André

by Jayce Ellis

  The ride back to Crestline was short, and I followed André up the stairs. Mr. Johnson wasn’t there this time, which was almost a pity. I wanted to introduce myself to him, let him know I wasn’t a threat to one of his sons.

  We were quiet until we got to André’s apartment and slipped inside. “C’mere,” I said as soon he dropped the luggage by the front hallway.

  He looked up, his eyes going a little wide.

  “Come here,” I said again, holding out my arms and motioning him to me. He hesitated for a second, then closed the distance in three short steps and wrapped himself around me.

  I rubbed circles up and down his back as he held on. “I know this weekend was rough for you, but you kicked ass. Let’s finish these last little bits for the presentation, and get some sleep. That flight took it out of me.”

  He nodded. “For such a short flight, it shouldn’t have been nearly that exhausting.”

  “Probably wouldn’t have been if they hadn’t been calling our names by the time we got through security,” I grumbled.

  He laughed and stepped back, tapping me on the shoulder like we were nothing more than buddies again. “I’d apologize for my family, but you see they don’t care. Come on, let’s get through this presentation.”

  Which we did, running through it three more times before the exhaustion became too much and we crawled into his bed. There was no discussion about it, no question if he wanted me there or not, just the assumption that I’d stay the night. And it was one I’d made myself, since I packed the suit for tomorrow anyway.

  But this bed was smaller, only a queen. Which meant efforts to stay on sides was all for naught. I didn’t even attempt it, pulling André toward me and settling him against my chest. He went still at first, then relaxed into it, his body heavy on me, and I fell asleep soon thereafter.

  * * *

  I awoke to an empty bed. I sat up, straining my ears for sounds of life, and heard André muttering in the living room. He sounded like he was pacing, something I’d noticed he did at the office when he was riled up. I climbed out the bed, aware of my morning wood and not giving a fuck, and went out front.

  André was walking in the other direction, and turned once he reached the end of the hallway. He caught my eyes and stopped in his tracks. His eyes darted down to my swollen erection, then back to my face.

  “You’ll lose your voice if you keep going over the same lines. You’ve got this, boss,” I said.

  He shook his head. “No. It’s not perfect. I can’t be reading from this.” He flicked the paper, almost in disgust. “I need to look them in the eyes, to see their faces as I’m talking. It’s not there yet.”

  He’d been walking toward me as he spoke, his face both earnest and pensive, and there was no doubt he’d be like this from now until go-time. I’d checked my email last night and knew we were presenting last. André had seen it too, and somehow that had made him more nervous. Something about seeing the jubilation or despair in their eyes and wondering how that would impact him. I didn’t know, but I thought he’d find just about anything to worry about. Not intentionally, but because so much was riding on this.

  He stopped in front of me, his mouth open to say something else. I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and pulled him tighter into me, sure he could feel my dick against his stomach. I bent toward him, then waited for his nod before taking his lips.

  He grunted and ran his hands down my chest, tweaking my nipples before trailing down to my leaking dick. He circled it, smearing precome down the length, and I rocked into his hips.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, disengaging and rolling my head back. “Feels so good.” Two weeks’ worth of desire, of being faced with it every time I saw him, and I knew it wouldn’t take long for me to shoot. But that wasn’t what I wanted. And it wasn’t what he needed.

  I gripped his wrist from my hand and pulled it free, then stepped back just enough to sink to my knees and take his pajamas and boxer briefs down with me.

  “Shit, Marcus,” André whispered, and I looked up at him. I didn’t stop looking as I licked the head of his dick and he trembled.

  He braced himself with one hand on my shoulder and the other on my head, and I sucked him down. His eyes held mine, something both fierce and tender in them. I swallowed hard, felt him tighten his grip, then start to thrust. André pumped in and out of my mouth, and all I could think about was how good this felt. More than even that first time, when intense need and desire for release had led us to each other.

  In these short days, I’d met his family, seen some of his frustrations, and better understood why he kept himself so tightly bottled, so under wraps. It was hard for him to let go, and I knew bottoming was part of that. Giving up that control, when from the looks of things, it was all he had. No control in Florida, no control over whether he got this partnership. What he could control, was me.

  So I relaxed into his embrace, consciously softening my throat and letting him push farther into my mouth, testing the very limits of my gag reflex. I reached around him and pulled his cheeks apart, and he bent over, widening his stance and giving me more space.

  “Yes, God, Marcus. Play with me.”

  I groaned at those words, knowing what it must have cost him to give them to me. We didn’t have lube, and there was no way André was going to let me wet my fingers, so I just massaged his hole while his thrusts grew erratic. Teasing him, pretending I was going to stick my finger in, though I’d never do it dry. His grip on my head tightened, and he let go of the hand on my shoulder to slap the wall.

  “Coming, Marcus, coming.” He pushed in as far as he could, maintained a vise grip around the back of my head, and groaned low, shooting into my mouth.

  I held him and massaged him through his aftershocks, then gradually released him to straighten. He looked wild, victorious, ready to take on the world. Then his gaze traveled lowered and he swallowed. “You still hard?”

  I nodded, a little shakily. André dropped to the floor and pushed me onto my back, fished out my dick and sucked me to root.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, low and deep in my throat. “Pull my balls, Dre. Come on, do it.”

  André didn’t hesitate, gripping my balls in his palm and tugging them down, and I went off like a rocket, hard enough that he couldn’t keep up.

  When I finished, he licked me clean, then crawled up to lie on top of me and look me in the eyes. “God, the second time in what, three days? We were supposed to wait until after the presentation to do this.”

  I laughed, a husky-sounding thing. “Yeah, but you were stressed out. Wanted to try and make it better.”

  He pecked me, the gesture surprisingly tender. “Thank you.”

  He pushed off me and stood, kicking his pajama pants and underwear off. He held out a hand for me and I did the same. We stood there, facing each other, naked, and all I wanted was more of the same. But not yet. Twelve more hours, and it was on.

  “Come on, let’s get this show on the road,” he said, smacking my ass before heading to the showers. The sooner we got through today, the sooner we got to tonight.

  Chapter Eighteen

  André

  For the first time in my life, I showered with another man. And it was full of peppered kisses, gentle strokes and fondles, whispered murmurings about tonight. Tonight, no matter what happened, Marcus’s status as my intern was done. And though we’d certainly blurred the lines this past week, he had to know it wouldn’t impact my evaluation. Marcus had worked his ass off, and seemed just as excited for it as I was.

  Our conversation trickled to a stop as we dressed, and I wondered if he felt the same bite of remorse that I did, that even though tonight couldn’t come soon enough, in the morning he’d return to Clarymore. We hadn’t talked about tomorrow, or any of the days after that, or what we would do when he went back to school, all thoughts that had increasingly plagued m
e, but now certainly wasn’t the time to get into it.

  “You ready to go?” I asked him just around noon.

  He was sitting at my small kitchen table turned workstation, reviewing his notes, and looked up at me with a warm smile. Warmer than a typical employee would give. “I am.” He sat back and reached out a hand, and I took it. He tugged me forward and smiled up at me. “Let’s make magic happen.”

  We put our bags together, triple-checking for the copies of the presentation Fiona had couriered to us this morning. That woman was a godsend. We were quiet on the elevator, and waved to Mr. Johnson as we left. Marcus ducked inside the convenience store, probably to grab one of those energy drinks he depended on as much as I did my antacids, and hopped back out. The walk to Clarymore from the Metro was short, and this was one of the thankfully not-as-humid days in DC.

  We were the second to arrive. Marcus introduced me to the other intern—who turned out to be Brian. He looked equally stunned to see me, so Fiona hadn’t said anything to him either. That woman. I could only shake my head and laugh, and he did the same. We all sat down, then Brian muttered, “Can’t believe they want us all here at one. It’s just going to make me nervous.”

  I nodded slightly in acknowledgment, but far be it for me to let my true feelings show. Which were one hundred percent in line with Brian’s. Me and Marcus were last to go, and would have to sit there for a full hour before our name was called, not knowing what had already been said and whether we were being redundant, original, or just plain uninspiring? The idea had me about out of my mind. I shoved my hand in my pocket and squeezed the roll of antacids, and let out a big breath. I was not giving in to the absolutely all-consuming nervousness I felt.

  The other finalist showed up a few minutes after my mental pep talk, and Marcus introduced me to that intern, Shelby. They looked harried, like they’d been doing some very last-minute prep to get this done. I totally understood.

  It was only when Shelby sat down that I realized that I was the only one-man show. I didn’t know if there were more advisors than the ones who’d shown up for this, but Shelby was there with three people, Brian with two, and me, the entirety of Ellison Financial services, sitting with Marcus. I felt outnumbered, overwhelmed, and that little wave of nausea, the one I just tamped down? That puppy was well on its way to high tide.

  My phone dinged, and I scrambled to my briefcase to grab it and set it to silent before opening it. It was a message from Marcus, and I raised one brow, angling my head slightly toward him. He didn’t look up and ignored my questioning glance. I pulled up his text.

  Marcus: don’t focus on them. Focus on me, and on this presentation. We got this.

  Me: thank you.

  Marcus: you got headphones?

  Me: earbuds

  Marcus: then get to it

  He put his phone down, then reached into his messenger bag, pulled out a pair of massive over-the-ear headphones and settled them on his head. Across the room, Brian snorted, and Marcus pulled one ear to the side. “What’s that for?”

  Brian pointed at him. “Just that you can do that now without him getting on your case.”

  Marcus’s smile was wide, before he snapped his mouth shut and frowned. Brian had gone back to talking to his partner and missed it. I didn’t.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, my face close to his.

  Marcus angled toward me, his brows in a deep furrow that seemed like more than just confusion.

  “What?” I whispered again.

  He shook his head and his face cleared. Partially. But he didn’t answer, just gave me a little grin and put his headphones on, then went back to scrolling on his phone.

  That had gone wrong quick, and I was mad I didn’t know why. Clearly Brian’s words had reminded Marcus of something unpleasant, and I worried. I also didn’t have time to worry, so I decided to follow Marcus’s lead.

  I fished my earbuds out of my briefcase and popped them in. I scrolled through my playlists until I found something that would put me in the right mindset, which for me equaled Trick Daddy, and turned on “Take It to da House.” Then I sent Marcus a message of my own.

  Me: whatever just happened there, I’m damn glad you’re on my team.

  Marcus paused next to me, then I saw from the corner of my eye his fingers running over his phone.

  Marcus: thanks. it was nothing. ignore me.

  Me: the last thing I want to do is ignore you. You sure you’re good?

  Marcus: yep. and on the real, thanks for looking out.

  I wasn’t sure if I believed that, but for the time being I had no choice but to let it go.

  A surreptitious look at my watch showed we were just past one o’clock. The door opened not long after and Harold poked his head out. He pointed to Shelby and her firm, one woman and two men. “We’re ready for you guys.”

  He nodded at Brian and his crew, then at me and Marcus, before allowing Shelby and her advisors to enter before him and shutting the door.

  Time seemed to pass interminably after that, the door opening just over thirty minutes later when Shelby and the others exited, small but hopeful smiles on their faces. Brian and his two partners, both women, disappeared into the next room. When they came out, again running slightly past a half hour, they wore the same cautiously optimistic grins. Marcus and I took off our earpieces and got ready. Marcus looked at me and gave me a quick, almost imperceptible wink, then Harold spoke.

  “Mr. Ellison, Mr. Thompson? We’re ready for you.”

  Harold smiled at me then, a brighter and more genuine one than I’d seen him use earlier. I walked in, expecting to see a room full of unfamiliar faces. Expecting to see anyone but Phil Dennis sitting there, a small smirk on his face when I caught his eye.

  I tried to swallow my gasp, but it got caught in my throat and I started coughing. Marcus poured a glass of water and handed it to me. I took longer gulps while I waited for my nerves to calm down. They didn’t.

  “Sir? Are you okay?” That came from a woman I assumed was a Pennington.

  Harold hadn’t said shit about Phil being on the team. He was a crafty motherfucker, because he knew I wouldn’t send in a proposal if it meant possibly working with my ex-lover. Hell, I’d assumed Phil would be nowhere near this assignment for that exact reason, and hadn’t thought to confirm. Well played, Harold, well played.

  Marcus, of course, didn’t know Phil was the ex I’d talked about a week ago, so he was understandably confused about my off-the-wall reaction here. But when I thought about it, the bullshit machinations Phil had gone through after I’d refused to let him top? I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d pulled strings to get on the committee. Shit, the idea made me angry, and the fact that his presence rattled me today? That pissed me off.

  Marcus leaned into me and whispered low. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. Let’s do this.” He set his bag down and pulled out our binders, handing them out while I got my shit together. I didn’t look up, but felt his eyes on me while he walked around the room.

  By the time he returned, I was raring to go. I smiled and turned to the woman. “I’m fine, thank you. I was surprised to see an old friend here, but I’m ready to begin when you are.”

  She was visibly intrigued by that statement, and I knew without looking that Phil had gone beet red. It was his one show, the thing he couldn’t control, and I loved it, even if no one else knew what it meant. Yeah, I’d gotten to him too.

  “Well,” she said, “I’m Nancy Pennington, and I am, I guess you could call me, the matriarch of the family. We have had two excellent presentations so far, and we are so looking forward to hearing what you think your firm can offer us and what recommendations you would make.”

  I smiled and glanced around the room. Phil and Harold were there with two women advisors I didn’t recognize, while Nancy Pennington was there with five other people I assumed were fami
ly members. The youngest one looked to be college-age and was examining his cuticles. The expressions on the family’s faces ranged from keen—Nancy—to comatose, because I’m pretty sure I heard one of them let out a soft snore.

  I muffled my chuckle and turned back to Nancy. “And I thank you for the opportunity. I also thank Clarymore & Toth, where I used to work as an advisor, for giving me the chance to partner with them on this project.” I focused on Harold for a minute. “Marcus has been nothing short of spectacular, and if this is the quality of employee you’re hiring at Clarymore from here on out, the firm is in good hands.”

  Harold nodded. “Good to know, and I agree. I’ll put that in Marcus’s file.”

  I smiled, then went back to Mrs. Pennington. “What Mr. Thompson and I have put together are three separate plans.”

  She held her hand up right then. “Three?”

  “Yes. Three. It is clear from looking at your profile and from the information you provided, that just giving you one option and trying to shove it down your throat wasn’t likely to be the best choice for your family. So we provided multiple choices.”

  “But if I want you to tell me which one you think is the best, what would you say?”

  “I think, under the circumstances, your family is best suited for a moderate investment plan.”

  “Interesting. We’ve been told moderately aggressive to aggressive by the other finalists. And I know my grandchildren would love to be significantly more aggressive than we have been.”

  “Of course they would. They’ve got less to lose and more time to lose it.”

  She laughed and clapped her hands, the sound echoing through the room. Even the youngest Penningtons seemed to get a chuckle out of that one. Then she sobered. “But why not a blend? Something moderately aggressive? Something that keeps my grandkids happy without being too over-the-top?”