SWEATS AND a T-shirt. That was what Silas chose to wear for Scott Kramer’s monumental first day as an employee. Shirley’s disgust with the idea showed in her pursed lips and her narrowed glare. Which, by the way, she never once took off Silas. Even as Silas welcomed Kramer into his home. She’d told him he wasn’t taking this seriously. Normal people did things to help their careers. Oh, but not Silas. Why couldn’t she have a less stubborn client? Every time he replayed her tantrum in his head, Silas chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
That voice. God help him, that voice had coached him through having the best orgasm he’d had in… well, at least two years.
“Nothing,” Silas said with a grin, keeping his head buried in his laptop. His imaginary friends had been especially chatty since Kramer’s arrival. The problem was, they all wanted to screw each other.
“Something’s funny.” Kramer gave a curt nod. “You’re still smiling.”
“Shirley’s morning has been….” Silas closed his laptop and sat back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest. “More than she cares for.”
“Yeah, she’s not in a great mood.”
“My phone had jizz on it.” Silas tried not to laugh. Again. He was acting like a boy stuck in puberty. “She wasn’t happy.”
“I’m stuck at you getting cum on your phone.”
“What can I say?” Silas shrugged. “You’re good.”
Red colored Kramer’s cheeks. Like Silas’s compliment embarrassed him. But how in the world could a man with a filthy little imagination like Kramer’s get embarrassed by a lowbrow compliment like that?
“You popped my phone sex cherry.”
Silas arched a brow. “Come again?”
“That was the first time I’ve ever had phone sex.”
Ohhhhh…. “That’s a shock.”
“Why?” Kramer frowned this time.
“You delivered your scene like an old pro, dear boy.”
Kramer’s face reddened more. How adorable. He immediately ducked his head and went back to whatever assistanty stuff he’d been doing all morning, only now, he grinned so wide dimples framed his lips.
This is crazy, Silas thought. How could a man so humbled now be the same man who’d commanded Silas through a gloriously filthy hand job last night? Maybe this Scott Kramer was an act to hide the freak behind a now very timid facade.
It’s a riddle. One Silas would certainly figure out.
“We should have a lunch break,” Silas offered. “You as well, Shirley.” Kramer jerked his head back, smile gone like a missed wish. Silas had seen her cross the front of the living room. “Unless you’re still pissed off at me, of course.”
“Oh, I’m still pissed off at you.” She cut her eyes to Kramer, then back to Silas. “But we’ll talk about it later.”
“Very well, then,” Silas said. “I suppose you’ll make me regret the day I was born another time.” He winked at Kramer, though his new assistant wasn’t exactly privy to Shirley’s way of handling Silas’s misbehavior.
“Would you like me to grab your coat?” Kramer asked.
“No, but….” Silas wanted to take Kramer back to his bedroom and act out the scene they’d created on the phone last night. He wanted to see if Kramer was as good in the sack as he was on the phone. Stop it. “I need to change clothes.”
Their stares lingered. Their faces remained as stoic as they’d ever been. Neither moved. Silas wasn’t entirely convinced they were still breathing.
“So what are you waiting for?” Kramer asked, voice lilting in a playful little tone.
Smirking, Silas rose from his chair and sauntered around the edge of the desk. He glanced back only once, just to see if Kramer was still watching him. He was. Something about knowing he had Kramer’s undivided attention made Silas all warm and gooey inside. Had Shirley not been there, and had the situation not been utterly inappropriate, Silas would’ve asked his new assistant to join him in the bedroom for a little new employee orientation.
He slipped into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. In the silent stillness of a room that hadn’t seen any action since the second Bush left office, Silas had time—and clarity of mind—to really marinate on the bad decision he’d made last night. A smarter man would’ve hung up the phone. A smarter man would’ve told Kramer this arrangement simply couldn’t work. A man thinking with his brain, rather than his cock, would’ve stopped everything now, rather than perpetuating the fantasy.
“We need to talk.”
Silas swung around. He hadn’t heard Shirley open the bedroom door, but she sometimes had a stealthy way about her. At least she didn’t get a full-frontal view this time.
“About?”
He pulled a fresh button-down from the closet and slid it over his arms, then proceeded to step out of his sweatpants.
“About whatever the hell is going on out there.”
“There’s nothing going on.”
“You’re lying.”
“How can you be so certain?” Silas situated his pants on his hips, zipped and buttoned, then secured them with a belt. He combed his fingers through his hair to freshen his coiffure. “Did you see me doing anything untoward with him?”
“I didn’t need to see you do anything. I can tell by the way you two look at each other.”
“And how is that?”
“Silas, don’t play stupid with me. He’s your employee. He has rights. If you fire him for any reason, he can scream sexual harassment. He has you by the balls right now.”
Silas did his very best to stifle his chuckle, knowing full well laughing at her would piss off Shirley but good. Sometimes he couldn’t help himself. When the little devil on his shoulder stopped in for a visit, bad Silas usually came out to play.
“I’ll have you know, he hasn’t touched my balls.” And with that, Silas stepped out of the bedroom, leaving a glaring Shirley huffing and puffing behind him. She was probably contemplating ways to murder him and get away with it.
He felt something tug at his lower back, and he jerked his head around. They stood nose to nose now.
She said, “You’re a grown man, capable of making your own decisions, but I’m telling you this right now. The first bit of controversy or drama or anything of the such, and I’m done. D. O. N. E. Got it?”
“Got it.” Silas plastered on a mocking grin and stepped into the living room. Kramer had his head buried in his phone, but as soon as the floorboards creaked, the phone became a lot less important. “Ready?”
Kramer nodded.
WHENEVER HIS head got all screwed up, Ben liked to hit the gym, but he’d waited awhile before heading out, hoping not to run into Morgan so soon. Who wanted the awkwardness? Especially after the way they’d left each other—in limbo and shit.
Funny thing was, even though Ben had made it to the gym without conflict, inside he’d never been so conflicted in all his life. He lay back on the weight bench, fingers wrapped around a bar with a good hundred and fifty pounds added to it, and yet, he kept finding himself right back in his bed. He pictured Morgan hovering above him this time, grinding against him, staring him in the eyes as if he owned a piece of Ben’s soul. God, the thought made Ben shiver.
He released his grip on the bar, only then realizing his spotter was looking at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. Maybe he’d given up the last of his sanity when he’d let Morgan into his home, into his bed.
“You all right?” the bleach-blond boy standing at the back of his head asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“You normally do twenty reps.”
“How many did I do?”
“Like five, dude.”
Wow. Shit. It sure as hell felt like more—proof Ben’s head wasn’t in it and the last thing he needed to mess with right now was free weights that weighed almost as much as he did.
“Yeah, I’m done,” Ben said. He sat up on the bench, elbows resting on his knees, face buried against his palms. He hadn’t even broken a sweat yet.
This is so damn stupid. He’d told Morgan no expectations, that they couldn’t get wrapped up in each other because Ben didn’t want to be “dating” anyone, and yet there he sat with his brain all kinds of tangled in everything Officer Morgan Brown. He even pictured Morgan slowly stripping out of his uniform, hips rolling in that sexy suggestive way, begging Ben to grab him and do him good. Real good.
Sighing, he rose from the bench and proceeded through the maze of equipment, thinking maybe he could hit a treadmill and run off all his wanton thoughts and fantasies of a little cop-on-cop action of the porno variety. He stepped up onto the deck, scrolling through the phone he’d had tucked in the pocket of his gym shorts. His finger stopped over a playlist he’d affectionately labeled “pissed off.” It was full of heavy metal music with beats of one-fifty per minute or better. Not the kind of shit someone would listen to when they wanted to chill out, but perfect for a hard-core run. Not to mention working off a little aggravation.
His feet galloped against the belt. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Loud. Heavy. Obnoxious. That was why he didn’t run in front of people. Yeah, he’d seen them glaring. Whatever. The first half mile was pretty uneventful. He’d watched the TV on the far wall, but sports wasn’t really his thing. The next three miles burned. He’d set the speed to eight miles per hour, thinking he could roll on in and finish up without burning a lot of time. The faster he ran, the more he couldn’t wait to strip out of his clothes and sink into a bathtub full of the hottest water tolerable.
With Morgan.
No. Absolutely not.
Bullshit.
He popped the Stop button with the palm of his hand. His legs struggled with the slowdown but eventually got with the program. Though, when he finally reached a complete stop, his thighs quivered so badly he wasn’t sure he’d stay upright long.
Holding the rails, he fought to catch his breath and slow his pounding heart. Sweat rolled into his eyes and down his nose, over his lips until it dripped from his chin. He lost himself in every drop, eyes helplessly following until his sweat dotted the rubbery road at his feet. He lost himself in thoughts of Morgan.
Maybe tonight, they could hang out or something. Eat. Drink beer. Watch a movie.
Talk.
Shit.
No. No talking. There weren’t supposed to be any expectations. From either side. But damn, the way Morgan had looked at him this morning. And the sex.
Shit.
Ben grabbed his phone from the treadmill’s deck, slid his thumb across the screen, then punched in his passcode. Of all the icons on the screen he could’ve chosen, he picked Messages. Anything else would’ve been better. Like Facebook or some shit. Anything not to send a text to Morgan.
Without hesitating, he pulled up a new message—Morgan’s name bright and bold in the To field—and started to type.
You need to come over tonight.
I want you to come over tonight.
Don’t say no.