Page 47 of Employing Patience

And maybe sex with the annoying asshole will pop this swelling balloon of need once and for all.

I drop my voice, forcing all the conviction I can into the one word. “Stay.”

13

JOEY

Stay. It slips down my spine like ice on a hot day. Chilling, pleasant, bringing goose bumps out across my skin. I’m still about a second away from walking out the door anyway, but I can’t say I’m that proud.

Art had pissed me off when he’d acted like I was the one who didn’t want it, when for the first time in my life, it was the most certain I’d been about anything. For once, Art was the one having second thoughts.

“What about your girlfriend?” he asks.

The question surprises me enough to face him. I shouldn’t have. There’s Art, in all his sexy fucking glory. Tall, lean, full lips, dark hair, and eyes so goddamn penetrating they could hit my prostate from across the room. That shivery, horny feeling passes over me, and I’m craving to kneel in front of him again. It isn’t an urge I’ve had for anyone in my life, but all it took was one time to have me hooked.

He’s still waiting for an answer, and I almost don’t want to give it to him, but at this point, what do I have to lose?

“There is no girlfriend. I only said that to make you jealous.”

His eyes flash, and then those pillowy lips quirk on one side. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you’re thrilled.”

“Thrilled doesn’t cover it.”

We lock eyes, and my next breath stutters out of me. The need is almost crippling. If he tells me to leave again, there’s no way I’ll be able to go downstairs and make out like everything is fine. Not after admitting that. Not after the way I’ve put myself out there for him, vulnerable to his rejection.

Art pops the top button on his dress pants.

The air between us is thick with tension, my pulse racing, the room deadly silent. I’m on edge, begging, begging, begging for him to move closer. To say something.

Instead, Art slooowly drags down his fly, then grips the edge of the desk on either side of his hips.

“A man never leaves my bed disappointed.” He steps wider. “Enjoy.”

Even though there’s no bed in sight, I’m not about to stand around arguing semantics. I take my shot and hope like hell he doesn’t reject me a second time.

My body is flooding with lust and adrenaline and a million other emotions that are threatening to crash down over me, but the one overriding it all is determination. I want this to be good. I want to enjoy it and for him to feel the same. I want this last year and a bit of sexual tension and flirting to pay off because it’d kill me for Art to walk away from here disappointed.

And given how much experience he’s had, the odds aren’t in my favor.

I kneel in front of him, dragging his pants down his powerful thighs as I go, and I’m immediately faced with his hard cock tenting his black boxer briefs. They’re tight and cling to all the right places, and the sight of where the cotton hugs the top of his hairy legs is one of the most erotic things I’ve seen in my life. I’m almost cross-eyed at the image, and I have no idea how something so simple can be so fucking intimate, but I can’t stop myself from touching. Both hands grip his thighs while my fingers sneak under the material. His skin is hot, and knowing it’s Art’s legs is threatening to overwhelm me.

Before I stop myself, I lean in and press my face to his groin.

Art’s inhale is loud, and he shifts slightly, cock moving against my cheek, muscles bunching under my palms.

I can hardly believe this is happening.

I can hardly believe it hasn’t happened before.

He clears his throat. “Even though I’m enjoying every second of this, you can’t have long left on your break.”

Ah, fuck.

Against every instinct, I’m going to have to be quick. I don’t want to be back late and have someone come looking for me and find me with Art’s cock in my mouth.

No need for all the staff to be jealous of me.

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