Page 12 of If I See You Again
I snorted a laugh.
Me: I promise that it’s just business this time.
There was another long delay, and instead of torturing myself by continuing to stare at my phone, I set it on my desk and pulled out my laptop. I had access to a few files that he’d sent over since we’d made the agreement, and I could at least start looking over those. Most people scoffed at my idea. People with disabilities or even the elderly were more susceptible to fraud, and any attempts to make purchases easier for them often put them more at risk.
Malcolm’s proposal still had some of the usual hesitations, but it lacked the all-out refusal that the majority I’d approached with it had. Most of these advertisers failed to understand that it wasn’t their job to manage the website’s content. That belonged to my team and me. They only needed to help me sell it. Then again, selling a product you didn’t believe in was hard.
Most of what Malcolm had sent over were simple slogans and website designs. I clicked through them until my phone vibrated on my desk again.
Malcolm: Still working on fine-tuning a few things. Did you pick any favorites yet?
I wanted to tell him I loved everything, but that was laying it on a little thick. The man produced a great product, but I needed to narrow things down to one or two slogans that I could work with and finalize the main advertisement site.
‘So easy, even your grandpa can do it.’ Lacked punch and seemed borderline offensive.
‘Moving ease of purchase into the new wave of the future.’ Felt a little more promising.
Me: I’m looking over things now. I like the website designs. Those are great. The slogans can use a little work, but we’re almost there.
It all felt so clinical, and I ached to see him face to face and not have to deal with these interactions via text. However, it was only a couple of months before I had everything squared away and could move the operation to Chicago.
Malcolm: I can rework them. No worries.
Instead of replying, I continued to look at the designs for the advertisement site. There was no point in picking something I liked if there wasn’t a slogan to accompany it.
I shoved away from my desk, standing and pacing around my office. All I wanted to do was grab my phone and call the man who was running my advertising, but he needed space, and I couldn’t always be on top of him.
My hands itched to make the call, to throw caution to the wind, and say fuck it. I’d had a taste of Malcolm Fisher, and I wanted more. To dig deeper. I wanted to peel back all his layersand get to know everything about him—and not just physically. While the package was pretty as fuck, that wasn’t all there was to him. There was so much more. I wanted to bury myself in his secrets and uncover everything.
Before I knew what was happening, I’d locked my office door and flopped back in my chair. Was it fucked up that I’d snapped a picture of the man while he’d sat at the restaurant, waiting for the date who didn’t show? Maybe just a little. It didn’t stop me from pulling it up and propping my phone against my monitor. I unbuckled my belt as my cock stiffened. Maybe if I worked off some of the tension, I could get some actual work done.
There wasn’t anything special about the shot. Malcolm leaned over the table with his cell phone pressed to his ear. I’d never asked who he was talking to. It might have been his no-show date, or it could have been someone else entirely. He looked fantastic in the crisp, light blue button-down he’d worn that day. It tapered into the waist of his black slacks. My cock pulsed once more as I remembered peeling him out of those clothes and seeing the way he’d writhed beneath me on the bed.
My hand dove beneath the waistband of my pants and boxers, wrapping around the hot, hard flesh of my cock, and I squeezed my eyelids shut. The vision behind my eyes flashed back to that night as I worked my fist up and down. This wasn’t keeping things professional, and it was crossing so many damn lines, but what Malcolm didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Pre-cum gathered at my slit and I pushed my thumb through it, spreading it down my length. A grunt worked its way past my lips as I continued to jerk my dick with fast, even strokes. Sparks of pleasure surged up my spine as flashes of color danced behind my closed eyelids.
I wanted to live in the moment, to sink into the memory of that special night with Malcolm. Never in a million years did I imagine that someone would change my mind aboutbeing content with hookup after hookup, but Malcolm Fisher sure checked all the right boxes. He was sweet, compassionate, caring, and responsive.
My vision filled with him, his eyes closed, and his tousled dark hair as he threw his head back against the pillows and mewled for his release. How he’d begged for me to give it to him, to provide him with the pleasure he’d craved. When my cock throbbed in my hand, with a warm, constant pulse, I knew I was close. So damn close to falling over the precipice.
What pushed me over the edge was remembering the way his face looked when he came. The way he’d looked completely raw, so wholly undone by the encounter.
Sticky cum slid over my fingers as I panted, chest heaving as I struggled to pull in full breaths. What was it about Malcolm Fisher that made everything that much more intense?
It took several minutes for me to regain my composure. I pulled a few tissues from the box on my desk to wipe myself down before putting my clothes back in order. The innocuous picture of Malcolm still sat propped against my monitor. I needed to get back to Chicago, and I needed to make it soon.
Chapter 9
Malcolm
“Mr. Fisher, can you meet me in my office, please?”
I scrambled out of my chair and into the hall. It wasn’t all that often that Mr. Thomas needed me for anything, and the last time he did, I ended up with my most troublesome client. Was David a problem? I liked him, but that wasn’t the main issue. The real problem was that I liked him too much.
My hands shook, and sweat built on my back as I took step after step down the hall. It was like walking to the guillotine. Had he somehow found out that David and I had been less than professional, and now I was going to pay the consequences?
Mr. Thomas was just sitting at his desk as I approached his open door. He waved me to the open seat, and I sank into it, wringing my hands together, running through all the different scenarios as to why he could have called me in there. I was an exceptional employee. If you looked in the dictionary next to ‘exemplary employee,’ you’d find my picture.
