face. This time, it's a growl that carries heat. "Now!"

He jumps up, lips pressed together, eyes showing a clear ring of white all the way around blue, and comes to me.

"Lock the door," I tell him before he's crossed the threshold. He does as I say, turning his back on me and the sight of that, the sight of Wyn with his back turned to me, is too much. Something deep inside me breaks free. Something feral. Something wild. As the lock snicks shut, I charge and crash into Wyn. I grab his hips and drag him toward me, grinding my cock against his ass.

Good. It feels good. It feels like more, so I move closer, pressing him hard against the door, forcing him to brace himself with both hands. My hips rock back and forth, out of control, grazing my cock against the worsted wool of his pants, finding the valley between his ass cheeks and burrowing in as deep as I can. My hips move involuntarily, without any explicit intention from me. Every thrust, heaven.

Wyn's neck arches back and leans to the side. It's an offering. I take it. I sink my mouth onto his jugular and kiss and suck until he moans. The sound of his arousal jolts me from my stupor.

Pants.

Belt.

Underwear.

All of these things stand in my way. All of them are intolerable to me. I reach around Wyn's waist and start yanking at his belt. He's right here with me. His hands are already there, unbuckling and unzipping as I tear at his waistband, trying dumbly to pull his pants down before the top button is undone. At last, they give way. He's free. I shove my fingers under the waistband of his pants and boxer briefs and yank them down to his knees.

I step back and take a long, wheezing breath when I see his milky white cheeks bared for me. There's a raw, rampant sexuality to the sight of his ass that I haven't experienced before, but that isn't all. There's an unbearable sweetness to it as well. Yes, I want to fuck this man. I want to bury my dick so deep inside him that he'll never think of anything else. I want that more than I've ever wanted anything, but what I want at least as much, if not more, is to stroke him and kiss him. To pet him gently and make him laugh. To hold him so close that the lines between us blur into nothing.

He turns his head slightly, offering me a glimpse of his beautiful face. He looks sweet and serene. Then he arches his back slightly, and he looks like sex. My legs give way, and I crumple, landing heavily on my knees on the floor behind him. One hand floats through the air and lands lightly on a perfect, pristine cheek. The other one joins it. My skin looks dark against his, each hand covering a vast expanse of silky skin. I take a second to appreciate the sight, reverent almost, before prying him open. The second I see his hole, I spring into action. I go on the attack. It's like before, when I was feral and grinding him like an out-of-control teen. This time, I grind with my face and my tongue. I kiss indiscriminately, lips landing on any part of him I can make contact with. Tongue too. Teeth as well. I kiss and lick, and when that's not enough, I bite, softly scraping my teeth over the underside of his ass. I knead at him frantically, groaning when he does, finding his puckered hole and sucking on it before fucking it with my tongue.

Wyn's groans become panicked and high-pitched, and he wrestles himself free of my grip. He kicks his shoes off and his pants too. His jaw hangs open and his pupils are so blown out I can hardly see a trace of blue. "Professional…" he slurs, "…job description…"

It makes less than no sense.

He totters to my desk, naked ass and bare legs on display.

He's there. I'm here. That's wrong. It can't stand, so I move to where he is. I'm on my knees, so I crawl. You'd think that would embarrass or shame me on some level. It doesn't. It feels just as right as it did a minute ago when my tongue was inside him. I move slowly, hand-knee, hand-knee, as he watches, mouth still ajar, eyes flaring at the sight of me like this.

He switches the gallery window to opaque and gets the lube out of my top drawer. If I was thinking clearly, I'd probably be horrified that I just rimmed Wyn in my office without giving a thought to the fact that if someone came up to our floor two minutes ago, they'd have seen me on my knees, eating his ass.

Fortunately, I'm not thinking clearly. So instead, I just think how efficient and organized Wyn is to be taking care of all this.

He leans over the desk, palms flat on leather inlay, and I watch, transfixed, as he spreads his legs. I can't move. I don't want to. I want to stay right here, in this moment, forever. It's a big moment. A watershed moment. A moment that comes after a lifetime of wrong-for-me, a moment before a new chapter begins.

"Hurry!" he hisses, snapping me out of it.

He's right. Of course he's right. We're in the fucking office in broad daylight. This is no time for introspection. He passes the lube back to me and faces forward.

I burn as I prepare him. One finger, then two. I stay on my knees and watch my fingers slide in and out of him. Slick skin slipping into the heat of him. It's beautiful. He's beautiful. His ass is beautiful. It's a beautiful hole that was made for me. He's responsive, and Jesus, that's beautiful too. He omits tiny oohs and aahs to urge me on and teach me how he likes to be touched. My insides quake as I commit every touch to memory. I feel his every reaction like a strong bolt of electricity. Every sigh, every gasp. I feel it in my core. It's solid and heavy. Hot. It sinks slowly and pools in my balls.

"One more?" I pant.

He looks back and nods unsteadily. I withdraw and stagger to my feet. I place my left hand on his back, pushing his shirt up to expose as much of his skin as possible, and with my right, I circle his opening once or twice before pressing three fingers together at the tip and pushing them firmly inside him. His ring quivers and stretches, smooth now, no longer puckered. The way he moans is different too. It's a sharp sound, a deep sliver carved out of him. It speaks to me on a level I didn't know existed. I understand it though. I must because I answer with a broken sound of my own.

I tend to him gently until he's thrashing on the desk, legs shaking, and shouting a mish-mash of orders at me.

"That's enough…don't stop…more…fuck me, Mr. MacAvoy…" I love it. I live for it. I can't get enough. I want to keep him like this all day and maybe all night. I don't want to stop. Ever. "Now, Satan, you fuck, now…"

"It's Satan Honey to you," I correct, tongue thick and dry in my mouth.

"Derek! I'm ready… Please."

It's the please that does it. Soft and helpless, it speaks to my cock. It reminds me that as much as I'm living for this, as much as this moment is perfect, the next one will be better. There's a strong jolt as my arousal shifts from wanting to bring pleasure to a desperate, rampant need to receive it.

I slather my cock with lube, groaning in relief as I do it. I keep one hand on Wyn, stroking his back gently, raking up goosebumps and smoothing them down again as I line the head of my cock up with his pinkened hole. It doesn't look like it will fit. It doesn't look possible. I slide my slick cock up his crack, the length of my shaft extending to the small of his back. That looks impossible too.

It isn't.

By some miracle, the tip of my dick slips into Wyn. He cries out, fists clenching and beating the desk as his back tenses. There's a change in his breathing. Shaky but controlled. His hole softens and stretches. It's a tight fit, true, but it's possible. I watch, amazed, as my whole head disappears. The pleasure is acute. Severe. It's so concentrated and strong it feels almost like pain.

"Are you okay, baby?" I wheeze when I'm able.

"Don't stop," he growls. He sounds different. No longer chirpy. No longer human.

I ease myself into him, rocking my hips gently and then pulling back, inching rather than thrusting, backing up as soon as I feel the slightest resistance. It angers him. He pounds on the desk and lets out a long sentence made up entirely of cuss words. Then he reaches back frantically, hands grabbing at my thighs, nails scratching and pinching, and he pulls me forcibly into himself.

There's a distinct sound. A sound I hear in my soul.

Click

I shift from man to machine. A well-oiled machine. My hips snap forward and draw back repeatedly, sawing in and out of Wyn with unprecedented vigor and speed. I don't think. I do. Mind and body on autopilot. Thrusting, fucking, because that's what I was made to do. Wyn cries and wails, thrusting his hips back almost as hard as I'm thrusting mine forward. Our bodies crash together, slapping every time we make contact. It's frenzied and wild, but it's also the calmest I've ever felt. Pure pleasure surges through me, rising and falling at first and then rising and rising some more.

Wyn reaches down with one hand and starts jerking his dick. I want to stop. I want to turn him over and watch him touch himself. I want to see how he looks when he's stuffed full of my cock. I can't though. I can't stop because Wyn needs this. I can tell. His hole has started to tremble around me. Gentle flickers that quickly grow stronger. A sudden spasm that feels different. A clench that comes on the back of a moan that makes my whole life make sense. I keep thrusting, but I'm a man now, not a machine. I feel every spark, every wave, all the pressure, all the tension. I feel it all and cling to the edge, nails digging into stone until I'm positive I've wrung every ounce of pleasure out of my lover.

When he collapses onto the desk, face grating the smooth surface as I pound him, arms and hands loose at his sides, I let go. Stone cracks, crumbling and turning to dust. Life, a new life, a different life, explodes into being. My hands contract around Wyn's hips. I thrust and pull him toward me as hard as I can, desperate to be as deep as I can, and then I shoot. Shot after shot after shot spurts out of me, leaving me shaking and moaning, groaning until I'm empty.

It's like the dream. It's like I'm flying. Only this time, I can take off, and I know how to steer. I soar. Rocketing through time and space. It's heaven. It's wonderful. It's an outpouring of every good emotion I've ever felt.

It's good. It's amazing.

I'm just not sure I know how to land.