Office Romance Box Set

by J. M. Snyder

  The man at the door is my age, maybe a few years older. He’s hidden inside a bulky jacket that reads Arianna’s on the left breast and, in his hands, he holds a couple pizza boxes. Beneath the brim of his baseball cap, dark brown waves fall to his chin. He tucks the left side behind his ear in an absent gesture that makes my toes curl. When he smiles at me, his teeth are even and white.

  Then I see his eyes, and all thought of returning to my story disappear at those large, brown depths. Soulful eyes, with heavy lids and thick lashes that make me wonder what they’d look like first thing in the morning, peering from between the covers of my bed. Sweet Jesus.

  For a moment we stare at each other—me in a ratty old T-shirt and those damn PJ bottoms that do little to hide the erection beginning to tent my crotch, he with his pizza and his heavy jacket. The smell of freshly baked cheese wafts toward me, heavenly, and beneath it I catch the faintest scent of his cologne. Come in, I want to tell him. I’d give anything to take off that coat of his and see what kind of body we’re working with here, or tug off that cap and watch the curtain of his hair fall to hide those sexy eyes. Why haven’t I been able to find a guy like this on those damn personals sites, or when I’m out at the stores, or having a drink after work? Where has he been hiding all my life?

  Clearing my throat, I wrap my arms around my shivering chest and hug myself against the cold air. “Hey. Can I help you?”

  That smile again—it lights up his eyes and makes me grin foolishly in return. Holding up the pizza boxes, he asks me, “Did you order two large pepperonis?”

  I wish. Suddenly I’m hungry for something hot and ready, and I don’t mean pizza. Almost reluctantly I have to shake my head. “Not me.”

  Those lips pull into the tiniest pout I want to kiss away. “Is this apartment G?”

  He has a low, scratchy voice that would sound wonderful crying out my name during sex. Before I can stop myself, I counter, “If I say it is, will you give me your number?”

  He laughs. It’s a rich sound that complements his voice and makes me want to pull him inside my apartment, lock the door, and keep him all to myself. Where can I get me one of these? I wonder, not bothering to be subtle as I look him over. Arianna’s, that’s where. I’ve been ordering my pizza from the wrong place all along.

  Digging into his pocket, he pulls out a magnet and hands it to me. The phone number for the pizzeria is written across the bottom. Not quite what I had in mind. Indicating the pizzas again, he asks, “So these aren’t yours?”

  “I wish. I’m F,” I tell him. I point at the door, but the apartment letter is hidden behind the Christmas wreath I have hanging up. In fact, a quick look around the corridor shows all four of the apartments have wreaths in place—no wonder he picked the wrong one. It’s with the heaviest of hearts that I point across the hall to the co-eds’ apartment. “That’s G, over there.”

  He glances behind him but doesn’t move. I can almost imagine the way the girls will pounce on a sexy boy like this—the moment they open the door, they’ll be all over him. But there’s something about him, something I can’t quite put into words, that makes me think he might not rise to such an occasion. It’s his hesitation to turn away from me, the covert look from the corner of his eye, the way his gaze is drawn to the bulge in the front of my PJ’s.

  I watch him, waiting, as he hesitates. I want to point out I did give him a chance, didn’t I? I gave him the perfect opportunity to give me his number, or tell me his name, something, and he missed the play. A magnet with Arianna’s take-out number on it isn’t exactly encouraging.

  This time his smile is wan and tight-lipped. “Thanks.” He waits another moment, half-turning as if torn between the other apartment and me, then gives into his responsibility and turns his back to me.

  Oh, well.

  His loss, I tell myself, closing the door as he hurries across the hall, but that’s cold comfort. I didn’t even get his name. How much pizza am I going to have to order before I see him again?

  Who am I kidding? He’s obviously not that into me. I’m some dork with a hard-on and he probably has a lover already, someone he’s been dating for years, someone to whom he’s practically married, a sexy man like that…what kind of idiot would let him slip away?

  Oh, yes, my bad. That idiot would be me.

  I return to my computer but am no longer interested in wrapping up my article on the best Asian restaurants in Richmond. I try to type a few words, but they’re stilted and ring false to me. My mind is out in the hallway, where I hear the guy knock on the door to apartment G. When it opens, a gaggle of girlish giggles erupts in squeals. I knew my neighbors would be just as smitten with him as I am. I bet he gets the lion’s share of tips. Hell, I’m ready to give him a couple dollars and I didn’t even order.

  Fuck it. Whatever momentum I had is now gone—my balls are heavy and my cock aches; I want nothing more than to jerk off thinking of the sexy pizza guy, those dark eyes, that hair. I close my browser and save what little I’ve done on my article, then log off the computer. I’m heading for my bedroom and the bottle of lubricant I have on my bedside table when someone knocks on my door again.

  The girls, probably, asking if I want any pizza. I can hear them giggling through the thin wall, and the sound makes my empty bedroom feel that much lonelier. It’s going to be a long night.

  In mid-step I turn and open the front door, just a crack, an apologetic refusal already on my lips. No thank you, I’m heading to bed…

  He stands there, empty-handed now. His smile is bright and genuine and not a little bit shy. The way he scuffs his shoe against my threshold makes me open the door wider, and he ducks his head as he glances up at me. “Hey, listen. I’m Paul.”

  “Jeremy.” I hold out my hand and he takes it, his fingers cold from the weather. With a laugh, I enclose his hand in both of mine and try to rub some warmth into his skin. “You need some gloves.”

  His grin widens. “I’ll just stick them between my legs when I get in the car.”

  “Oh, God,” I sigh. That image hurts my brain. Fodder for my masturbation fantasies, let me tell you.

  “Listen.” His fingers close around mine, urgent. “I didn’t know if you were serious or not about wanting my number—”

  My words come out in a breathless rush. “Oh, yeah. I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

  That earns me a laugh. “My shift is up in an half hour, you know, if you want to call me then.”

  If, as though I may not. I can just imagine lying in my bed in the darkness, stroking my length and listening to him breathe through the phone. “Let me get a pen.”

  His grip holds me tight, keeping me in place. “No, wait. Do you have any plans later?”

  You mean besides jerking off to the sound of your voice? My mind tickles over the looming deadline for my article and I shake my head. “Not yet.”

  “How about I stop on by when I get off?”

  His fingers are warming in my hand. I give them a squeeze and feel lust shoot through me at the thought of these same fingers clasped so tightly elsewhere on my body. With a coy wink, I ask, “How about you stop by here first, and then we’ll get you off?”

  He laughs, a delicious sound, and before I know it, he leans down and captures my mouth with his.

  My lips tingle beneath the sudden kiss. He tastes minty, like chewing gum, but beneath the spearmint flavor is a hint of tomatoes, Italian herbs, and pepperoni. The spiciness takes my breath away. My evening just got better.

  * * * *

  In the time it takes him to finish his shift and come back to my place, I shower and change out of those damn pajama bottoms. It’s jeans and a polo shirt for me. I smooth down my hair, then tousle a palmful of gel through it, hoping for that carefree, windblown look.

  I get crap.

  I comb my fingers through it and scrutinize my appearance in my bathroom mirror. I see dirty blond hair so straight, it stands up from my forehead as if shocked. Cut short in the back, al
most buzzed, so you can see just how dark my roots are now that winter’s here. I have pale eyes that almost disappear into my face—if it weren’t for the black irises, you wouldn’t even notice them.

  Paul did, apparently. Thank God. What the hell did he see in me?

  A quickie, my mind whispers, and I watch a grin slide across my face in the mirror. Again, thank God.

  I’m still messing with my hair when he knocks. Running my hands through it one last time in the hopes it’ll miraculously settle into a half-decent style, I hurry to answer the door. He still wears his work uniform—the jacket hangs open now, exposing a T-shirt with a caricature of an Italian woman smiling at me, Arianna’s written in florid script beneath her feet. His khakis have an oily spot high on one thigh where it looks like he got splashed with olive oil. Poking the spot, I tease, “Extra virgin?”

  He catches my hand in his and pulls me out into the hallway with him. “Far from it.” When he kisses me, I have to stand up on my toes slightly to press our lips together. This time tastes just as wonderful as the one before. Into my mouth, he murmurs, “Let me show you what I know.”

  I take his hand to lead him inside, but I hear the door behind him open a crack and I know we have an audience. One of the girls in apartment G whispers, “Let me see!” There’s a scuffle, a thud against the door, then giggles trickle into the hall.

  Paul rolls his eyes, amused. “Don’t tell me they’re going to be up against the wall listening in.”

  Knowing my neighbors? Without a doubt. And those giggles are going to come through the wall loud and clear. Still, I offer, “We can always stay in the living room.”

  “I have a better idea,” Paul says. “Get your coat.”

  * * * *

  He drives a dark blue Saturn that blends into the night…or rather, it would if it weren’t for the well-lit Arianna’s sign sticking up above his roof. “That’s subtle,” I say, nodding at the sign as I skirt the car, heading for the passenger side. “Does it turn off?”

  Paul laughs as he opens the door behind the driver’s seat and unhooks the sign from the window. “I should’ve left this at work. I’m sorry. I was just so anxious to get out of there—“

  “And see me again?” I tease.

  The street in front of my apartment complex isn’t exactly well-lit; the only light comes from halogen bulbs attached to the front of our building which illuminate the sidewalk and cast a faint glow as far as Paul’s car. But despite the darkness, I see the way his cheeks color.

  He slams the door shut and opens the driver’s door, sliding in behind the wheel. I tug on the handle on my side, open the passenger door, and drop down beside him. The faint odor of hot cheese lingers in the air. Because the street’s slightly slant, I feel like I’m falling into him and, before I can stop myself, I do just that. One hand covers his where he fumbles to get the key into the ignition; the other brushes high over his thigh, angling for his crotch. I lean against him and he turns to find my mouth on his for a long, slow kiss.

  My tongue licks between his lips. I find that bright chewing gum flavor again but, beneath it, he’s musky and warm, a taste that’s all him. In his lap, my hand closes over the start of an erection and he moans as I goose him gently. Before I pull back, I catch his lower lip between both of mine and nibble it with my teeth. Inches from his face, I open my eyes and stare at his closed eyelids for a few heartbeats until he realizes I’m watching and opens his eyes, as well. He can’t see my smile but I know he feels it against his mouth. “Where are we going?”

  “I…” His voice cracks and he clears his throat, turning from me a little to catch his breath. He tries again. “I just thought we’d drive a bit, get to know each other. Nothing fancy.”

  I squeeze his hardening cock through his khakis. “Sounds good to me.”

  He knows my neighborhood better than I do. Maybe it’s from delivering pizza every night, but he takes a circuitous route through darkened side streets and back alleys I’ve only seen in passing and have never bothered to follow down. The radio is on low between us, something bluesy and slow that sets a romantic mood by the orange glow of the dashboard lights. My hand rests on his thigh, fingers pressed to the bulge at his crotch, and when he isn’t shifting gears, his own hand covers mine. He curls his fingers into my palm, holding my hand. Every now and then, he looks at me from the corner of his eye, a slight smile on his lips. Though he was the one who suggested we ‘get to know each other’ a little, he doesn’t speak.

  Neither do I. The silence between us buzzes with lust. I want more than the faint ghost of a cock on my fingertips—I want him stripped of that delivery boy uniform and naked beneath me, both my hands fisted around his hard shaft, my own aching erection thrust into his tight, sweet ass. I’m hoping he wants the same.

  Finally he turns down an unlit one-way road. The sidewalks on either side peter out at the end, where the grass has been trampled, allowing dirt to create an area for lost cars to turn around in. There’s only one house down this street, dark at this hour of the night, and as our headlights glance over its lawn, I see a sale sign that’s obviously been there a while. At the sidewalk’s end, Paul pulls over and parks, out of the way of anyone who might come down this dead-end street looking to turn around.

  He turns off the ignition and the radio dies. The engine ticks softly into the night.

  Covering my hand with his, he raises it from his lap to his lips and kisses the back of my knuckles. When I look over at him, I see a hunger smoldering in his gaze that mirrors my own. I grin slowly. Aw, yeah.

  “There’s more room in the back,” Paul tells me.

  Before I can answer, he opens the driver’s side door and cold air washes through the car. After the drive in the dark, the glare of the overhead light is blinding. I hurry to follow him, scrambling out and slamming my door shut a second after his closes. It sounds like the double beat of a heart, thump-THUMP, out here in the quiet night.

  The back seat is larger, and a little more comfortable. Before climbing in, I shuck off my heavy winter coat and shove it across the top of the passenger seat to deposit it in the front. Then I slide into the back and wait.

  Paul stands in the open doorway and unzips his coat. I slide over, closer to him, and reach out to tug at the fly on his khakis. It’s a button-down, so while he’s shrugging out of the coat, I unbutton his pants. His cock pushes against the fabric—I get one button done, two, before his white briefs poof into the opening of his fly. The third button sends his erection bulging through the gap, and I can feel the outline of his dick against the back of my hand as I struggle to release the fourth and final button.

  Leaning closer, I press my face to the front of his briefs and breathe him in. Beneath the subtle odor of grease, I find his own, secret scent, a manly mix of musk and sex I want to devour. I open wide, taking the fabric-covered cock into my mouth. My tongue swirls around Paul’s bulge, tracing the curve of his member from hairy base to bulbous tip.

  Unsatisfied, I peel down the saliva-slicked underwear and Paul’s heavy cock swings up to meet me. I kiss the head, licking away the pre-cum bubbling from the tip. My tongue finds his frenulum, that tight band of muscle on the underside where the glans flares out. My favorite part. Tickle the spot with your tongue, or nibble it gently with your teeth, and it will drive a man insane.

  Paul’s no exception. I take his cockhead between my lips and lick out my tongue, fondling the frenulum. Above me I hear a guttural moan. Paul leans forward, pushing farther into me, and I hear the thud of his arms on the roof of the car. “God,” he sighs, his hips bucking toward me. “Oh God. There, there.”

  I open wide, taking in his full length, until his pubes tickle my nose and I feel him in the back of my throat. Then I pull back slowly, savoring every inch of him, massaging and kneading his cock with my cheeks and tongue and lips as I make my way to the tip again. There I flick my tongue quickly over the frenulum for a maddening moment before letting him slip free completely.

&nb
sp; I want more.

  Unzipping my jeans, I scoot back across the seat. I keep a firm grip on my jeans and briefs, pulling them down my hips a little as I move. Freed from the confines of my undies, my cock stands at attention amid its bed of blond curls, the tip curving to the right a bit like it has a habit of doing. I take my dick in both hands and squeeze it hard, bringing the semi-rigid shaft to full-mast in one quick stroke. I tell Paul, “Get in here already and shut the door before someone decides to call the cops.”

  He hooks his thumbs in the belt loops of his khakis and, when he bends down to peer into the back seat, he shucks the pants down his legs. I see strong, muscled thighs sworled with dark hair I want to comb my fingers through. His ruddy dick disappears beneath the hem of his T-shirt as he shimmies out of the khakis. His briefs follow suit. Then he’s clambering over me, the door swinging shut behind him. The overhead light winks out with something like relief.

  In the sudden darkness I feel him fumbling over me a moment, then hot, warm lips close around my ball sac. I gasp in delight as Paul’s tongue traces wicked patterns around and under my nuts. “God,” I sigh, bucking beneath him. My hands work my cock, massaging the rod of velvety steel as he noses up the length. He kisses my knuckles, licks his tongue between my fingers, wets my dry cock with his spit. By the time he reaches the swollen head, I’m ready to come.

  His mouth closes over the tip of my dick and he suckles it a moment before letting go. “Please,” I sob. I want him, need him. Please.

  Straddling my hips, he leans over and rummages through the discarded menus and empty soda cans littering the floor of the back seat. My eyes have adjusted to the night again and I can see him above me, his white T-shirt a stark contrast with the darkness around us. After a moment’s search, he leans over farther, scrambling for something on the floor. “Paul…” I start.