by Hunter Frost
I looked into his eyes, those gray marble orbs that made me want to do every dirty thing I’d ever fantasized about. How did he get to be so mesmerizing?
I quickly went back to the computer and ran some diagnostics to find out what was wrong. I was baffled enough to say the Elf on the Shelf did it.
Alejandro pulled out his phone and began messing with it, relieving the pressure on me since his full attention was elsewhere.
“Did you do anything else for the rest of the weekend?” he asked.
Besides jack off and attempt to call Devin Chase about six times? Nope. I finally gave up on Devin Sunday night when I convinced myself it was too late and that I’d wake him if I called. That was my best excuse.
“Just did some chores around the apartment and got on the treadmill for a while,” I said, leaving out the rest. “How about you? Did you feel okay on Saturday? You were pretty tanked Friday night.”
He chuckled, and I swear his cheeks reddened a bit.
“About that. Sorry for texting and calling you. I shouldn’t have in the state I was in. It was inappropriate, and I apologize if I made things awkward.” He held my gaze for a long moment, then brought his eyes back down to his phone.
Obviously he didn’t mean what he said Friday night. He was drunk. And now he was apologizing for it. Because he regretted it. “No worries. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“You’re too nice, El.” He gave me a wink.
Story of my life. I went back to the computer.
He added, “I’m thankful you were around, though. It was nice to hear a friendly voice.”
I had a feeling he was going through something. But even though I wanted to be there for him, I felt as if I should be wary of asking my boss about his personal life.
“You know I’m always happy to help,” I replied.
“I appreciate that.” He took a lengthy and deep breath. “I felt like shit for most of the weekend, but on Sunday I wanted to pamper myself. I got a mani-pedi at the salon down the block from my house.”
Hold the phone. Did he just say pedi? I instantly perked up, and something lower perked up too.
“Nice, huh?” He put one of his hands near the keyboard so I’d look.
I nodded. “Real clean.” His fingertips and nails did look buffed and shiny, without any snags or ridges. But hell, you know what I wanted to see.
“I’d forgotten how good it felt to get a pedicure. It’s relaxing and invigorating at the same time. I should get it done more often.”
I was nodding and staring at him like he was a decadent dessert and I was on a no-carb diet. I tried not to think things I shouldn’t. But I was starting to sweat.
“My feet are baby soft now. I’m practically sliding around in my socks and shoes.”
I blinked. I couldn’t believe my ears. Alejandro was talking about his soft feet and how much he enjoyed getting a pedicure? I was dying. Dy-ing. I couldn’t move. All I could see were those freshly scrubbed soles and toes flexing in front of me, the skin velvety smooth, taunting and teasing me.
I reached up to wipe my mouth. And there was definitely something more happening down below in my pants.
You couldn’t tell a guy with a foot fetish that you got a pedicure and not expect him to go apeshit. Why not just put your feet in his lap? Oh god, not what I should be picturing in my head.
“How’s that software coming?” he asked. Thankfully, he didn’t seem phased when I hadn’t responded to anything he’d just said.
“I don’t know how to explain it, but the file corrupted again.” I scratched my chin. “You’re sure the rest of your system is working okay?”
He nodded. “I haven’t noticed anything else amiss.”
“Amazing.” His system puzzled me, and I’d been doing this for years. “This time I reinstalled a file from another source besides our network. Maybe ours is corrupted. I’ll check it out later today. But for now, NetStar is working.”
“Thank you, El.”
“Anytime,” I replied. “Let me know if things go awry.”
“I’ll see you at the website meeting tomorrow.”
The one with Trent and all the execs. We were supposed to talk about Trent’s vision, do some brainstorming, and nail down a timeline.
But now how would I get out of here without giving away that I had a major hard-on?
“You said you had my iPad?”
“Right,” Alejandro replied, sliding off the desk and walking over to the coffee table. He picked it up and handed it to me.
“Thank you.” I grabbed the tablet and let it fall into my lap.
“No, thank you,” he said with an oddly conspiratorial wink.
Did I miss something?
I shook it off and got up as casually as possible, the iPad strategically over my crotch. Then I walked out. Slowly. Probably too slow to be natural, but when I glanced back, Alejandro’s attention was focused on his monitor.
I made it outside his door, passed Wendy, and bolted straight for the bathrooms. Once again.
I checked to make sure all of the stalls were empty before shutting myself into one and locking it. Then I hurriedly dropped my pants and sat down, rubbing my aching cock. Damn, this wouldn’t take long. I was so worked up hearing about Alejandro’s feet, I was seconds from exploding. My cockhead was dark pink, my balls tight, and I didn’t even need to spit in my hand with all the precome.
I started to tremble after only a few strokes.
And then I came . . . hard.
I cupped my hand and rode out the tremors, shaking my head at myself.
Christ, what was I doing?
My pocket buzzed against the floor. I grabbed my phone from my pants to find a text from Alejandro.
Can we chat after the meeting tomorrow? I’d like to make sure we’re on the same page with scheduling to give to the leads.
I sighed. Why didn’t he just email me that? Or let my assistant know?
I replied with a thumbs up emoji.
He replied with a hugs emoji.
I chuckled as I cleaned up. And I went back to my office unable to stop smiling.
Chapter Six
Alejandro
I could see the change in El’s expression when I brought up the pedicure. His eyes were dark like the deepest part of the ocean, the pupils blown out to twice their size. It was obvious he was hiding his erection as he left.
And I almost needed the same coverage upon seeing how quickly the mention of my feet had him panting. I wondered how he got rid of that hard-on. I thought about that for the rest of the day and into the night as I lay in bed. That and Ellison worshipping my feet, then crawling up to worship something else.
When I got to the conference room on Tuesday, Ellison and Steph were already there.
“Buenos dias,” I said to them both.
“Morning, Dylan,” Steph replied at the same time El said, “Good morning.”
I caught El’s eye, and he quickly looked away.
Why had I never realized just how adorable he was? Especially in his crisp white dress shirt, navy suit, and dark brown shoes and belt. He must’ve had about three different suits that he rotated throughout the week. All basic and practical. But perfectly him.
His pale blond hair was short and gelled, though a few errant strands never seemed to cooperate. And he wore those thick, black-rimmed glasses that added to the entirely geeky-yet-utterly-charming ensemble.
Trent and Naomi walked in together and everyone greeted one another.
I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to sit across from Ellison or next to him. Across meant I could watch his expressions and catch his eye. Next to him meant I could accidently bump him, feel his nervous heat, and hear when his breathing hitched.
I chose to sit down on Ellison’s right side in order to be close to him. And as I did, he leaned as far to the left as he could without encroaching on Steph’s space.
Nice try.
I winked when he glanced my direction.
The smile he returned was both shy and uneasy.
As Trent spoke about NetSmash—our mission, our goals, and what we planned to provide our customers—I couldn’t take my eyes off Ellison.
Trent wanted our website to convey innovation, efficiency, and clarity, yet somehow infuse it with a sense of welcoming inclusivity.
Piece of cake. As vice president of Brand Management, I could do this with my eyes closed. I’d been doing these types of projects for our clients for years now. I yearned for something new and challenging.
Earlier this year when the former CEO retired, I threw my hat in the ring expecting them to promote someone from within. I was surprised and somewhat disappointed when they brought in Trent, an external hire. He ended up being a great choice, but I still felt unsatisfied with my own trajectory.
Regardless, I knew how important it was for my team to take the lead and gain the experience needed for a major project like this. And collaborating with the developers so their vision could be implemented in a way that made digital sense was key.
I took notes as the table brainstormed ideas that could be filtered down through the teams.
El did his best to avoid my glances, but when I caught him unaware, I’d give him a crooked smile, making his cheeks flush.
At one point I “accidentally” brushed against his calf, and he flinched.
“Perdóneme.” I adjusted myself in my chair and grinned.
He was just too easy to tease. And I had to admit it was fun.
Trent dismissed us after an hour.
“If you need anything from me, don’t hesitate to ask,” Steph offered.
“Same with me,” Naomi added.
“Thanks, ladies.” I said, as we got up from the table.
“We were talking to Ellison,” Naomi joked.
I rolled my eyes. “Then I’ll just go through Ellison for all my requests.”
“Why would you punish poor Ellison?” Steph smirked.
“I think she’s fitting in just fine.” Naomi patted Steph’s arm with a big smile.
Steph giggled, and they walked off.
I shook my head at El. “No respect.”
“I respect you,” he replied.
“I knew I liked you for a reason,” I said as we walked toward my office. “Amigos before amigas, si?”
El laughed and I realized how much I enjoyed hearing the sound of it. I held the door open for him, nearly guiding him with a hand to the back.
You’re not on a date, Al. Contrólate!
“Everything okay with your computer?” El asked as he entered.
“Surprisingly, yes. It’s a Christmas miracle!”
El went to sit in the guest chair in front of my desk.
“Wait.” I paused. “Let’s work in the sitting area. I’d rather lounge on the sofa.”
El shrugged. “Okay.” He settled his iPad on his lap and started to tap and swipe.
I stretched out on the couch across from him and opened my laptop. I brought up my calendar and flipped my notes next to me.
“You mind if I take off my shoes. These new Ferragamo’s are killing me.”
El’s eyes got wide and dark. “Um . . . sure. I-I’m cool with that.”
His stutter only made him sweeter.
I leaned up to remove my shoes, untying the laces. I bought these two weeks ago and had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to wear them. And here it was. I slid them off to reveal my sheer socks. I found a pair of them in black with thick seams at Barneys.
El fidgeted, staring intently at his iPad like he’d be punished if he looked anywhere else.
“Much better,” I said, stretching back out again, crossing my legs at the ankles, and flexing my feet.
El’s gaze wouldn’t budge. “My team already has a rough timeline sketched. We met with Lisa and her group.”
“Good, why don’t you forward that to me and I can bring it up?”
“Of course,” he replied. “Sent.”
I pulled up El’s notes and read through them. “This looks awesome, but can we add a few more rounds of testing at the end? I want to make sure it’s perfectly functional and seamless for the reveal.”
El didn’t answer right away, and I glanced up to notice him staring at my feet.
Gotcha . . .
“Is this bothering you?” I motioned toward my feet when El finally broke out of his trance.
“Oh . . . uh . . .” El swallowed, panic in his eyes.
I spoke up to save him. “Not only are the shoes new leather but I had a longer than usual run at the gym. My feet are so sore.” I sat up and brought my foot to rest on the opposite knee, rubbing it gently.
El was riveted. Or catatonic.
To my surprise, El blinked hard and raised his eyes to meet mine. “How about a foot massage?”
Chapter Seven
Ellison
What the hell? Did I just . . . offer Alejandro a foot massage?
Am I insane?! He had to think I was coming on to him. Or was this a normal thing among co-workers or friends to do?
I always agreed with John Travolta in Pulp Fiction. While it may not be explicit, there’s something extremely intimate about a foot massage.
Ultimately, in my case, it didn’t matter. To me it was not only intimate but completely sexual.
“You’d really rub my feet?” he asked, interrupting my panicked thoughts. He didn’t sound disgusted, freaked out, or upset. Maybe for Alejandro it was okay for a grown man to give another man a foot massage and not have it mean anything.
Yet just hearing Alejandro say rub my feet only turned me on more. God help me. “Sure. I mean, foot pain is the worst.”
“Have you done this before?”
I nodded. “Not often, but I’m good with my hands. Probably all the typing and clicking.” I smiled, trying to seem unphased. Like it was no big deal. And I hoped he didn’t see through me.
Alejandro smirked. “Well, you are talented in other ways.” He wiggled his toes at me. “Show me what those hands can do.” He winked.
Those feet would be the death of me.
I sighed. I couldn’t believe I was going to do this. My boyfriends and dates weren’t usually into feet. They didn’t mind a massage, but they knew I was much more into it. Most of the time they got weirded out and made sure I wouldn’t do anything else they considered creepy.
It was hard enough coming to terms with your own sexual identity, but then laying bare your sexual quirks as well? It was tough. I used to try and stuff all those feelings away, telling myself I didn’t need a partner into feet or that would indulge me if they weren’t as into it as I was. But that only made me angry and depressed. I wanted someone I could share my fetish with. I didn’t ask for much, just understanding and the willingness to be open-minded.
But I had bigger problems at the moment. I had to give my boss—the sexiest man I knew, with what looked to be, even in socks, the sexiest feet I’ve ever seen—a massage without making it intimate or sexual.
In my world it would be as if I was giving him a dick massage, because his dick was sore.
Great, now I had to get that image out of my mind.
How do I do this? Did I adjust my normal touch? If I applied too much pressure I’d hurt him, not enough and I’d be tickling him. Either way I’d end up getting kicked.
I had to take control of these nerves or I wouldn’t be able to do anything with my hands, period.
I moved over to the chair flanking the two sofas and scooted near so Alejandro could extend his legs, his feet in my lap. I lifted his feet up from the heels and settled them on my thighs.
They were even more amazing up close. They smelled like musk and leather. I said a silent prayer to the fetish gods. Give me strength. Give me willpower.
Alejandro watched my hands slide over his sheer stockings, starting from the tops of his toes downward, squeezing until I clasped his ankles.
“Your hands are nice and warm,” he said, his gaze leveled o
n me. I concentrated on his feet, willing myself to stay focused on the massage. Nothing more.
I took one foot, braced it from the top of his ankle, and with my other hand flat, pressed his toes back gently, stretching them.
Alejandro let out a long breath. “I didn’t realize how tight my feet were.”
I held the stretch for a few seconds, then wrapped both hands around his foot, kneading my thumbs under his toes. I pressed and kneaded each one, spreading them as best I could within his stockings.
Alejandro took another deep breath.
I progressed down from under his toes, making small circles over the balls of his feet with my thumbs.
He shifted in his seat. “Oh . . . wow . . . El, that’s really good.”
I continued that motion, then softly pinched the sides of his feet, working my way down toward his heel. Even with stockings I could tell how soft his long, slender soles were. It was torture. I wanted to rip the thin silky fabric and run my lips and tongue over his skin.
He closed his eyes. “Sooo good.”
My dick swelled.
I pressed my thumbs into his heel and lifted his foot, settling it in my hand where I could massage the sides of his ankles and Achilles tendon.
He groaned, and my erection pulsed.
When I stroked upward into the center of his high-arched sole, he trembled.
“Dios,” he whispered.
“Y-you okay?” I asked, my nerves on edge. Whispering sexy things like that was not conducive to keeping my teetering willpower. He seemed to really be enjoying this, more than maybe he expected to, but I hoped I hadn’t overstepped any boundaries.
“Si, I’m wonderful. I don’t know what you’re doing, but it feels amazing.”
“You must have sensitive arches.” I stroked that same center spot, and he groaned again, his breathing ragged.
“Yeah, that’s . . . intense.” He ran a hand through his hair and flopped his head back on the cushions. “Where did you learn how to do this so well?”
“I took a couple classes on reflexology and massage.” I went back to the circular motions, wanting to show off. Alejandro liked this. And he liked me. Could he be getting turned on?
