The Intern: An MM Office Romance

by Akeroyd , Serena

  Unlocking the front door, I headed in and went straight to his office, but on the way, I heard his voice and Lizzie’s. They were evidently knee-deep in plans so, somewhat disappointed, I hit the brakes and veered away from his study, moving toward the staircase so I could go clean up first.

  The only modern parts of the house were the bathrooms—thank God. They were modern and sleek, like that was the only place that could possibly contain anything that wasn’t two hundred years old without making a legion of Astley ancestors turn in their graves.

  Or tombs.

  I’d bet the Astleys had tombs.

  Because that was pretty neat, and made me wonder about the Cumbrian estate I’d heard Devlin bitching about when he was on the phone with his father, I let my mind wander as I stripped off inside the bathroom and moved over to the shower.

  Since that night, I’d had an issue with looking at myself in the mirror. It was stupid, but things like that often were, weren’t they?

  This body of mine had worked against me.

  My mind had been screaming, raging at Rhode as she fucked me. As she taunted me. Riding me, raping me, forcing me was one thing—technically, three—but when she’d leaned down to whisper in my ear, “You love this. You know you do. You want me,” I’d needed to scream.

  But couldn’t.

  My throat was paralyzed, my voice, my mouth—everything silenced by the drugs she’d given me.

  “Your cock is so hard for me,” she’d crooned.

  “You’re so fucking ready for me, Micah,” she’d purred in my ear. “I know you want me.”

  Saying shit that was so messed up, because it was one thing to be forced, but for her to verbally coerce me felt like she’d been trying to rape my mind. Trying to make me think I was into it. Into her.

  The thought had a frown puckering my brow, and because of it, I forced myself to stop on the way to the shower.

  Staring at myself in the console mirror was harder than it should have been. For the longest while, I just stood there, naked, gleaming with sweat from my run that had dried and turned cold and clammy as I tried to face this, tried to face me. My heart was booming louder than it had been when I was running, and I just felt like I could puke.

  That was one way to avoid the mirror—projectile vomit all over it.

  My nose crinkled, because I’d dealt with enough puke to last me a lifetime when Devlin and I had that stomach flu. But the stupid thought had my chin tipping up, and I finally cast myself a glance.

  Four weeks of avoiding mirrors and reflective surfaces boiled down into a look that lasted a millisecond but that felt like a breakthrough.

  I hadn’t changed.

  Even though I felt different.

  My hair was still dark blond, my eyes were still green. My body was still trim and strong.

  I was the same Micah of always, just inside, everything was mangled.

  Because of her.

  And I knew that belief wouldn’t go away for a long time.

  Devlin had cautiously suggested I speak with a counselor back in New York, but I hadn’t wanted to. He was being kind—not pushing me, even though I knew it was killing him to be passive, to dance around me and my wishes when he wanted to take charge.

  If this situation had done anything, it was to let Devlin break out of his mold. He still had odd moments, like the other day by the car when his arm had hovered there for a good five seconds as he wondered whether he could hug me or not—my lips quirked into a small smile at the memory—but the forceful, charismatic man who ran an international company, dated supermodels for a week before dumping them, and could charm the birds from the trees was there, simmering under the surface again. That he was tempering all that, oddly enough, gave me hope.

  Hope for more.

  Everything about this trip did that.

  And hope was precious. If I hadn’t had Devlin, Rhode would still have done everything she had, but I’d be alone. Instead, he was here. Standing by me. Not tucking me away in the shadows, but bringing me into the light.

  I bit my lip at the thought and cautiously raised my head once more.

  For endless seconds, I stared at myself, seeing the same old Micah of always, but I knew that Devlin was right.

  Just like with our relationship, tucking these feelings into the shadows would do nothing. They needed to be brought into the light.

  I’d meet with a counselor.

  I’d try to bring that old Micah back.

  I deserved that. I deserved to be able to look at myself in the mirror without cringing. And I deserved to not feel this impotent anger that burned away inside me and that kept my lips sealed.

  I deserved more.

  Thirty

  Micah

  Showering wasn’t a pleasure anymore. For obvious reasons. I had to handle my dick. A dick that had worked against me.

  Perhaps I was part masochist by making myself clean it so much. Touching it made me feel sick, so I forced myself to endure it three times. I forced myself to jack off too. Only leaving the shower once I’d come.

  I wasn’t turned on. Wasn’t even horny. But I wanted to come. I owned my body and it’d do whatever I fucking wanted.

  So I came.

  Even if it hurt.

  Even if, after, I always wanted to cry.

  But today, I didn’t make myself jack off. I cleaned it once, thoroughly but just the once, and when I stepped outside the shower, I didn’t feel that strange dirtiness that was following me around like a shadow.

  I felt tight inside, roiling still, but not as angry.

  I needed to tell Devlin that I wasn’t mad at him. I needed to think about finding a counselor somewhere—as far as I knew, we were here for a month. Not that long, but long enough for these feelings to fester if I didn’t express them. And, more importantly, I needed to do something for me.

  Me.

  With the towel tucked around my waist, I headed into the connecting bedroom. Devlin had told me that, once upon a time, it had been a dressing room, which like most things in this house, fascinated the hell out of me.

  The third floor housed the Duke and Duchess’ quarters. The second was where we were—the heir’s apartment. The dressing room was the bridge between the Viscount’s bedroom and his Viscountess. I’d half-expected him to put me in there, but he hadn’t.

  We shared his bed.

  A bed that was ancient.

  In a room that was too.

  The wallpaper was printed silk. It had small birds on it and the duck egg blue had faded to a kind of cyan. There were no marks on it that indicated, once upon a time, he’d put posters up as a teenager. There was a chandelier above the bed, and the curtains that shrouded the four-poster were embroidered and just as ancient as everything else in here.

  I’d say the Astleys were poor and couldn’t afford anything else, but it was clear to me that everything was perfectly preserved, even if they used it—care was taken, maintenance a priority, and with as many members of staff as they had, it made sense how they could keep this place like a living museum.

  Still, the bedroom was indicative to me of how strange Devlin’s life must have been as a child.

  Stuck between the past and present like this wasn’t healthy, even if, to me, it was cool now.

  A glance around the room upon entering it revealed Devlin had come up. He was on the bed, legs crossed at the ankle where his bare feet were on display, his phone in his hands.

  Everything about him made me hard. I’d been fighting that arousal, but seeing him there, so at ease amid this splendid grandeur, the past and present knocking heads as he used a phone and wore a slickly tailored suit that was at war with everything ancient in here, my cock just reacted.

  He didn’t notice, and I was kind of pissed that he didn’t.

  “Good run?” he asked, his tone lazy, his focus not veering from his phone.

  “Yeah, I feel better,” was all I said as I let the towel fall to the floor, and allowed my hand to fall t
o my cock.

  I hadn’t gotten off in the shower, but that had been all punishment.

  This was all pleasure.

  A grunt escaped me as I gathered some pre-cum and used it to lube my hand before sliding back down, and squeezing the base of the shaft. With a few quick strokes, I knew I could come, which was such a stark contrast to what I’d been doing in the shower where it was almost painful maintaining an erection, never mind climaxing.

  The sensation was wonderful. Honest. Clean. It made me feel that way too.

  The relieved sigh that escaped me had him lowering his phone and darting his gaze over to me.

  When he saw me, his eyes flared wide and he jerked up onto his elbows, staring at me for a second before, thickly, whispering, “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” I rasped.

  He moved slowly off the bed, pausing at its side as he reached over and fiddled with a cufflink, first the right, then the left, which he twisted around to tuck onto the nightstand. Then he proceeded to unbutton his shirt, tugging the tails out at the back, and baring his naked torso to me. He slid his belt out of the loops, let it drop to the floor with a faint rattle of the buckle, before he went to work on his fly.

  All while I jerked off.

  Watching him strip himself down.

  Watching as he toed out of his pants and kicked them aside.

  As naked as me, his hand went to his dick, and he mirrored me.

  Stroking his cock at the same pace as me, lazily, and watching me as I watched him.

  “I wonder if you know how beautiful you are,” he told me simply, but for all his tone was that, his voice was gruff, and the words hit me hard.

  “I’m not beautiful,” I rumbled back, my hand pausing in its actions.

  “You are. To me. Everything about you. At first, it was your face. I was like a giddy teenager, facing their first crush. But now? Your strength amazes me. Everything about you does.”

  My erection started to die. “I’m not strong.”

  He arched a brow. “Are you, or are you not, pressing charges?”

  “That doesn’t make me strong.”

  “Robert Llewelyn didn’t. He didn’t go to the cops until it was too late. You did.”

  “You made me.” I frowned at him. “You were there, with me, the whole time.”

  “So you did it for me? I didn’t make you sign that witness statement.”

  I blinked at him. “You took me to the hospital and started the rape kit.”

  “You didn’t have to go through with it.”

  “The police—you called them in.”

  “But you didn’t have to talk with them.”

  “You brought the lawyer in to explain what would happen now that she’s been charged.”

  “You didn’t have to listen.”

  “Stop answering me! I just went along with what you wanted, dammit,” I snarled at him, suddenly angry again when my anger had died.

  But he was calm. So fucking calm that I wanted to slap him. “You did what was best for you. I just put things into motion, and you could have stopped them in a flash. I wouldn’t have made you do anything.”

  My hands furled into fists at my sides. “You did that out of guilt,” I snapped.

  “Yes, and shame,” he agreed immediately, so immediately it soothed something inside me which was annoying because I didn’t want to be soothed. “You were hurt because of me. Were forced, because of me.” His voice was thick again, and his eyes were drowning in misery. “I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

  “You’re not God.” Letting one hand relax, I reached up and rubbed it over my still damp face. I’d intended to have this conversation with him today, but hadn’t anticipated that it would be in anger.

  And before he’d opened his mouth, I’d wanted to fuck.

  I didn’t want to talk about this now.

  I just...

  Christ, I didn’t know what I wanted at this moment, but I saw his pain, and couldn’t allow him to suffer.

  “I don’t blame you,” I said, grunting after I got the words out.

  “You don’t have to. I blame myself.”

  “If you’re going to all this effort with me out of guilt, then just fuck off, Devlin. I don’t need that from you,” I snarled, glowering like I hated him when that was the last thing I felt for him. “If you brought me here for that, then you can arrange for a flight back to the States—”

  He narrowed his eyes at me, and for the first time, I knew I’d pricked his temper. “I brought you here because I’m here. We already discussed this.”

  “There’s plenty we haven’t discussed,” I grated out.

  His answer was a shrug.

  Brow furrowing, I snapped, “Don’t go quiet on me now, Devlin. I get that I make you tongue tied, but you need to get over it. You’re a fucking CEO, and you have thousands of members of staff around the world. I can’t be the reason you fumble over your words.”

  His temper died so swiftly it gave me whiplash, then he just smiled at me. “One day, you’ll understand why you were the only person who’d ever make me fumble over my words, but that’s okay. We have plenty of time.”

  I scowled at him. “What are you talking about?”

  He didn’t reply.

  Or, he did, just not verbally.

  Swallowing nervously as he strode forward, as confident as he claimed he wasn’t, self-assured though he said he wasn’t around me, and dropped to his knees.

  My entire being tensed as he pressed a kiss to the tip of my dick, before he opened his lips and started to tongue my glans, tasting my pre-cum with a moan as he began tracing my length, getting me wet with his spit. Soft groans escaped him like he was pleasuring himself and not me, and I could feel the quiver in my muscles as he gifted me this—himself.

  Jaw clenching again, I tipped my head back when it was too painful to watch him, too agonizing to behold, too goddamn beautiful that it was the best eye-fuck going, then his hand grabbed my balls and he squeezed them in his palm.

  A hiss escaped me as he timed that gentle squeeze with hard sucks, pulling motions that made my cock hard again, that made me feel as if my cum was boiling away inside me.

  Al-fucking-ready.

  I groaned, unable to contain it as my hands slid down to his hair. I ran my fingers through it, cupping his nape tightly, uncaring if it hurt him, just needing him to carry on. I fucked his face, but he somehow fucked me back. I didn’t get it, didn’t need to understand to feel the exquisite pleasure of being inside this man.

  But... shit.

  This wasn’t what I needed today.

  I needed more.

  Panting as, with a particularly hard suck that had my eyes rolling back in my head, I managed to grate out, “Get back on the bed, Devlin.”

  He ignored me—of course—content to swallow me down like I was a fucking Slurpee, but I dragged him off me, wanting to whine with every inch that was revealed to the cold light of day when my cock was quite happy where it was.

  “Bed. Now,” I growled, still panting hard as I watched those smoky eyes of his darken as he looked at me.

  Smoothly, he got to his feet, then he fell back onto the bed. I’d expected him to bend over it, but he didn’t. He propped his feet on the edge of the mattress, then he let his knees fall apart.

  In porn, I’d always thought this was the most vulnerable of positions, and it was something we’d never done together. That he was gifting me this, now, felt important. But my brain was too wild to really think about it. Instead, I stormed over to the nightstand and pulled out some lube from the drawer.

  With it in my fist, I twisted to face him and it was my turn to drop to my knees. I buried my face in his ass, licking and tonguing the rosette, loving his groans of excitement and pleasure, needing more of it, needing more of him. I gave him me just like he was about to do—give me all of him.

  As I tormented him, I poured some lube into my palm and gripped my dick, rubbing
it everywhere until I was slick with it. I carried on until my hips were jerking with the need to fuck, and I jumped up, rubbing my fingers over his pucker, sliding them in as I squirted more lube everywhere before I tossed the bottle on the covers.

  Pressing my dick to his ass, I watched as he swallowed me whole. My cock a reddish purple, his there, his balls tight and hard, his shaft throbbing against his muscled abdomen.

  It was a visual smorgasbord that he gave me, because when I was inside him, I could see every inch of him, feel it, and want more.

  I grabbed one leg and pressed it to the bed, then raised the other, lifting it so that his calf rested against my chest.

  The slight fur on his leg was a sensory delight against the side of my face when I rested it there, and with my spare hand, I reached down and grabbed his cock, slicking it up with the lube on my palm and his pre-cum which leaked copiously from his dick, making a mess on his stomach.

  Again, the visuals—just, fuck.

  Neither of us were particularly hairy, but Devlin had a little more on his chest thanks to his coloring. He was so beautiful at that moment, his eyes on mine, fixed there like we were superglued together. I almost wished we were.

  As my cock found its home again, I had no thoughts of pain, or of confusion, or bewildering drug-induced fear.

  I only saw him and felt him.

  He was all I needed. All I wanted.

  Tears wet my eyes, but I moved past it. Past the emotional onto the physical.

  Slowly, I made love with him. Preferring to be tender now instead of rough like before.

  I jacked him off as I began to rock my hips, slowly gifting us both one another, taking us up the peak to a pleasure I just knew we’d only ever find together.

  His cock throbbed in my hand, his ass clenching down against me every time I rubbed his prostate until I had no alternative but to move faster, to take more, to give more. His grunts were like music to my ears, his hard breathing chimed with my own, my groans added to the symphony, his cries of ecstasy were like an aria in the middle of an opera.