Page 42 of Work: Strictly Professional

That snaps me out of it. Arrogant much? English comes rushing back at me.

“Um, actually, Derek, giving head is an acquired skill. It’s actually something you learn, not something you just know. You’re likely to be quite average at it.”

I know I’m sayingactuallya little too much, but I’m so proud of myself for landing on something other thanglnggthat I let it slide.

Derek moves so he’s kneeling between my legs. He smiles down at my dick and uses both hands to stroke my inner thighs from my knees to a hairsbreadth from my balls and then tracks back up again. He takes a knee in each hand and spreads my legs roughly and impossibly wide. As wide as they’ll go. Wider than I thought they could go. So wide it makes me blind with arousal.

He reaches down and fondles my balls. Pleasure darts up, down, and straight through me. His touch is light, almost impossibly so for a man his size, and then it’s not.

“But, Wyn,” he says reasonably, “when have I ever been average at anything?”

In fairness, it’s a good question. One I don’t answer because he has both my balls in the palm of his hand. He’s not hurting me. He’s teasing me, threatening me, letting me know he could. Letting me know that he bought me. That he owns me.

That thought, along with his words and the sensation traveling from my balls to my dick, unglues the moan I now realize I’ve spent most of my life trying to keep buried. It’s a helpless, wild sound that reverberates off timber and makes linen and tropical plants quiver.

It makes Derek smile. He likes it. He looks down at me, and for the first time in my life, I feel completely naked. More than naked. I feel like he can see through my skin and bone, through muscle, and maybe even through whatever thin film it is that makes me, me.

My dick throbs, pulsing steadily, causing it to jerk to attention and lift clear off my belly with every second or third beat of my heart. Derek watches in wonder, rolling my balls gently in his fingers, eyes creasing deeper at the corners each time my dick twitches.

At last, he has mercy on me, scooping me up in his hand and circling my shaft. My heels dig into the bed, and I squeal in relief as I thrust jerkily into his hand. Relief doesn’t last. Hisgrip is tentative and loose. Too loose. I moan again. It’s the moan from before, but this time, it’s angry. Derek ignores it. Maybe he doesn’t even hear it.

He’s focused completely on my dick. He touches me tentatively. His hands are steady, but his breathing is shaky. He follows my dorsal vein from root to tip, pressing down and releasing it, exploring me, experimenting on me, traveling agonizingly slowly until, at last, he gets to my head. He tugs gently at my foreskin and looks up at me as my head peaks out. His mouth opens and slashes into a smile. He drags the skin up, covering it, and then drags it down again. This time, he looks up, lets out a boyish giggle, and says, “Whoa.”

He squeezes the tip, milking it and rubbing his forefinger in the glistening bead his ministration earns him. He looks at his finger, face a picture, and shows me.

“Look,” he says more to himself than me.

Then he lifts his hand to his lips, considers what he has for a moment, and tastes me. His eyes flutter shut as his lips close around his finger, and for a second, he looks peaceful. His lashes are dark, casting soft shadows down his cheeks. His features are relaxed, his jaw slack, hair black.

It doesn’t last long, just a beat or two, but damn, it’s beautiful.

When he opens his eyes, they’re pitch dark, pupils completely blown out. He grunts like he’s been punched and dives down, hands hard on my thighs, pushing them open so roughly my hamstrings sting in protest as he slurps my dick into his mouth.

The sound I make isn’t a moan so much as a shout. Loud and long. High-pitched and frantic. He’s taken an astonishing amount of me into his mouth, and holy fucking fuck, it feels good. It’s a little too rough, then a little too soft, and I swear to God, I don’t care. It’s heaven. Maybe it’s the sex sabbatical talking, but I swear, Derek MacAvoy’s mouth is the best thing I’ve ever felt. The best thing by far.

A soft, swirling warmness envelops me. Tongue, lips, and the smooth insides of his cheeks. They all work together to caress me. Everything is soft and warm. Safe. Nerve endings sing, then scream. Sing, then scream.

He bobs his head, taking a little more of me and then backing up. Teasing until I’ve had several personality changes in quick succession and seem to have landed on a part of me I’ve never shown to anyone. A part that’s helpless and hoarse, voice broken but begging. And I really do mean begging, not asking, not even asking with meaning.Begging.

A chorus of “Please!” and “Jesus!” and possibly even a couple of regrettable cries of “Help!” bounce around the room and get caught up in the ceiling fan, spinning around and around until they merge into one long, garbled sound.

My eyes are open, then closed. I see suit jackets and spreadsheets. Marble and glass. Big hands and unmanageable men. Blurred-out faces and dark features in sharp focus. The entire time, one thing remains constant. One thing doesn’t change.

Derek is smiling.

It’s that smile wrapped around my cock and the soft, happy hum that goes with it that makes me lose my mind. My entire body tenses, clenching and pausing as I’m held on a ledge in a chokehold so tight my vision swims until a primordial gear lever shifts. There’s a dull impact. A pained sound, as tension gives way, and mind-bending pleasure breaks free.

When I land a long while later, I find I’m still unable to move. My hands are still above my head, crossed at the wrists, and Derek is lying beside me again. I’m dead to the world, limbs heavy and numb. My face is tingling, and I’m pretty sure I’ve melted five or six inches into the mattress.

It takes some effort, but I manage to turn my gaze to Derek. He’s on his back too, arm moving steadily as his fist pumps upand down the length of his shaft. His dick is beautiful. Big and thick, wrapped in a big, thick hand. A soft, squelching sound and a glint of slickness on his skin make me think he’s using what came out of me as lube. I don’t just think it. I know it. I can smell sex in the air. My eyes roll back, and I whine because it’s all I can manage. I can’t move, can’t help him, can’t stroke him, can’t take him into my body while I’m like this, and it’s torture.

I blink hard, fighting to regain my focus. Watching. Waiting.

Waiting for Derek to come.

It doesn’t take long, a couple of minutes at most, but by the time his chest is coated in thick ribbons of cream, I’m rock solid again.

19

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