The Intern: An MM Office Romance

by Akeroyd , Serena

  Dragging down my zipper.

  Dragging down his.

  And his dick was wet. Slick with pre-cum.

  I almost shuddered as he ate at my mouth, nipping and biting and licking as he grabbed our cocks and rubbed them together. I’d never done this before, knew it had a name that began with ‘f’, just knew it wasn’t fucking, but it felt phenomenal.

  Every inch of him caressed every inch of mine. The veins that roped our shafts, the throbbing pulse, the rounded tip of the glans, the shiny flesh… all of it was enhanced by the glorious sensation of slickness that let us grind together.

  I pumped my hips at the same time as he did, his hands making a fist for us to thrust between, to savor and to endure.

  A sharp cry escaped me, choked out between kisses, and he was there, taking it from me, before he wasn’t there at all. His hands left me, his dick moved away, and as I stood there, dazed and shocked, wondering what the fuck was going on, he dropped to his knees. No artifice about him, no shyness, just need, and he grabbed my cock, swallowing it between his lips. His eyes were closed, the lids flickering as if even his nerves there were being pleasured, and his head bobbed as he moved back and forth, soft groans escaping him that caressed my shaft with the tiniest of earth-shattering vibrations.

  I stared down at him with wide eyes, unable to comprehend how the situation had derailed so much as he swallowed around my tip. A wobbly cry escaped me and I shoved my fist against my mouth to silence the sound while, with the other, I reached down and pressed a finger to his lips that were tightly packed with me.

  Groaning as I shoved at the corner, as I pushed the tip against the stretched flesh, my nostrils flared as I felt the saliva coating me, thick swathes of it that he used to his advantage.

  So did I.

  After pulling my balls out from my zipper, I gathered his saliva in my fist, then reached down and coated them in it. As I ground them against each other, he moved faster, and his cheeks tunneled in all the way.

  I came.

  I couldn’t stop myself.

  Could no more prevent it than I could stop the moon from shining every bloody night.

  Leaving his dirty, dirty mouth alone, my head rocked back against the window with a clunk, and I didn’t care, experienced nothing but the sweet bliss of release with the heat on my back, the sun on my head, and his mouth around me.

  I felt him swallowing my cum down, taking all I had to goddamn give, and as the sweetness of relief hit me, regret did too. Because this was dumb. This was so fucking dumb. And I was more than just halfway down the rabbit hole, I was into Narnia itself, having bypassed the LSD and the wardrobe. And yes, I knew I was mixing stories, but that was how deep into the land of fiction I’d gone.

  The worst thing of all?

  I couldn’t stop.

  He was... Goddamnit. He was so pretty as he stared up at me, licking me clean, moving his mouth around me, and doing as he had last night—kissing the tip as he let go of me.

  How the fuck was I supposed to keep my defenses high against that?

  How was I supposed to—

  Jesus.

  If he’d done anything but that, I could have backed off. Been a douche. Could have zipped up and zipped out—as it were.

  Instead, I reached down and cupped his chin.

  “What the fuck am I going to do with you?” I whispered huskily, unaware that I was looking at him like he was a candy store and I was the child of a mother who believed sugary treats came in the form of applesauce. Unaware that the perennial shadows in my eyes had lightened some as I stared down at this beautiful, beautiful man who made me want shit I’d never even thought about outside of at night.

  My thumb rubbed over his chin, smoothing along his jaw, to his lips, those pouty lips that were heaven and hell in a vicious circle that would always mean my death knell, and I came to a decision…

  Six

  Micah

  My cock ached.

  My throat felt deliciously used.

  And everything inside me was tossed into a turbulent sea as I stared up at him.

  Devlin Astley.

  Nothing about this had gone how I imagined.

  I’d thought about being ‘told off,’ either that or told to keep my mouth shut about last night. I’d thought a thousand things, but I’d never envisioned dropping to my knees for him.

  The taste of him was salty sweet, stronger than mine, but then, everything about him seemed super-charged. Maybe it fit that his cum was too?

  The thought had my lips twitching into a small smile as I tilted my head to the side, letting the hand that was cupping my chin take some of the weight.

  I needed more. Needed to come. But I needed something else first. Something I couldn’t begin to describe because I didn’t know what it was. Just knew that the swipe of his thumb against my cheek felt a mixture of tender and of bewildered. Tender from the gentle touch, bewildered from his expression of outright confusion.

  He was being kind to me. Kind even though he was perplexed, and I couldn’t blame him.

  Everything I’d found on him this morning, every single Google hit had indicated he was a player. That was a truth Sadie had confirmed. Buying off his girlfriends to get rid of them easily spoke exactly of who the man was. And with looks like his, and as he’d said, a bank balance like his, it fit. Especially in this city.

  Yet he frequented dark rooms.

  And when he kissed me, there was no hesitance. Not like I experienced. Kissing a man wasn’t like kissing a woman. I could be rougher, a little harder, more forceful, but it was like I was taking baby steps. Hesitating before I dove in fully as I wasn’t used to it. Devlin experienced no such hesitation.

  He dove right in, sweeping me along with him, like a rough tide would drag me out into the ocean.

  I sighed as he whispered, “What the fuck am I going to do with you?”

  There were many answers I could give to that, and none of them would strike a chord with him.

  I couldn’t forget he was a player. One who, in his spare time, went to dark rooms for clandestine hook-ups.

  When Sadie had looked at him like he set the sun and moon in the sky, a wave of jealousy had overtaken me, and that was what had led me here. To kneeling at his feet. To this moment in time.

  I had no right to feel jealous. Just because he was my first, didn’t mean he owed me anything.

  Stupid, stupid Micah.

  The self-deprecating thought had me closing my eyes. I fully expected him to tell me to get the hell out of his office, and to clear my cubicle too, but instead, he rumbled, “Stand up.”

  I blinked at his order, and felt nothing wrong in obeying. Slowly sliding into a standing position, I awaited his mouth for a kiss I needed to feel, and was surprised when he moved around me, his chest coming to my back as I stared onto the bright day and the view of a city I loved from a height that made this as much of a luxury as the feel of his hand on my cock when he slipped his arms around my hips. He drew me back first, not having bothered to zipper up his dick which, ridiculously enough, excited the hell out of me, pulling me into him so there was no space between us, and then his chin settled on my shoulder.

  As he began to jack me off, he whispered in my ear, “Does that feel good?”

  Well, I wasn’t going to lie... “Your ass felt better.”

  He laughed a little, the rumble doing things to my ear drums that had my eyes fluttering closed, hips pumping as I chased the pressure of his fist around my cock.

  His ass had been heaven, but this was so much better than my hand. His grip was exactly what I needed, nothing like the less-than-firm grip of my ex, and his hard body, the pressure of his slightly-softened dick against my butt had me wanting to feel him tunneling into me as he did this—jacked me off at the same time.

  Christ, I needed that.

  More than I could express.

  Biting my lip at the thought, I fucked his hand harder, aware that he wasn’t going to do that. At least, not
here. Maybe not ever.

  I’d instigated this.

  In the wrong place, at the wrong time.

  But how could something that felt so right be wrong?

  A grunt escaped me as he whispered, “Let go, Micah. I want to see your cum against the glass—”

  “W-Why?”

  He didn’t answer, just changed pace. Holding me tight enough to hurt, fast enough to make my eyes roll back into my head.

  I wasn’t a small man. I’d played linebacker in high school, for Christ’s sake. Whenever I’d screwed my ex, I’d felt like I was going to squash her under my weight. But with Devlin, there was none of that. No fear.

  I leaned back against him, aware that he could support me, unafraid that he wouldn’t be able to hold me up, and as I sagged into him, I fucked his fist and the air, rocking back and forth as I exploded, my cum doing exactly as he wanted—spurting against the glass. White. So fucking white. Contrasting so sharply with the dark gray glass.

  As my eyes narrowed to slits, I chased my pleasure, not wanting to waste any of this because it could be the last time it happened. I really didn’t want that, but I’d remember this the next time I hit up my spank bank for help.

  With a gentle squeeze, he let go of my dick, then he surprised me by nuzzling his face into my jaw. When he pressed a kiss there, my heart clutched before he stunned me by leaning forward, moving me nearer to the window and reaching down.

  Sliding his fingertips through my cum, swirling them through it, after, he raised his fingers to my lips and murmured, “Tell me how you taste.”

  I blinked, and though my initial instinct was to pull back, to move my head away, it was too late. He was already painting my seed around my mouth. Coating my lips in my release.

  My brow puckered, disgust warring with an irritating need to please him. Not because he was who he was, but because if I pleased him, maybe this wouldn’t be the last time.

  Already, I wanted more.

  The irritating thought only annoyed me further once it was fully articulated in my mind, but it didn’t stop me from letting him rim my lips with the slick digit and, after tasting myself, grunting, “Salty. Bitter.”

  He did it again, painting them again, but this time, he twisted me around and brought us together.

  The collision was everything I hadn’t expected but wanted.

  The relief of release, the freedom of having our cocks brushing, the pressure of his hand in my hair and the ability to grab a hold of his butt and cling to him was like a weight off my shoulders. The joy in me was powerful and I kissed him back with a ferocity that didn’t usually happen post-orgasm. My joy warred with the inner peace that came after an epic climax, after all, but I clung to him, thrusting my tongue against his, feeling raw and delighted and happy at the same time.

  He sighed into me, sagging a little, before slowly, pulling back. I felt him do it, and while it was expected, it still disappointed me. He was kind, though. He didn’t jerk away, just carefully, in increments, dialed it down.

  Finally, he was breathing against my lips, giving me soft pecks before he rasped, “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” My heart sank. “But I’m glad that it did.” My heart soared. Then I sighed as he repeated his earlier question. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

  My mouth, brain, and dick were all in accord as I told him, “What we just did is a good enough start, don’t you think?”

  And that shut him up.

  For the moment.

  Seven

  Devlin

  My day didn’t exactly go to hell but it certainly went downhill after that mind-blowing orgasm.

  That was the trouble with office trysts. You started resenting the actual work, preferring to just fuck over the desk where you were supposed to be doing your job.

  A lack of dedication to my position wasn’t something that I could be accused of, but as I sat around the boardroom table, it was hard to focus, hard not to think of things like fucking Micah over this table as well as my desk.

  Propositions that were far more interesting than work...

  This meeting, however, was about two of our marquee authors, therefore, bloody important and worthy of my focus.

  Kurt Jenner, whose books had just been turned into movies—one of which was slated for an Oscar, and who was making serious bank for the company—but who led an alternative lifestyle that saw him requiring more PR than we were capable of handling in-house. Then, there was the latest release for Kyrian Trevelyan, whose usual style leaned toward thrillers, but who was dropping an MM romance in the upcoming weeks.

  Having met both Kurt and Kyrian several times, I could claim them both as acquaintances, and knew I needed to focus on their accounts rather than Micah’s ass.

  Though Kurt and I were neighbors back in London, at the family home I rarely used anymore, I actually knew Kyrian better, and appreciated the lack of bullshit he spouted. He was originally from Cornwall, in the UK, and as two fellow ex-pat Brits living in the land of the free, I’d admit to watching his back so I knew focusing on this boring meeting was imperative.

  Kyrian usually made life easy for me by being one of our safe bets. Whatever he published, we always made sure to have releases stockpiled because, there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in our minds, he’d sell every copy.

  The only trouble was, at the moment, it wasn’t so easy to stockpile when you didn’t have a finalized product. Only someone like Trevelyan could get away with this shit, and the fact that it was going live electronically first helped some.

  “Look, we’re going nowhere here,” I said with a sigh when Lourdes in Editing started bitching again about Trevelyan dicking her around with the final copy of the manuscript.

  I wasn’t usually here for this kind of meeting, but because it was about Jenner and Trevelyan, I attended. Begrudgingly.

  Trying to herd the VPs was more difficult than herding sheep. Veep meetings over marquee authors were the bane of my existence but they earned us too much money for me not to have my nose buried into the ins and outs of their launches.

  “We’ve never let it run so late to deadline,” she argued.

  “Lourdes, how long have you worked for the company?”

  She frowned—the clever girl sensed she was walking into a trap. “Four years, Devlin.”

  “Well, I promise, I’ve worked here longer and I’m well aware that Trevelyan is taking the piss. But, having earned us fifteen million on his own last year, I think we can allow him some creative license.”

  “You say that now,” Kirkland from PR complained, “but when the version that drops on the e-retailers is riddled with mistakes, we’re the—”

  I cut him a look. “It won’t be.” I pinned Lourdes in place with a glance too. “Will it? You’re going to dedicate every waking fucking hour to making sure that final copy is perfect, aren’t you?”

  Her nostrils flared with agitation. “This is highly irregular.”

  “Trevelyan is highly irregular,” Rhode from Marketing slotted in, her mouth downturned at the corners.

  I shrugged. “Creative genius takes shape in many ways.”

  She sniffed. “I don’t even understand why we’re having to do this. He’s a marquee author for thrillers, not with some small town fags who fall in love with each other.” She followed that up with a gagging noise, seemingly unaware that the tension around the table had just soared.

  My dislike for Rhode wasn’t exactly well-known because I was a professional, and made sure that she was never aware of my inherent distaste for her, but with the recent run of shit from her, my patience was running thin and the mask I wore was starting to slip.

  “What on earth makes you think you can talk like that around this table, Rhode?” I asked quietly, and probably, thanks to that quiet tone, I had the stress levels around the table surging.

  My temper in board meetings was renowned.

  She shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

  “No, it isn’t,” I denied, a bit
e entering my voice for the first time. “That you said that in front of witnesses is just proof that you’re too fucking big for your boots, Rhode. I’d watch that mouth of yours,” I snapped, “before it gets you into trouble.”

  Her eyes narrowed at me as she sat forward, the deep V of her shirt pulling wide as she did so, revealing a set of tits that had seen more surgeons’ hands than lovers’. “I don’t need to worry about trouble. Everyone here knows that half the money made in this place is because of me. That gives me certain privileges.”

  Because she was partly right, I didn’t deny that. “Everyone can be knocked off their pedestal, Rhode. Even two-bit whores who are better at selling product than pushers to addicts.” A sharp gasp swung around the table, but I ignored it, preferring to straighten up in my seat and say, “You might think you’re unique, but there are plenty of Marketing Execs out there who can take your place if you don’t watch your behavior.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Everyone is replaceable. Even me. Especially if we don’t watch our words.”

  “Is that a threat?” she hissed.

  “No, it’s a warning,” I countered, but then a thought occurred to me. “You’ve been dealing directly with Trevelyan’s people, haven’t you? Working on those upcoming book tours? Jesus, this is why he’s being difficult, isn’t it? Have you said anything like this to them?” I gritted my teeth as I cast everyone around the glass table a look. The way they were all staring down at their computers and the papers in front of them was clue enough. “In future, if someone upsets the apple cart, you’re to come to me over this bullshit.”