Page 18 of Tempting Frey
“Have you read the strategy I suggested?” he asked. “I’ve made a few updates since I first showed it to Jesse and the others.”
“I haven’t yet, no.”
“I’ll email you the updated version right away.” He swiped his phone open, and after a few finger movements, it made a softswoosh. “Read it, please. I’m curious what you think.”
“I will.”
“Great. Thank you for giving me a chance, Frey. I’m excited to be home and working for Beauville.”
“Great,” I parroted. “We’re happy to have you.”
A bright smile, and he was out the door.
I slumped in my chair and sniffed the air. There it was. Vanilla, butter, and something… This couldn’t be real! Was he a fucking fairy that sprang from a flower every morning?
A smart man would have turned around and stuck his head out the window. I wasn’t smart. I closed my eyes and breathed.
Lord Almighty.
What if it wasn’t a perfume? What if it was just…
Oliver.
It burned, everywhere. In my lungs, my stomach, in my muscles. Every part of me was on fire. Yet it didn’t hurt, not at all. Lust burned like whiskey, decadent and rich, the kind of torment that left you craving more.
My heart pounding and dick throbbing, I shot up from my chair and barged into the bathroom.
It was my lowest moment. If I had ever been ashamed of the attraction I harbored toward my best friend’s youngest son, it was nothing compared to the shame I’d carry after jerking off to the image of him smirking at me in my office. But shame would come later. Now, I could only focus on the scorching lust.
I flipped the lock on the door. The furnishings in the Beauville town hall were modest, but at least I had my own bathroom with a toilet and a sink.
Unable to take another step, I leaned my forehead on the door and took my cock out.
Fucking hell, it looked nearly purple. The veins on it seemed to throb. I squeezed it in my hand and let out a grunt before biting my tongue. I had to be quiet.
I wouldn’t think of Oliver in lace, no. But today, I’d gotten a glimpse of the outline of his nipples under his white shirt. The tip of his tongue had peeked out as he licked his lips and glanced at me through his lashes. I imagined his parted mouth nearing my cockhead, his tongue flicking against my slit.
I spat into my palm and stroked up and down.
Oliver’s lips wrap around my girth. His eyes are wide, gazing up at me, his nostrils flare as he struggles to breathe.
He kisses my cock and lies back, spreading his legs.
“I’ll go into heat for you.”
He’s wearing lace, sheer turquoise lace, and his cock is hard under the see-through material.
No, dammit. Not again.
But the man in my fantasy isn’t a gawky youth. He’s the Oliver I know now, sexy and dangerous.
He runs his hand over the fabric, then rolls slowly to his stomach, tilting his hips up. His crease is bare where the lace parts over his ass cheeks. Those panties are fucking obscene.
He palms one impeccable ass cheek and pulls it aside.
His hole is a tiny pink star, dry and unused. Virginal.
“I want to give myself to you.”
