Page 23 of The Swap After Hours

The sound of his voice as he’d instructed the other man to suck his cock, the sight of his long fingers as he gripped the other man’s hair, the lust in Donovan’s green eyes as he gave himself over to pleasure. It was all too much, and I’d finally taken my leaking cock in hand, stroking myself wildly until I’d come hard, my body jackknifing off the mattress with the force of my orgasm.

I’d laid there after, dazed, exhausted, and more than a little freaked out. I had no idea what had gotten into me or how I was going to face the object of my new obsession at work the next week.

By the time Monday had rolled around, I’d been a wreck—nervous and jittery, and completely on edge. I’d barely been able to look my boss in the eyes, afraid he’d see the conflicting emotions on my face. But Donovan was a shrewd man, and he noticed my strange behavior. I’d been forced to make excuses whenever he asked if I was all right, but the look on his face told me he wasn’t buying any of it.

Questions had continued to plague me over the last few weeks, keeping me from falling asleep at night and making it nearly impossible to concentrate on work. My eyes were constantly drawn to him throughout the day, observing the broad span of his shoulders beneath his suit, the dark sprinkling of hairs along his forearms when he rolled his shirt sleeves up, and the sharp, masculine angles of his face.

He was the opposite of the soft, gentle women I’d always been attracted to in the past and yet, I was pretty sure what I was feeling was attraction. I had no idea what that meant, but I intended to find out.

Which was exactly why I was going to another party under the guise of helping my best friend cater, but I was really hoping to do a little more snooping. I just wasn’t sure if I was hoping to see my boss there or hoping I wouldn’t.

I’d kept an eye out for my boss all night, searching the large conference room for his thick head of hair as I carefully balanced trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne on my shoulder. I hadn’t seen him, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. I hadn’t seen him the last time either…until I saw him with the other man. Heat coiled low in my belly at the thought of seeing him like that again.

I’d also been wracking my brain, trying to come up with an excuse that would allow me to stay at the party once we were done catering without raising Doug’s suspicions. I knew it would be tough. He’d been my best friend for years and could always tell when I was hiding something.

I still hadn’t come up with anything plausible by the time we finished serving dessert and I was starting to think I was going to have to leave when the others did, missing my chance to snoop around the party while it was in full swing.

I was trying hard not to sulk as I began helping clean up the kitchen when Carlena suddenly cried out. She’d been washing dishes when she sliced her hand on a knife that had accidentally slipped into the sink full of sudsy water.

Fortunately, the cut wasn’t too bad, but it was deep enough that it needed stitches and since she was his employee, Doug felt like he should be the one responsible for taking her to the emergency room. The relieved look on his face when I offered to finish cleaning up had me feeling guilty, but my relief over having an excuse to stay far outweighed the guilt.

Once the kitchen was clean and everything loaded in their cars, it was easy enough to send the rest of the staff on their way. They were eager to go to some club they’d been talking about all day. They invited me to go with them, but I waved them off, telling them how tired I was and that I was just going to go home and go to sleep. Fortunately, they believed me.

I waited until the last one headed out the door and then I quickly untied my apron and tossed it onto the counter. Thankfully, Doug’s choice of employee uniform—black slacks and white button-down shirt—blended in with the party guests well enough not to raise any eyebrows as I slunk down the hallway to where the large conference area was.

Ms. Rathchild was already passing the bowl of keys around when I got there, and I quietly slipped into the room and hid behind a large potted plant. I felt like a real creep peeking between the leaves, but I couldn’t let Ms. Rathchild—and more importantly, Mr. Marshall—see me. That was, if he was even there.

My eyes searched the room, scanning over each face, the back of each head, but there was no sign of him. As the newly paired guests began filing out of the room, I followed them, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

I paused near an open doorway to one of the suites when I saw two men standing in the middle of the room. In the chair beside the bed sat a woman, watching them. She eyed them hungrily as they began undressing each other and I wondered idly if she would join them or if she preferred to watch instead. Perhaps one of the men was her husband.

My heart began to hammer as one of the men slid his hand around the nape of the other man’s neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss. I could hear one of them moan but I wasn’t sure which one it was until I saw movement down below.

The second man had his hand around the first man’s engorged cock, stroking it with long, sure pulls. The first man broke their kiss so he could watch what the other man was doing to him.

I watched too as the first man swiped his thumb over the wet tip of his cock, gathering the precum that had beaded through his slit. He raised his thumb to the second man’s lips, and he eagerly sucked it into his mouth, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

My eyes darted to the woman in the chair. Her flowy skirt was bunched up around her waist and she had each leg hooked over the arms of the chair, spreading herself open for anyone to see. She reached down with one hand and ran a manicured finger through her glistening folds, her thighs trembling when her palm brushed over that little bundle of nerves at the top.

Surprisingly, my body showed very little reaction to the beautiful woman on display, so I turned my attention back to the two men. They were both completely naked now, and I watched the first man lead the other over to the bed. He coaxed him onto his back in the middle of the mattress and then he slowly crawled up the man’s body.

From my vantage point, I was able to see everything clearly and I felt my pulse start to race when their cocks brushed against each other, causing them both to moan loudly into each other’s mouths as they kissed.

The man on top kissed his way down the other man’s neck, giving his collarbone a gentle nip with his teeth before moving on to his nipple. The tip of his tongue lashed over the tiny brown nub, teasing it into a sharp point which he sucked in between his lips.

None of the women I’d ever been with had played with my nipples and it wasn’t something I’d ever given much thought to, but the man writhing on the bed certainly seemed to like it.

Is that something Mr. Marshall likes? The thought popped into my head, unbidden, but once it was there, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

In my head, the two men on the bed became us—the heat from my boss’s body seeping into mine as he loomed over me, boldly exploring my flesh with his hands, those full lips, his tongue. A shiver raced down my spine at the mental image, and I had to reach down to adjust my stiff cock.

My head was swimming with the realization that once again, it was Mr. Marshall who had gotten me achingly hard. Not the gorgeous woman with her legs spread wide and not even the two sexy men—and yes, I could admit they were sexy—on the bed.

So, what did that mean? Obviously, I wasn’t as straight as I’d once thought. Was I bisexual? But if I was, then why had I never paid any attention to other guys until I met Donovan Marshall? And why was my mind still drawn to him even when I was watching other men have sex right in front of me?

It all was confusing as hell and the stress of trying to figure it out made my erection flag. Frustrated, I moved on down the hall. A couple of doors were shut but most had been left open, and I saw a few other people stopping to watch the erotic activities going on within each room. It made me feel better to know I wasn’t the only one playing voyeur.

Despite my confusion, I still had a burning need to know if Mr. Marshall was there, to see what other things he did with the men at these parties, to witness him in the throes of passion. It was that last one that spurred me on as I peeked in each room.

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