Page 48 of Work: Strictly Professional

Oh no, did I just say faceless?

That’s not good.

I gulp the rest of my drink.

A dark brow raises. “Imposing, huh?”

“Mm-hmm, and faceless,” I chirp.

Much as it pains me to admit, that littleMm-hmm, and facelessis kind of a big deal. My head is cocked toward Derek when I say it, and I’m looking straight into his eyes. I’m blinking fast and my mouth is gaping in a huge, overeager grin.

While it wouldn’t be immediately clear to passersby, and I can only hope to God Derek isn’t able to piece it together, this tragic little display is me flirting. Not fake flirting. Flirting for real.

Come to think of it, shit like this is probably the reason I’m single.

I know it’s ill-advised, if not downright stupid. It’s just that the crash of the ocean is drowning out the voice in my head telling me what a bad idea it is to behave like this. To think like this. A salty breeze ruffles my hair, blowing over and through me. Derek is sitting so close to me that one side of my body is glued to his. I feel warm where we’re touching and cold where we aren’t.

Jenna stops by and wrangles Jamie, who starts wailing at the mere suggestion, off for an early night. By the look of her, I think she might be partial to an early night too. Ryan and Miller are a few feet away, surrounded by a group of their friends. Every now and again, Miller grabs Ryan and puts him in a headlock, kissing the side of his face and laughing uproariously as he slaps him away.

Derek smiles and shakes his head each time it happens.

Both of us are still sitting exactly as Jamie left us. Feet half-buried, toes—or little pigs—peeking out of the sand. Derek’s knees are parted, and my hand is on his thigh. It started on his knee, and I’m not entirely sure when or how it migrated to his thigh, but that’s where it is now. His shorts feel smooth against my palm, fine cotton twill wrapped around hot muscle and skin. The sun has gone down. The light has changed. Tiki torches have been lit and are flickering peacefully. I’m watching the scene in front of us. Families. Friends. Barbara Anne, feet in the water, dress bunched up in one hand almost a little too high to be decent, blonde hair whipping across her face as she laughs and poses for the eight- or nine-hundredth photograph Sage asks to take of her.

I see all of that when my eyes are open, but when I close them, when I blink, I see Derek’s mouth. I see his lips around my cock, curled up at the sides. I see his hands on my body, trailingslowly downward. I see it and feel it all. The anticipation. The pleasure. All of it. But most of all, I see the way his dick looked as he stroked it. Slick, swollen head. Big hand curled around it, moving with purpose and speed. I see him arch back and his meatus open and shooting. I hear the sound he made when he came. I hear it over and over.

My hand tenses on his thigh, though I will it not to. I look down at his bulge, though I will myself not to do that either. It’s a bad idea to look.

A big handful. A long, thick shaft. Full balls.

Oh God. I want it.

I want all of it. I want his beautiful cock in my hand and my mouth. I want it so badly I can taste it.

20

Derek

I’m in the hottub watching as Wyn completes his complicated bedtime routine. It’s dark out and light inside, so I can see everything he gets up to. He’s locked himself in the toilet room twice and made three runs back to his luggage to get more of those little zip-up bags he has in it. I can’t quite make out what his process is.

Is he trying to see how much ground he can cover?

It’s a puzzle I can’t make heads or tails of, but one thing’s for sure, the little bags seem to play an integral role in it.

He comes out at last, face shining as the moon glints off it. He’s wearing the shorts with the perverted puppies, and it’s all I can do to stay seated. It takes everything I have not to jump up and rip those shorts off him. Shred them. With my teeth.

I spread my arms out on the edge of the tub, trying to escape the hot water and steam, hoping it un-fogs my mind too.

“Do you need anything, Mr. M—Derek?” He purses his lips and then relaxes them. His puffy bottom lip juts out slightly, forming a perfect cushion for his top lip to rest on. His face is open and earnest. He looks pretty and sweet. Sinful too.

“As a matter of fact, there is something I need.”

He looks pleased and happy to help. “What can I do for you?”

“You can get on your knees and blow me.” I don’t think it through. I don’t censor myself. I’ve been doing that forever, and I’m tired of it. His pale eyes widen and his lips part, so I quickly add, “How much? How much for you to suck my dick?” to soften it.

He blinks hard and tenses, stepping back into the shadow of a palm tree. His voice is soft, a feathery whisper as it finds me. He sounds nervous and uncertain. I know before he speaks that I will accept any number he gives me.Anynumber. “One d—”

“Done!” I smile, hardly able to believe my luck. “One thousand dollars it is.”

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