Page 85 of Five
I took his wiener mobile to my mechanic a couple of days ago, a diagnostic was long overdue on his old car, and Lori is still using the rental car service to go to the office every day. He freaked out, and I had to introduce him to my mechanic because he needed to meet face-to-face the person who was going to “operate”on his car. He still wasn’t happy.
After that, we came back to the office, I saw him laughing exaggeratedly and leaning over the arm of an assistant at lunch right under my eyes. Tendrils of jealousy snaked their way through my body, and Bez growled like a caged animal lost in overwhelming possessiveness. I tightened my grip on the pen in my hand and held until it bit into my palm, incapable of not watching Lori’s every moronic, flirty move. I imagined butchering that assistant in too many ways to count. I know exactly what came over me, it was a dark, old feeling from deep within. A dangerous one.
I’d thought Lori was my healthy obsession, more like an incurable disease.
I called him into my office, pushed him face down on my desk, and gave him only enough prep to let him feel the sting of my cock when I slid inside him like I belonged there. Bez crushed him under our big body and started battering him against the desk, groaning like a beast. My merciless thrusts were turning him inside out, claiming him as mine. He kept screaming while clawing at my thighs and biting at my forearm. Bez kept calling Lori his fuck toy and cum bucket, our whore and he moaned, loving every single second of this filthy, angry fucking. He’d suddenly convulsed under me, whimpering so fucking sexily. While aftershocks were still running over him, I felt my cock swelling, heat spreading inside me. He shivered against me, andBez pushed his dick deeper, making his eyes roll back as he ground down on his ass.
Then my body turned rigid, and my cock exploded. My mouth sucked and bit Lori’s nape hungrily, no doubt leaving another bruise. I groaned, pumping him full of my cum. Bez reminded him he was fucking ours. He laughed and moaned once again.
We went for another round, Bez and I still switching one moment to another. It had never happened before. Lori was the first guy we ever actually shared. It was a new development.
When we were done, I was still angry at him. Blinded by my jealousy.
All my muscles ached, and as I slipped out of him, we started arguing heatedly about a possible client. He stated that the plaintiff had a good cause of action in negligence, I disagreed since the evidence was insufficient, therefore the claim was unsupported. Only a judge could resolve the dispute, and I knew a retired one who could easily do that. But Lori needed to learn that I’m not someone you want to cross.
“If you lose, you’ll be my temp assistant until my PA comes back,” I threw out the challenge.
“I’m a paralegal, not a bloody PA,” he retorted, annoyance filling his voice.
“Is the work too easy for you? Are PAs not as good as paralegals?”
“Stop lawyer-ing me, you prickly, verbal-sparring, closed-off piece of marble!”
“Marble?”
“Your skin reminds me of the white counter in the kitchen apartment…not important.” He waved his hands madly in the air. “And if I win? What do I get?”
“I’ll give you one month to study full-time while still paying you.”
The pout on his lips let me know he was pondering my proposal. “Two months and I’ll also sleep in your bed every night,” he added. His counter proposal surprised me. He already did that most nights, and I thought he preferred to have his privacy sometimes.
Told you, Bez grumbled.
I’d won. The case needed more evidence, which meant that Lori became my assistant.
“Can you do it? Be my PA?” I asked him.
“I shall do my best, boss,” he replied with an evil smirk and an even more devilish look.
Three days have passed, and Lori runs my office—and my life—like clockwork with so much efficiency and preciseness, I pretty much let him do anything he wants. Including being extra snarky with me.
When I tell him to bring me a coffee, he starts answering the phone with “Gabriel Slaver Reed’s office, how can I help?” He can’t cook for his life, but his coffee is creamy and slightly sweet—incredibly perfect—and he makes it only when he feels like it.
The cream is probably his spit, Bez jokes. But he might be right.
Lori also only uses my office’s private bathroom, stating that the floor restroom is for Brad Pitts while mine is the George Clooney of toilets—whatever that means.
He refuses to sit at the PA desk outside my office or to answer the phone unless it is someone worth it—the calls were redirected to the floor receptionist. I let it all slide because he straightened my messy calendar out for the next month and confirmed all my appointments for the next three weeks.
On top of that, in a no-nonsense manner that didn’t leave any room for argument, he added more benefits to his contract and gave himself a raise since he’s still doing his paralegal job. He calls me out on any of my, what he deems,icy bullocks.I’ve gotten used to his less-than-professional office attire, his ever-changing nail colors, and the way he enters my office without knocking, swinging those narrow hips in high heels and taking a little jump to sit on the corner of my desk, flattening my files with his rear.
Lucky files,Bez grumbles.
I shake myself out of my thoughts, and after putting on a blue three-piece suit with a light gray shirt, I move to the living room, suddenly halting my steps. I only glance quickly at Wednesday on her roosting bars and around the room—that now features throw pillows, vanilla candles, a line of succulents, small, tall, round and squared mirrors, some framed photographs, and a large soft rug just in front of the fireplace where Lori told me in detail what he wants me to do to him. My eyes are caught by Lori’s sinuous movements as he does yoga.
This is something I hope will never get old. Because seeing him contort and stretch his body so fluidly inflames my groin from zero to sixty.
He's wearing a white sports bra with my black boxer briefs. His curls are tied up in an odiously tight bun, his nails arewater green—he changes the color often since he hates to see it chipped—and his face has no trace of makeup.
