Page 36 of Our Elliana

SIXTEEN: Card Number Two

ELLIANA: NOVEMBER

I’m in an odd frame of mind by the time Friday arrives, but I don’t have an obvious reason for why. Tristan, Noah, and Jackson have all been fulfilling their contractual duties diligently and then some. And as far as Tristan and Jackson are concerned, they seem to be involved in some sort of truce if the silent communication I keep noticing between them is any indication.

I should be thrilled by that, and I am.

But lately, I’ve been feeling off. I can’t explain it. I’m still having one of the most fruitful periods of my life here at work. It’s nothing I can poke a finger at and identify. Jackson seems less... high-strung, for lack of a better word. There’s been a reduction in the level of his fidgeting and excess energy.

Not that he isn’t just as energetic in the bedroom. Far from it. But he hasn’t stopped by for a quickie during my lunch for two weeks now. That shouldn’t bother me. He’s been as attentive as ever at the house. It’s just that I’ve grown used to his consistent visits to my workplace.

If I requested his presence, I have zero doubt that he would do it in a heartbeat. But until recently he maintained our rendezvous schedule without me having to ask. Hell, he even took it upon himself to hit on me at home on my days off. One afternoon as I was doing my sun salutations to my favorite yoga channel on YouTube, he sauntered up.

“It’s almost lunchtime.”

I exhaled through my mouth as I held my position. “Yes.”

“What say you and me go upstairs and...” He swung his hips forward suggestively.

I merely smiled at him. “No. That’s okay.”

Now, I regret turning him down.

I think this stalemate has come about because of the whole employer/employee thing. Having him crave me has been nothing short of titillating. And that’s not even mentioning how we’re conducting this faux affair of ours behind the other guys’ backs.

We’re not really, obviously. But I can’t lie. His insatiable appetite for me is an ego boost, and I miss it. Or maybe I just miss him. I want him to want me because he feels attracted, not just because he has to fuck me whenever I say.

Me paying him—and the others—is a major buzzkill when I think about this all from that perspective.

I glance over at the spot on my workbench a few feet away and remember the luscious experience I had with Jackson fourteen long days ago now.

He brought this yummy homemade chicken salad sandwich with pecans and grape slices, unquestionably from Tristan. But we didn’t merely eat it. Instead, Jackson insisted on tearing off pieces of the thing and feeding it to me like he was my subject and me, his queen.

Oh, and being starkers during this little interlude gives the memory some extra spice.

Not only were we both completely divested of any clothing, but as he fed me, I’d been seated on his exceptional cock.

Jackson’s sexual prowess isn’t because of his overall length or girth. What’s so memorable about him is the uniqueness of his penis among the three. His dick is the veiniest with the most delicious curve to it which makes the bulbous crown hit me in just the right spot without effort.

When erect, his cockhead is the darkest in contrast to the rest of his skin, too. He’s the only one who’s circumcised, and he’s also the only one who dribbles precum when he gets turned on enough.

And I love every single aspect of this.

He has a lot of control over himself. So much so that when he asked me if he could take charge that day, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. Typically, I like to hold the reins, but with Jackson, I know he’ll make it good no matter what.

I’d still demanded that he hold his lower half immobile inside me until I’d finished every last bite of food, though. Only then did I allow him to launch himself upward and aim for the finish line.

He’d done such a good job of it that he’d caused the instruments and metals of my trade to shake, rattle, and roll around the bench. We might’ve been noisier than I’d instructed him to be, but I didn’t mind. Not when he’d brought me straight into bliss while simultaneously achieving his own.

It’s such an erotic memory that I grow wet reliving it. Then I become immediately frustrated. He’s not here, and now I’m aching for him. Also, I’ve been sitting up here for the past two hours without accomplishing anything.

Someone stomping their way up the stairs breaks me out of my reverie. I scrape my thighs together for relief then try to look normal when Andre’s voice calls out.

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