by L. A. Witt
The rational side of me knew this was a bad idea on a number of levels. The side of me who couldn’t stop thinking about being balls-deep in Rick also knew this was a bad idea but didn’t give a shit. So what if I couldn’t say anything? No one needed to know that the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen was waiting impatiently for me to remove a torturous device from his penis so I could reward him for stoically enduring his punishment. It was no one’s business if I planned to bend him over the bed in a few hours and ride his ass while I told him how badly I wanted to tie him up and—
Focus, Jon. Focus. The last thing you need now is to have to explain away a hard-on.
Just to be on the safe side, I went back to my desk to check and see if anything pressing had wandered into my e-mail inbox in the last five minutes.
At least thoughts of Rick had kept my mind off sweating over my kids’ college funds. Funny how plotting and scheming an evening with a new, eager submissive could put decidedly less pleasant thoughts on the back burner.
Not surprisingly, there was nothing new in my inbox. Just to kill a few more seconds and give myself a chance to completely calm down, I went into my personal webmail. Nothing new there, either, except something Scott had sent to all of us. He must have sent it from his phone, since the subject header announced it wasn’t safe for work. Of course, I didn’t open it. I never opened anything any member of my crew sent to my personal e-mail while I was at work.
I got up and went to get a bottle of water out of the communal refrigerator. As I closed the door, the picture that had been taped to the front for the last few months caught my eye. Scott had pasted his own face over that of a bodybuilder who obviously had a very close relationship with a needle. I snickered to myself and rolled my eyes as I unscrewed the cap on the water bottle.
“You know, Scott,” I said, gesturing at the picture. “I’m really glad you put that there.”
He looked up from his screen. “Oh really? Why’s that?”
“Because I’ve dropped a good ten pounds just from losing my appetite every time I see it.”
“Jackass,” he muttered.
“Actually, Jon’s got a point,” Bianca said. “Think I can get a copy to put on my fridge at home? Might help me stay away—”
“Shut up, all of you.”
Chuckling, I went back to my desk to take care of some paperwork. Once that was done and I’d finished drinking most of my water, I left the bottle on my desk and headed to the table. I never kept a drink on the modeling table with me. Teagan always had coffee or tea within arm’s reach, and somehow managed to keep the liquid where it belonged. I was just too paranoid that I’d elbow it at just the right time, and the fake lawns on my models weren’t nearly as tolerant of water as their real-life counterparts.
My crew and I fell into our usual comedy routine, which distracted me enough from Rick’s existence to keep me focused on finishing the Rainier house model.
“Jesus, Bianca.” Teagan wrinkled her nose as she walked by Bianca’s desk. “How can you eat that crap this early in the morning?”
Bianca gestured with her cup of instant ramen noodles. “What? It’s good.”
“It’s disgusting, especially at this hour.”
Cal laughed. “This from the woman who thinks raw fish carcass draped over rice is a delicacy.”
“Not my fault you have no taste.” Teagan shrugged and leaned over her nearly completed model. As she carefully laid a corner piece into place on the roof, she said, “Sushi is a delicacy, at least for the civilized among us.”
“If fish was intended to be eaten raw,” Cal said matter-of-factly, focusing on his screen as he spoke, “God wouldn’t have invented beer batter.”
I grimaced. “That’s disgusting.”
“What?”
“Taking a perfectly good fish and frying it like that.” I glanced up from struggling with yet another oddly-shaped plastic window that just did not want to go into its slot. “And have you ever even tried sushi? Or are you just talking out your ass again?”
“I have tried it, and I’ll never try it again. It’s gross.” Cal craned his neck. “Scott, do you have the specs handy for the Shelton building?”
“Right here.” Scott held up a half-unfurled drawing. “Why?”
“On the south exterior wall, I need a length—”
“Oh, I’ll just bet you do,” Teagan said.
Scott grabbed a stapler and reared back like he was going to throw it.
Before he could let it go, though, Teagan pointed a finger at him and gave him a menacing look. “Don’t you dare.”
“You started it,” he said, still holding up the stapler.
She gestured at the nearly completed shopping center. “You want to explain to Beelzebub why this has a stapler-shaped hole in it?”
Scott glared at her, then set the stapler on the edge of his desk for her to retrieve. There were perks to being a modeler instead of a drafter, and one of those perks was the ability to throw something at a drafter without running the risk of having it thrown back. That’s not to say they didn’t find other ways of getting back at us. Teagan and I had learned a long, long time ago to inspect every model right before turning it in, just in case there was any pornographic “art” on the walls or a few Lego figurines in compromising positions.
Scott and Cal went back to exchanging necessary measurements on the Shelton project while Teagan and I resumed working on our models. The music—some ungodly rap shit today—kept a thumping beat in the background, and we kept bantering over the top of it.
“Hey, Dave,” Bianca said.
Silent Dave, lost in his own little world, didn’t respond.
“Dave.”
Nothing.
“Dave.”
Still nothing.
Scott held up a pencil and raised his eyebrows. “Need me to get his attention?”
Bianca nodded. “Would you?”
The pencil sailed through the air and bounced across Silent Dave’s keyboard, narrowly missing his hands. He jumped, looked at us and pulled his headphones off. “What?”
Bianca gestured at her screen. “You need to rework the south and west exterior walls on that house for Larson Properties.”
“What? Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “The client specifically said he wanted the picture window to be south-facing. You’ve got it on the west wall.”
Dave rifled through some drawings. “I thought he wanted it on the west wall.”
“Which would make sense, except there’s another building right there.”
Scott crammed a potato chip in his mouth. “Maybe he wants to watch his neighbors or something.”
Bianca rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, I’m sure. The developer’s probably just some pervert who sets places up for voyeurs.”
“You never know,” Scott said around the half-chewed chip. “Could be a market for that sort of thing.”
“Right.” To Dave, Bianca said, “It looks like you reversed the south and west walls, so switch them.”
“On it.” With that, he put his headphones back on and was lost to us once again.
“I’d buy a house with a neighbor-facing window,” Cal said. “I mean, assuming my neighbor was hot.”
“Yeah, but knowing your luck,” I said, “your hot neighbor would move out and some crusty old nudist would move in.”
“Now that’s just cold,” Cal said.
Scott shoved another chip in his mouth. “It could happen, though.”
“Especially if the hot neighbor got all creeped out by some sleazy drafter leering at her all the time,” Teagan said.
Cal opened his mouth to speak, but then straightened in his chair and said in a stage whisper, “Quick! Everyone grow up! Satan’s coming!”
Scott turned the music down a little and quickly changed it to The Empire Strikes Back soundtrack. Teagan and Bianca barely suppressed their laugher as The Imperial Death March came on, and a moment later, Marie walked through the door.
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She eyed all of us as she always did, but didn’t comment on the music.
“Morning, all,” she said in her usual flat tone. Everyone murmured a similar response, and she went on, “Scott, Calvin, I need an ETA on the drawings for the Southgate Community Center expansion.”
Scott cleared his throat. “I have to look over a few of the specs again, but I’ll e-mail you as soon as I can.” He swallowed. “Will that work?”
“As soon as possible, please,” she said dryly. “Teagan, when will the Borden Mall be ready?” She nodded at the model in front of Teagan, then eyed her.
“I had some problems with the cement reacting to the new foam-core we’re using, so—”
“When will it be done?”
“I can have it to you by Friday,” Teagan said through her teeth.
“Please do. Jon, what about the Rainier house?”
I muffled a cough and gestured at the mostly complete model in front of me. “I should have it done by the end of the day.”
“Good. And remember we have a meeting with Horizon today too.”
Normally, I’d have cringed and ground my teeth at the prospect of a meeting taking up what little time I had to finish a model. Not today. My mind went straight into the pants of Horizon Developing’s CEO, and the thought of him struggling with that cock cage gave me goose bumps.
Oh, I’d have an update for him. And he’d have one for me too.
For once in my life, I couldn’t wait for a meeting to start.
Chapter Thirteen
During meetings, I usually struggled to stay focused. Sitting there listening to people drone on was Geneva Convention-level torture. Today, the struggle was to keep a straight face.
From the moment Teagan and I had taken our seats, I’d been restless with anticipation. Then Rick had come into the room along with Dion and Mitchell. His eyes had shifted straight to me, and suddenly I was pretty sure my trousers were almost as uncomfortable as his. That look on his face. My God. Intense. Focused. Like he’d spent all morning talking himself through every minute, reminding himself this was only temporary. I wondered how many times he’d considered texting me the safe word, or if he’d just closed his eyes, breathed and told himself it would be over soon.
I watched him for a moment, wondering how much of his expression was latent arousal. A sign of that feeling that could simmer beneath the surface for hours, even days leading up to something hot and exciting. Like he wasn’t turned on yet, but knew he would be in a few hours, and that, by extension, turned him on enough to make him squirm.
Or maybe he was one of those guys who was turned on by the torment. He wasn’t a masochist per se, but wearing that device was a constant reminder of who was in charge. I’d worn one before so I’d know how it felt, and it wasn’t something that could be ignored. It was always there. Always, at the very least, nudging the outermost edges of awareness, like an itchy cast that you’ve just learned to live with.
Beneath the table, I dug my heel into my other foot just to center myself and draw my focus away from Rick. Having him wear the cage to work had seemed like a good idea at the time—a tortured sub was a hot sub—but perhaps I’d underestimated how much it would fuck up my brain to sit through a meeting with him like this.
While everyone else had chattered, flipped through documents, checked the PowerPoint connection and topped off coffee, he stayed back, listening intently, but quiet. His eyes darted toward me a few times, and despite his obvious discomfort, he had to look away and smother a laugh. So did I.
Teagan elbowed me. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” I cleared my throat and tapped my pen on the binder in front of me. “Just…nothing.”
“Mmhmm. You’re—”
“All right,” Mitchell said, silencing everyone. “I think we’re ready to get started?” He looked at Dion and Rick, who both nodded.
Teagan shot me a look. This isn’t over.
Everyone took their seats, which was a much more difficult process for Rick than the rest of us. He hid it well. To the untrained eye, he probably just had a sore back or some stiff muscles. Maybe a rough night at the gym or feeling his age a little more than usual. There was nothing to indicate that he had a series of steel rings encircling his cock, all held together by a strap that wound around his balls too.
This was going to be a long meeting. And a long afternoon.
And a long, long night.
As subtly as I could, I took and released a deep breath. I willed my heart to slow down. And my cock…fuck…
Baseball. Old Yeller. Food poisoning.
Okay. That was helping. Just had to keep thinking about anything that wasn’t a turn-on, and—
I let my gaze drift toward Rick, and no amount of unpleasant thoughts could turn me off.
He was focused—or appeared to be focused—on whatever Mitchell was talking about. Elbow pressed against the armrest, chin cradled in his hand with his middle finger across his lip. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing at all.
Nothing except that sheen of sweat along his hairline. Or the way he held perfectly still, conspicuously still, not even idly twisting his chair back and forth like Dion did beside him. Every time he did move, his discomfort registered on his face. Lips twitching. Jaw clenching. Brow knitting together.
So much for turning myself off.
By the grace of God, we both made it through the meeting. As everyone stood, I heard Dion ask him, “You all right? You’ve been walking like an old man today.”
“Yeah, I’m good. Just”—Rick’s eyes flicked toward me, and his cheeks colored. “I’m good.”
“Sure about that? You’re moving almost as fast as Kyle was after he pulled his groin. What’d you do, take up basketball or something?”
I didn’t hear Rick’s response because Marie was herding Teagan and me out into the hallway. Oh, if Dion only knew. Maybe he hadn’t called the injury, but he’d certainly zeroed in on the right region.
“Any changes on ETAs?” Marie asked, as if there wasn’t a walking—well, limping—distraction in the conference room behind me.
“I’ll be finished with the piece for Spry Enterprises by noon tomorrow,” Teagan said. “After that, do you want me to start on the museum for Horizon? Or keep going on the Spry project?”
Marie pursed her lips. “You know what? Go ahead and keep up on Spry. You’ve already started, so wrap it up and get it out of your hair. We’ve still got some time on the museum.” She paused. “Unless you think it’ll take longer?”
Teagan shrugged. “I’ll look over the blueprints for both projects when I get back to my desk, and I’ll let you know before the end of the day.”
“Good. Perfect.” Marie turned to me. “What about you?”
I’m about as focused as Rick right now.
“Just about done with my current project, and I’ll do like Teagan—e-mail you with a tentative schedule for my next few.”
She nodded. “Excellent.”
She dismissed us, and we headed for the elevator.
“We’d be a lot further along if we didn’t have to go to these stupid meetings,” Teagan grumbled.
“No kidding.” I glanced over my shoulder just in case there was a client or bigwig within earshot. “But you’ve got to admit, if they make some major change to something we’re about to start building, it’s good to get the heads-up. Especially if it’s going to get hung up in Codes & Regs.” Our Codes & Regulations department was notorious for dragging their feet with updated drawings, and Teagan and I had both entertained fantasies of slapping the hell out of the engineers when they notified us of a change after we’d already spent hours or days on a model. As much as these meetings sucked, sometimes they were our only warning, and wasting an hour or two here saved us days or even weeks.
“Well.” She scowled. “You would think they could just e-mail us and tell us if anything like that came up during a meeting.”
“You would think. But you know damn
well if someone didn’t convey that information, it’d be our fault for not being there to hear it ourselves.”
She muttered something incoherent. Then, “So I wonder what Pierce did to himself.” She smirked. “How much you want to bet there’s a woman limping even harder than he is right now? Oh! You think he nailed two at the same time?”
The thought of Rick in bed with two women damn near short-circuited my brain. And oh, what Teagan would’ve thought if she’d known who he’d really been in bed with. Or why he was moving so gingerly.
“Jesus, Teagan.” I clicked my tongue. “Are you and Bianca writing Rick Pierce fanfic these days or something?”
“No, but…” She stroked her chin thoughtfully. “That could be fun. Pierce porn.”
I rolled my eyes. “You two are incorrigible.”
“Whatever. If they still brought their COO to these meetings, you’d be ogling her and you know it.”
Fair point. The COO of Horizon Developing was gorgeous and she took crap from no one. Between her and Rick, it was a wonder I’d never started openly drooling on the conference room table.
“Something wrong with you today, McNeill?” Teagan asked. “One minute, you’re snickering at something, and the next you’re staring off into space.”
“And this is new?”
“Okay, no, but you’re doing it more than usual.”
I shrugged. “Nah, it’s nothing. Right now, though, I’m trying to work out how to finish my model before the weekend so I don’t end up on overtime.”
“You and me both. Guess we’d better get cracking.”
* * * * *
I didn’t catch up to Rick again until mid-afternoon, when I was walking by while he was at the Coke machine. After a glance around to make sure nobody important was nearby, I said, “Hey.” When he turned, I grinned. “How does it feel?”
He glared at me.
I laughed. “Good. And what did we learn?”
Rick exhaled slowly. “That apparently snickering in a meeting doesn’t end well.”
