Mark skewered the last piece of meat. “You’re certainly not lacking in confidence.”
“Have you only just noticed?”
They finished dinner and the wine, and while waiting to pay, Mark had to stop his knees bouncing up and down of their own accord. Nerves that he had no right to have caused his palms to sweat, and he tried to chase away the sense of being out of balance. Part of him was thrilled at the prospect of fucking Steffen, while another part, his more cautious side, whispered about rushing into things with his eyes closed.
They left the restaurant. Steffen turned to take the side street that led to Mark’s. “Let me escort you home.”
Mark hesitated. He didn’t want to take Steffen to the pokey little place he was staying. While it was fine for him on his own, the bed wasn’t quite a double, and the room was too cramped for two people to be truly comfortable. “I thought we would go back to yours.”
“Despite your very welcome confirmation, I want you to be sure. Think of it as a cooling-off period.” Steffen smiled softly. “Sleep on it, and if you are still of the same mind, then come to my apartment on Thursday, where I will feed and fuck you.”
The streets were deserted, but it didn’t stop Mark glancing around. He wasn’t sure about how people might react to this sort of conversation if they overheard it. The Swiss he’d met seemed highly private people, yet Basel was a city where posters of two men kissing passed without a blink of an eye. In the wrong parts of Reading, and around the wrong drunk thug, he could be sporting a black eye by now. “Okay.”
They continued walking, Steffen’s hand brushing his own but making no move to hold it. The path got steeper as they walked through the warren of the old town. They’d fallen into silence, and Mark gasped as he was pulled into a dark recess, Steffen pinning him to a wall, the cold of the stone seeping through his coat. “Stop overthinking this,” Steffen whispered.
The warmth of Steffen’s breath and the heady smell of his cologne made thinking difficult, let alone being able to overthink. In the dark, Mark could barely make out Steffen’s profile, but he had no problem feeling the bulk of the man as he pressed his body into Mark’s. He moaned quietly as Steffen kissed him, a deep kiss that spoke of promises of much, much more. Steffen could kiss, and Mark’s breath hitched, but he broke away as he felt Steffen’s hand worm its way beneath his coat. Mark tried to tell himself that if it hadn’t been so dark in the secluded little nook Steffen had hustled him into, he’d have stopped Steffen as he popped open the button of his fly, but Mark doubted he would’ve had the willpower.
Steffen’s hand was cold. Mark hissed, and Steffen sniggered as he pressed his hand against Mark’s lower abdomen, fingertips carding his pubic hair. “Keine Angst, it will be warm before I take hold of your cock.”
Jesus. Steffen would be the death of him.
He panted as quietly as he could as Steffen pressed kisses to the side of his throat, nuzzling under his jaw. His hand now warm, Steffen wasted no time in taking hold of Mark’s cock. There was no denying Mark’s interest. His cock was hard and standing proud. He shivered at the brief gust of cold air from being exposed, but any distraction from the delicious friction of Steffen pumping his cock was short-lived. The twin stimulus of the hand on his cock and the slight scrape of stubble across his neck sent Mark flying. The danger of someone catching them added another thrill. Steffen knew exactly what he was doing, his pressure perfect, and Mark could put up no resistance to his orgasm. The familiar tingle starting in his balls radiated through him, and he came, burying his face into Steffen’s shoulder to muffle his cry. His knees were weak, and he struggled to even out his breathing. Steffen tucked Mark’s softening cock safely away and refastened his trousers. He threaded his fingers into Mark’s hair, and Mark tried not to nuzzle against the gentle stroking as he finally regained his composure.
“I did not want you thinking I had changed my mind.” Steffen pressed a soft kiss to Mark’s lips. “I want you very badly. Do not doubt it. I thought a practical demonstration would put your mind at rest.”
“Rested is not how I’d describe my current condition.”
Steffen chuckled. “But I think you will sleep well tonight.”
“That was one hell of a nightcap.”
With one last gentle kiss, Steffen stepped away and back into enough light that Mark could once again see him. His cheeks were slightly pink, and he looked very pleased with himself. “Pleasant dreams, Mark. I hope to see you on Thursday. I will text you my address.”
Steffen turned and walked away, and Mark somehow managed to lever himself off the wall and stagger home on shaky legs.
Chapter Three
STEFFEN HUFFED in annoyance and threw his Handy onto the table in front of him, wondering if he should block his mother’s number on his phone. She was a wonderful woman when she wasn’t meddling in his affairs. He’d endured all he could for one conversation of her soft hums of disapproval when he had once more failed to have a boyfriend to report back on. At least this time she hadn’t mentioned Peter, his ex, who was still a favorite sore point to be prodded when she was particularly exasperated at his current relationship status. The worst thing was she was right that bouncing between warm bodies would ultimately be unsatisfying, and she said it in such a way that he thought she was speaking from experience, which was something he didn’t want to think about. But at thirty-eight years old, he wasn’t about to let his mother harangue him into changing his ways, or at least not let her think she was responsible for any changes he might already be thinking of making.
He finished his coffee, then wiped his mouth with a napkin, having enjoyed a rare leisurely lunch at a little Italian restaurant he’d become fond of. Mentally he added it to the list of places he could take Mark. Meeting Mark had been a stroke of luck he’d not seen coming. Steffen could be honest enough with himself to admit an English accent still did things to his libido that a Swiss or German one couldn’t. His years in Cambridge had left an impression that had nothing to do with the collection of letters after his name. However, he’d failed to remember the British psyche correctly, as Mark’s reaction to his time-limited friends with benefits offer had taken him by surprise. He’d expected a ready acceptance since Mark had proclaimed himself both gay and single in Café Des Arts. If it had come from a fellow Swiss, he’d already have bedded him. But thinking back on his time in the UK, he realized he’d rarely met someone that direct outside a club. Still, their parting had been enjoyable; Mark’s moans and greedy kisses during the illicit hand job left Steffen with no doubt that Mark was at least willing to consider his proposition.
Steffen settled his bill, the waiter giving him a crooked, flirty smile, cocking his hip in obvious invitation. A few months ago he’d have been leaving with his number and a promise of a pleasurable night together to come, but he had no desire to do so today. This wasn’t new, and he hadn’t needed his mother’s words warning of shallow engagements. He’d reached the stage where casual sex was getting boring; he’d exorcised his demons over Peter, repeatedly and enthusiastically, but that didn’t mean he was ready to make the compromises to the rest of his life that came with having a long-term partner again. No, what he had offered Mark was a perfect solution—for both of them.
Before leaving, Steffen scanned the notes on his iPad for his next meeting, which happened to be with Mark’s employer, Helvetica Consulting. A happy coincidence, because if he was lucky, he might get to see Mark and get his Handy number, since he’d been stupid enough to walk away without it and had no way to text Mark his address.
He still had time before his next appointment and called in at a Confiserie whose whisky truffles were worth a detour, despite the queue. By the time he had secured his chocolates, Steffen needed to hurry so as not to ruin his record of never yet being late for a client. His meeting with Kaz was supposed to be about assigning resources to a project they were working on, but as much as he loved working with Kaz and her team, he didn’t want to risk mixing busi
ness and pleasure if it was something Mark was already assigned to.
Helvetica Consulting was housed in a beautiful old building that didn’t necessarily lend itself well to offices, due to the small rooms and bizarre layout, but somehow they made it work. He was a regular visitor, so the receptionist greeted him by name and let him through without waiting to be collected. Disappointingly, there was no sign of Mark as he entered the rooms used by the project management team, so he sauntered over to Kaz’s office, where she sat peering at her computer, glowering, her expression pinched. She launched into a bout of frantic typing, her red ringlets quivering as she did so, and she forcibly pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose several times.
“Not interrupting the death of your enemy, I hope?” he asked in German, knowing that although she spoke excellent English, and usually did for her clients, she took any opportunity to speak her mother tongue.
“Ah, Steffen, come in. The death needs careful planning. I may need to put one of my team on it and work out the project plan and Gantt chart.”
“Sometimes it’s good to drive a project yourself.” He closed the door and took a seat opposite her.
She laughed. “This one will remain theoretical—as much as I would enjoy throttling a certain Austrian, I would rather not spend several years in prison.”
He knew who the Austrian was—a client who’d been known to change his mind repeatedly and could be argumentative to the point of rude, but he paid his bills on time, and the economy wasn’t good enough to turn down a lucrative contract. “I hope he is not the one behind this Merri Project.”
“No, thank God. Otherwise we would all be crazy by the end of it. Having said that, the company behind the Merri Project is not easygoing, so I have had to draft in help from the Reading office.”
That must be Mark and Carl. “Fresh blood is always beneficial for a team,” he said, not wanting to reveal his thoughts. “Good people?”
“They would not be here if they were not. Speaking of which, I was hoping you would be able to take this one yourself.” Kaz looked at him expectantly.
Kaz wasn’t the only one who employed good people. His senior team were some of the best in Europe, lured to Switzerland by the high salaries, but he also knew that not working on the project was more about his own selfishness than his team’s abilities. He had great hopes of various enjoyable encounters with Mark. Working with him would not be conducive to that. Perhaps he was being led by his cock; it wouldn’t be the first time, even though they hadn’t slept together yet, but sometimes he had to take advantage of being his own boss. “I am heavily involved elsewhere at the moment. The US expansion, in particular, is requiring more hand-holding than I had expected. I thought Giselle would be good for the Merri Project—you know she is one of my best IT architects. She has never given you cause for complaint.”
Kaz didn’t look too surprised by his refusal. Helvetica was an important client, but they weren’t his only one. “You would make yourself available for key conference calls?”
“Naturally.” He removed his iPad from his Hugo Boss satchel. “I have received most of the information, but I seem to be missing a full team contact list—you mentioned the two new colleagues from the UK?”
She scooted her chair over to back in front of her computer. “Yes, Mark Timmel and Carl Faven. Mark is the lead project manager.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “Updated team list is on its way to you now.”
“Anything I should know about them?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. It had been a while since he’d taken an interest in someone for more than a couple of hours. He’d meant it when he’d told Mark he wasn’t looking for permanence. Whatever happened over the next couple of months had a time limit that wasn’t going to be extended, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take the opportunity to find out more about Mark. The more he knew the better prepared he could be. Preparation was everything. He’d built his business on it, and he didn’t see a reason not to employ the same tactics in his personal life.
“They would not be here, working on this project, if they were not capable, Steffen,” Kaz said, and Steffen got the sense he might be on the line of client-customer relationship. But he’d been working with them for a while, and they had an official partnership that had been a legal and administrative bureaucratic slog to settle, so he thought he should get more leeway than others.
“I would not expect anything less. But I would like to brief Giselle fully on her new colleagues.”
“Carl is solid, not the most creative of men but has a tenacity that makes him valuable. Mark, well, there is a lot of potential. But I get a feeling he is a bit in limbo—I guess this project will either cure that or he will move on.”
Steffen wondered if Mark being unsettled was what had led him to accept Steffen’s offer. He’d slept with men who were unsure of themselves, not wanting to set boundaries even if they needed them. “Not the best trait for a project manager. Insecurity.”
“Oh no, I have no concerns there. He managed a very difficult situation yesterday without getting flustered. In fact, he had a way of being diplomatic that only a Brit can manage.”
Steffen laughed. “I think I know what you mean. The most complimentary insult I have ever received came from a Brit, my PhD supervisor—and it was not in isolation.”
“Yes, there is something about the accent and turn of phrase that will make someone doubt it could be anything but positive.” She smiled. “I like it. It’s a quality I wish I had.”
“Sounds like he could be quite charming.”
“I can only hope the clients think so.” She flipped open the diary she kept on her desk. He was always surprised that she kept a paper record. “Now, we will need Giselle here on the seventeenth.”
“Should not be an issue.” Steffen took the hint that the conversation needed to move on, and filed away the new information he’d gathered on Mark. He opened the project documents on his iPad. Tomorrow would be a very interesting evening, and a coil of excitement at the prospect settled in his stomach. That hadn’t happened in a long time. Perhaps Mark might be the antidote he’d been looking for, after all. A short course taken regularly for several weeks might be just what the doctor ordered.
As he went to leave, he spotted “Mark Timmel” on a desk nameplate. The office was deserted. Steffen hesitated for a moment on whether to leave his Handy number but decided he would prefer to send Mark a text message. Instead he slipped the box of chocolates out of his bag and selected four, then placed them carefully on a Post-it note. He grinned, wishing he could see Mark’s face when he spotted the mysterious gift.
Chapter Four
SLEEP HAD not changed his mind about Steffen’s offer. Not that Mark had expected it to, given how Steffen had ended their evening. Another brutal day at the office hadn’t left him time to think beyond his vivid recollection on waking, when the memory had inspired a satisfying wank to get rid of his morning wood. As he dragged himself home after a ten-hour day, all he could think of was how badly he needed a blow job right now. One small light in his day had been the appearance of four amazing chocolates, although none of his colleagues were able to tell him who’d left them, and he’d eaten them before he thought better of accepting mystery food.
He only just managed to catch the local Coop before it shut. Mark had yet to adapt to the opening hours of Swiss supermarkets; they seemed designed to be as inconvenient as possible—including not opening on a Sunday, which he couldn’t even get his head around. He was still chuntering under his breath about the limitations of Swiss shopping, not even allowing himself to dwell on how ridiculously expensive everything was, as he let himself into his apartment.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, alerting him to a new text. Dumping his meager supplies on the counter in the kitchenette, he fished out his phone. He didn’t recognize the number but tapped the screen and opened the message.
I realized I had not given you my number, so it took me some time to acquire
yours. I hope you have not changed your mind.
Steffen. A rush of desire flooded him, and Mark grinned as he reread the message. For someone so busy at work, and supposedly able to easily dismiss any concern if Mark were to change his mind, Steffen had gone to a lot of trouble to track down his number. A little teasing was the order of the day.
Who is this?
The reply came in seconds:
Maybe it is I who should reconsider if you have so many offers to fuck you that you do not know who this is.
Aw, Steffen, don’t you like competition?
Be at mine tomorrow for 8pm—I will make you forget that there could be competition to rival my skills. If you are lucky, you might remember your own name. St Alban Rheinweg, 155
Mark was hard at the thought. Fuck. He couldn’t believe he wanted Steffen so badly. Only a few days ago he hadn’t even met the guy, but now he had the feeling he’d be the one begging.
I suppose I can clear my busy diary. You promised to feed me too.
That I did. Until tomorrow. S.
He slid his phone back into his trouser pocket, his happy buzz blasting away the hellish day. The horror of the project plan of doom forgotten, Mark made a sandwich and sank onto his bed, considering whether to try and find something to watch on one of the three English-language channels featured in the basic TV package provided.
The piccolos started the minute he took his first bite. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to buy a pair of noise-cancelling earphones. It was that or risk a prison sentence. He doubted the removal of a piccolo from an orifice was part of standard premium for Swiss public liability insurance.
MARK DIDN’T know the city well, and it was only thanks to Google Maps that he had any clue about where he was going. He got off the number three tram at Waldenburgerstrasse and turned his phone around four times to get his bearings, squinting at the small map on the screen. He’d checked out the address and hadn’t been surprised to find Steffen had an apartment on the Rhine in what was thought of as one of the nicest parts of the city. Not that there were any really bad bits to Basel—well, not that he’d heard anyone speak of. One colleague had mentioned parts of Klein Basel got a bit rough, but what he’d meant was some of the bars were open late and the working girls might get a bit vocal when touting for business, but even they kept to the tolerance zones.
Not All Chocolate and Cuckoo Clocks Page 3
