Not Safe For Work

by L. A. Witt

While they worked, I carefully removed the affected area of the first model. It wouldn’t require a complete rebuild, thank God, but it wasn’t going to be a quick fix.

  About an hour after Teagan discovered the crisis, Marie came in to pass on some new specs to the drafters and check on everyone’s progress. The minute she stepped into the room, her eyes darted toward Cal and Silent Dave like a predator spotting its prey.

  “Calvin, David,” she said. “What are you doing? Don’t you two have other projects?”

  They both looked at her, then at me, hands still and eyes wide. Help us, boss!

  “I need their help on this,” I said, focusing my attention on the pieces I was fitting together. “I’m only borrowing them for a few hours.”

  “A few hours that could be used for drawings that I need as soon as—”

  “They’re not due until Friday,” I said through grinding teeth, and I was pretty sure everyone in the room sucked in a startled breath. I glared at Marie. “We’re making the best of a bad situation, and if you want these done, then—”

  “Yes, I want the models done,” she snapped, and gestured at the guys. “But their jobs aren’t optional either.”

  Dave and Cal exchanged uncertain looks, and they both shrank toward the table as they kept cutting pieces while Marie and I talked over their heads.

  “Jon, I need these models. We can’t—”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.” I met her gaze. “But all those times I’ve said ‘barring any unforeseens’?” I gestured sharply at the model. “That’s an unforeseen. I’m fixing it as fast as I—”

  “How long will it take?” she demanded.

  I pushed my shoulders back. “Basically, there are three options.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “They can be done on time but either falling apart because of the chemical reaction or sloppy because I didn’t have time. They can be done correctly and intact but late because I’m only one man with two hands. Or they can be done right and done on time, which means I need to borrow Cal and Dave for a few hours.” I threw her a challenging look, and she bristled, but we both knew damn well I was right.

  She lifted her chin. “Fine. Get them done, and if they’re not on time, then you can explain to Mr. Pierce and Mitchell why they aren’t.”

  I shrugged. “All right.”

  For a moment, she didn’t move, and I was sure she wasn’t done with me, but then she turned to go, and her heels marked an irritated staccato as she stormed out of the Zone.

  The door banged shut, and everyone in the room, myself included, exhaled.

  “Man,” Cal said, looking up from cutting a piece of plastic. “I don’t know where you found that set of brass balls, but never ever lose them.”

  “Shut up and cut,” Silent Dave muttered.

  I didn’t say anything. Maybe I’d gone too far—my job was safe from termination over sleeping with Rick, but that didn’t mean I could get away with snapping at my boss like that. Frustrated or not, I shouldn’t have spoken to her that way.

  As soon as I had a handle on this damned model, I’d go up to her office.

  For now, though…

  * * * * *

  Shortly before lunch, everything for the model was cut and ready to be assembled. I couldn’t do that part yet, though, because we were waiting to see how the cement reacted with a few test pieces Teagan had put together. While those dried, I went upstairs to Marie’s office.

  Stomach knotting, I tapped on her door.

  “It’s open.”

  I gulped, then stepped inside.

  Marie looked up from typing something, and folded her hands behind her keyboard. “Jon.”

  “Hey. Um.” I coughed into my fist. “Listen, I just want to talk to—”

  “Can this wait until the models are finished?”

  “The cement is setting up. Not much I can do for the next twenty minutes or so.”

  Marie took off her glasses. “Okay.”

  “I, um…” I scratched the back of my neck. “I wanted to apologize. For the way I talked to you earlier. That was uncalled for.”

  My boss slowly released a breath. “I appreciate that. I probably shouldn’t have been quite so unreasonable.”

  I shrugged. “You’re under a lot of pressure. We all are.”

  “Still. I’m sorry too. You only have so much control over your materials.”

  “Well.” I shifted my weight. “We’ve made up for the delays as much as we can. I’ll make sure the model is done as soon as possible.”

  Marie nodded. “How much more time do you need?”

  “We’re waiting to see if the cement sets up properly. Assuming there isn’t another reaction, and the rest of the model stays intact, I can have everything assembled by close of business tomorrow.”

  “I assume you’ll need some overtime?”

  My heart dropped. Overtime. Evening. So much for tonight’s plans. Goddammit.

  “Yeah.” I tried to keep my increasingly negative attitude out of my voice. “I’ll…yeah. I’ll stay late and get as much done as I can.”

  Marie studied me. “You’ve been putting in a lot of extra hours recently. Are you handling that all right?”

  I nodded. “It’s a challenge, but what can you do?”

  She chewed her lip and then put her glasses back on and turned to her monitor. “Let me look at the pending projects schedule. Give me a second.”

  I tried not to fidget. The cement would be set up soon. The sooner I went back downstairs, the sooner I could get back to work.

  Then she took off her glasses again and looked up at me. “There’s nothing coming down the pipe at the moment. At least, nothing that’ll be due before the weekend. Regardless of where you are with any of your projects, I want you out of here at five o’clock on Friday, and I don’t want to see you again until eight on Monday.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Do whatever overtime you need between now and then, but I want you to take this weekend completely off.” She shot me a pointed look. “Even if there’s an emergency or an urgent project, I’ll cover for you. And I’m going to make some arrangements with Teagan as well. Pressure or not, I need you two sharp. Can’t have either of you getting burned out.”

  I exhaled. I should’ve known Marie of all people would get it. Despite the pressure from on high, she understood that we were human. “Thank you, Marie.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I left her office and would’ve gone straight back to the NSFW Zone, but I still had one more task to take care of in person.

  I took the elevator down to the parking garage. If I’d done the math correctly on the way down, everyone who’d attended the lunch meeting would be getting back right…about…

  Sure enough, as I stepped out of the elevator, dress shoes were clicking on asphalt, echoing in the garage. Mitchell, Forsythe, Dion. And, of course, Rick.

  I stepped aside, ostensibly to let them pass—God forbid clients have to rub elbows with working-class employees like me.

  As Rick passed by, he met my gaze. I tilted my head toward the garage.

  He glanced at the others and then halted, patted his pockets and looked over his shoulder. “Damn it. I left my wallet in the car.” He gestured toward the garage. “I’ll catch up with you. Conference room three, right?”

  “Conference room three,” Forsythe said as they stepped into the elevator.

  “All right. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  His business partner gave him a sharp nod and a wave, and continued into the elevator with Mitchell and Forsythe.

  Mitchell met my gaze and scowled, but before he could say anything, the doors shut. I cringed—I’d be hearing about this later.

  Rick and I stepped away from the elevators and into the garage itself.

  “Hey,” I said. “I won’t keep you long.”

  He grinned. “You can keep me as long as you want.”

  God, I wanted to kiss him. Resistance was fucking painful.

 
I stepped closer but didn’t let myself touch him. “Just need to talk for a second.”

  “Okay.” He paused, eyeing the ceiling. “Aren’t there cameras out here?”

  “Yeah.” I gestured dismissively. “But they only look at them if someone’s car gets dented or broken into. If anybody asks, you wanted to know how to find Arturo’s.”

  Rick shrugged. “Fair enough. What’s up?”

  I sighed. “Unfortunately, I have to bail tonight. Overtime again.”

  His shoulders sank. “Fuck.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” I smiled. “But…my boss did guarantee me this weekend off no matter what. She doesn’t want to see my face between Friday at five and Monday at eight.” Fighting the urge to reach for him, I lowered my voice. “Which means that starting at five o’clock on Friday—”

  “I’m all yours,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Please.”

  Fuuuck, why couldn’t I kiss him right then?

  I gulped. “Yes, you are.”

  He licked his lips. “Didn’t you say that party is this weekend?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Let’s do it.”

  I straightened. “Are you sure? I mean, I’d love to go to one, but it doesn’t have to be this weekend. They have them every—”

  “No, let’s do it this weekend. Before I talk myself out of it.”

  I studied him. “If you’re worried you will talk yourself—”

  “No, no. Nothing like that.” He chuckled. “It’s kind of like the first time I went skydiving. Once I got the idea in my head, I had to do it the very next day, or I was never going to do it at all. And I never regretted it once.”

  “Jumping out of a perfectly good airplane? That’s just crazy talk.”

  “Maybe. But it was fun. This sounds like it could be fun too.”

  “All right.” I slid my hands into my pockets because I was this close to reaching for him. “I’ll meet you at my place on Friday. Around eight. Wear something that looks good but you don’t mind getting ripped.”

  Rick’s breath caught. “Ripped?”

  “Yes. Ripped.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Duly noted.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  We exchanged one last look, and then he went to his car—maybe he really had forgotten his wallet, or maybe he was just keeping up appearances or needed to walk around for a minute. I headed for the elevator, my heart pounding and my stomach fluttering.

  In the elevator, I leaned against the wall and pushed out a breath. I felt a hell of a lot better now. Marie and I had smoothed things over. My overtime had a finite end. And this weekend, I’d have Rick in a building full of kinky people and toys. So many possibilities. So many.

  I grinned to myself.

  Can’t fucking wait…

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As ordered, Rick showed up at my house right on time. I had just finished getting dressed myself—leather trousers, of course, and a leather vest.

  I let him in, and as he stepped into the foyer, he paused. He glanced down at my thick-soled boots. “Leveling the playing field, are we?”

  I shrugged. “Eh, you’ve still got an inch or so on me, but…” I put my hands on his hips and kissed him lightly. “I’ll take whatever advantage I can get.”

  “Doesn’t matter that much, does it?” He slid his hands up my chest. “You’ll always be taller once I’m down on my knees.”

  Oh. Jesus. Yes.

  “You make a very good point.” I ran the backs of my fingers down the front of his white dress shirt. “Also, you know this is getting fucked up before the end of the night, right?”

  He met my gaze, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I’m counting on it.”

  Are we there yet?

  I schooled my expression, though. Calm. Cool. Controlled. “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah, I’m…” He paused, the mischievousness faltering for a split second. “I’m ready.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” I put a hand on his shoulder. “We can stay home. There’s a dungeon right here in the house.”

  “No, I—” Rick blew out a breath. “Today was kind of rough. Just a lot of shit hitting a lot of fans.” He swept his tongue across his lips as he met my gaze. “To be honest, I need this tonight.” He smiled, and after a second, it seemed less forced. “I want to do this. And total immersion into that world sounds like the perfect way to forget about this one for a little while.”

  I studied him. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” He gestured dismissively. “It’s just been a long week.”

  “Longer than normal?”

  “Much.” He rolled his shoulders, revealing the very tension he was probably trying to get rid of. “Butting heads with city planners, trying to avoid a media circus about some toxic shit that was found—and cleaned up—in one of the factories we bought.” He waved his hand. “It’s par for the course, but it’d be nice if it didn’t all hit the fan at once.”

  I nodded. “I’m with you on that. One thing at a time would be nice.”

  “Very.”

  “Well, tonight”—I slid my hand across his stomach and around to his side, drawing him to me—“I fully intend to distract you from anything that isn’t in the same room.”

  He let out a long breath. “Thank you.”

  “Just remember, safe words still apply. You can use it at any time.”

  Rick nodded.

  I grinned. “I’ll get my keys.”

  * * * * *

  The club was actually an enormous house outside of town. Ironically, it was a place that Mitchell & Forsythe had designed years ago. I still had to chuckle sometimes whenever I walked past our display cases in the lobby. There was a beautiful photo on the wall, and below that, the model I’d built ten or twelve years ago. If the partners only knew what the mansion’s east wing was used for.

  Or, for that matter, who was beside me tonight as I walked in through the immense French doors, not to mention what was in the backpack I’d made him carry. What they didn’t know didn’t hurt us.

  New arrivals were required to attend an orientation unless they were attending with a member who’d been with the club for at least three years. I’d been here for seven, so Rick was exempt. He signed the waiver, agreed to stay with me his entire first evening, and we went inside.

  First stop, the ballroom. Rumor had it, the owner held parties in here where the state’s richest and most influential gathered to talk politics, but wouldn’t they be shocked if they knew this was the social area for a thriving BDSM club?

  At the moment, a couple dozen leather-clad people were sipping drinks—nonalcoholic, of course—and socializing. Three Doms chatted on an antique sofa while their subs sat on the floor by their feet. On the other side of the room was a small group of guys who looked like bikers but were probably just everyday average joes in real life. Behind them, two women and two men gestured at collars and leashes. They were, it appeared, the submissives of the bikers, and were having an animated, in-depth conversation about their various accoutrements.

  Next to me, Rick scanned his surroundings. Eyes wide, features taut… This wasn’t the man I was used to seeing at work. I’d never seen him nervous in a group of people. Usually, he was calm and cool, but now he was looking around warily.

  I wrapped my arm around his waist. “You all right?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. It’s, uh, definitely new.”

  “It’s not too late to turn around.”

  “No.” Still watching everyone around us, he shook his head. “I don’t want to turn around. I want to do this.”

  I searched his expression. He was edgy tonight, and the tension from his job was palpable. Yeah, he needed this. I definitely understood that. “Are you ready?”

  He cast one more sweeping glance around and then whispered, “Yes.”

  “Look at me.”

  He faced me, and we locked eyes.

  “I’m in cha
rge tonight,” I said, hardening my voice. “Anything I say, goes. Understood?”

  “Yes,” he breathed, and good God, he really did need this, didn’t he? The tightness visibly melted out of his neck and shoulders. He tilted his head to one side, then the other, and rolled his shoulders. Exhaling, he nodded. “Yes. Anything you say goes.”

  “Good. And your safe word?”

  “Red.”

  “Use it any time. No questions asked.”

  “Understood.”

  I kissed his cheek and slipped my hand into his. “For now, let’s look around and see what everyone else is doing. Maybe get some…ideas.”

  A grin curled his lips. “I’ll follow you.”

  I led him out of the ballroom and into the maze of hallways extending deeper into the house. Here, there were three large play areas out in the open where people could watch others play. This was exhibitionist and voyeur paradise—people were not only allowed to gather and watch, but encouraged to do so. The other rooms were semi-open—they could be closed off for privacy or left open for the occasional voyeur or for the comfort of a submissive who wanted to be reassured that there were others nearby.

  In the first room, two Doms were caning a bound, gagged women. Red welts crisscrossed her ass, and tears streamed down her face, and her eyes… Lord, that woman was flying. The cane hit her flesh with a snap, and she whimpered around the ball gag, her eyes sliding closed for a second. When they reopened, they were even more distant than before.

  “Someone enjoys pain,” I whispered to Rick.

  Mesmerized, he nodded. “Yeah, she does.”

  I was about to make another comment, but a small group on the other side of the room caught my eye. “Oh, look at that.” I gestured toward them. “You ever watched someone doing hot wax?”

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “No.”

  “You want to?”

  He nodded, but quickly added, “If you do.”

  I kissed his cheek. “I do.”

  We joined the thin crowd that had gathered to watch. In front of us, another female sub was on her knees and stretched across what looked like an ottoman, though it had been covered in towels.

  On a small table next to her was a pile of white candles and a steaming Crock-Pot, in which the Dom was stirring the melted wax with a ladle. They’d shrouded the Crock-Pot in some sort of drape—presumably something fire-retardant—so it looked a bit less like something from Grandma’s kitchen, but I doubted anyone was looking at it anyway. Not with a beautiful woman with pristine skin that was just waiting for the molten wax.