Page 32 of Best Man
“That’s one way to put it.”
“I’ll tell you another. This week is going to be torture.”
An hour later and I know I spoke the truth. We’re lying in bed. It’s quiet with the only sound that of the breeze in the trees outside the open balcony door. The room is washed in moonlight, giving me just enough light to see that he’s sleeping peacefully with no sign of agitation. I shoot a glare at him which is obviously wasted but makes me feel a bit better.How can he sleep?I’m wide awake, mainly because the sheets smell of him, and I can feel the heat of his body even with the foot of space between us.
He sleeps on his side facing me. In deference to the heat, he stripped off his top earlier, so I get a good view of that glorious hairy chest and wide shoulders. His hair is tousled and his arm is flung out with his hand palm up and looking somehow vulnerable. His lips are softly pursed, and he looks delicious.
I roll onto my back and sigh before scrubbing my face with my hands. My cock is throbbing like a fucking toothache. I want to slide in next to him and fit my body against his. I want him to strip me naked, and I want him to fuck me. Unfortunately, none of that is going to happen because I’m apparently too young and chaotic. I huff. Maybe if I walked around with a bar chart and a protractor he’d want to sleep with me. Maybe if I was distinguished and kept my paperwork organised he’d stick his cock in me.
I lower my hand and push it against my dick. It’s rigid in my shorts, and there’s a damp spot. The pressure feels good, and I arch my groin into my hand for a brief moment before I realise that rubbing one out next to my boss is not a good idea. He wouldn’t approve. Well, not unless I cleaned myself up with the correct day-of-the-week hanky.
I snort and force my hand away from my cock before rolling onto my side and facing him. I can’t stop looking at him. He looks so different from the awake Zeb full of purpose and drive. Now he looks like he’s having sweet dreams, and it makes me happy. I don’t want to know why that is, so instead of thinking about it, I watch his peaceful face until sleep steals over me.
ZEB
I come awake slowly the next morning in a puddle of sheets warmed by the sun. The window is open, letting in the sound of birdsong. I stretch, enjoying the moments before I have to get on with the day. Then I register that the bed is missing a person, and I’m abruptly awake.Where the fuck is he?The suite is quiet.Has he gone downstairs for breakfast?
I groan and sit up, scrubbing my hands down my face. What is he saying to everyone? What ridiculous thing is going to come out of his mouth next that will make me want to gag him and kiss him at thesame time? I think of Nina’s face last night at the dinner table, and unbidden, a snort of laughter escapes me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her speechless. It was a rare and beautiful thing. She’s always been so poisonous and controlling. It’s one of the reasons I cut Patrick so much slack. Who could turn out as a well-rounded individual with that as their role model?
I slide to the end of the bed and zip into the bathroom for a piss. Wandering out a few minutes later, I look around for my phone. I contemplate how he’s going to react to me summoning him back to the suite. I shake my head.Not well.
Seeing no sign of my phone, I hurry out into the lounge and stop dead. He isn’t downstairs regaling the table with more quirky conversation. Instead, bare chested and dressed only in his shorts, he’s sitting at the table on the balcony in front of his laptop. He’s tapping away furiously with a frown of concentration on his face, occasionally pausing to look at a huge textbook sitting to one side of him. A cafetière sits on a tray at the table filled with cups and saucers and plates and a big basket with a napkin over it.
I blink at the sight of the tortoiseshell glasses he has on and his air of quiet determination. It’s such a radical sea change from the way he normally appears in my office, dripping laughter like water after a refreshing shower.
He curses slightly and taps crossly on the keyboard. Something makes his head shoot up, and he stares at me for a long second, his face cloudy with concentration. Then it clears, and he smiles delightedly. I shift awkwardly. He always looks at me like that, as if he’s discovered something wonderful that pleases him tremendously.
“Zeb,” he says happily. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did.” It’s more of a question than I’d like because at three in the morning I was awakened by the fact that I was tucked up tight behind him, my cock snuggled happily in the crease of his arse and my arm slung over his narrow waist. I’d shot straight over the other side of the bed so fast I’m sure I left scorch marks on the cotton. It had taken me ages to get to sleep again. Luckily, he hadn’t woken.
“Come and sit down,” he urges, kicking out a chair for me. “Iordered some breakfast. There are croissants and pastries in the basket and a pot of tea here for you. It should still be warm.”
“I usually just have muesli,” I say doubtfully, and he groans.
“That does not surprise me.”
“I thought you might have gone downstairs,” I murmur, taking a plate and the croissant he hands me.
He grimaces. “No, I thought it would be much more pleasant sitting up here away from everyone.”
The croissant is soft and warm in my hand, and I’m suddenly starving. I don’t normally eat much in the morning as my stomach twists and hurts until I’ve got some work done and off my mind. But it seems different today, sitting on the sunlit balcony with him smiling at me. I spread damson jam over the pastry and look at him as he pours me a cup of tea. I’d love to know how he knows how I take it.
I pull myself back to the conversation. “It’s clay pigeon shooting today,” I say through a mouthful of food. “God, this is lovely.”
He looks absurdly pleased and starts to spread jam on another croissant. “Here,” he says.
“Oh, I shouldn’t.”
He shrugs. “Not sure why not.”
“Well, they’re a bit fattening.”
He looks me up and down. “You’re in fantastic shape,” he says in a low voice. “I think you can spare the time to spoil yourself.”
I’m absurdly pleased and immediately seek to divert the conversation. “What are you doing?” I ask, nodding at the computer.
“Oh, it’s my last paper.” He stares at the laptop. “Once I’ve finished this, I’m done.”
