My damn lower back spasms, and I arch slightly, trying to stop it. The combination of colder-than-typical temps and, well, the excitement from last night causes my muscles to revolt. I try to ignore it, but it nags me like an itchy label in a new shirt. Shreya opens her laptop and Geoff grabs a bottle of water. They talk about things I’m not familiar with. Megabits and gigabytes and terabytes, oh my! With the four of us in the room, a loud humming of chatter gurgles. If Vincent and I are going to get anything done, this isn’t the place. And we need to talk about last night.
“Let’s go to my office,” I suggest, nodding toward the exit. The main office has five doors around the perimeter. A copy room, the nurse’s office, a bathroom, the conference room, and my office. I stand to leave, and Vincent follows. If we’re going to work together over the next six weeks, we need to sort out what happened. Him on his knees. Staring up at me. Sucking my dick. Calling him a “good boy.” Oy. But the way it ended gutted me. My big heart gets invested too quickly. Clearly, not everyone prefers middle-aged Jewish guys who look like Santa’s little brother.
I stand in the doorway, wait for Vincent to enter, and turn my attention toward Helen.
“Hold my calls, please.”
She nods, jots something down on a notepad, and returns to her computer.
Besides a desk, my office has a small round table with four chairs. I typically meet with children or parents here, saving the conference room for larger meetings. Low shelves line the window, and a family photo with Corrine, Gillian, Louis, and Lia sits beside one of Sweetums sprawled out on a bench. The sun cascades over his long, thick orange fur, and I swear he was posing for me when I snapped that photo.
Vincent enters, and I close the door behind him. When I turn around, he hasn’t budged an inch. He’s facing me, and breath from his nostrils blows against my beard.
“You didn’t tell me … ” I begin, but his index finger covers my lips.
“No shop talk. That was the deal. But well, clearly, now we need to chat,” he says. The harsh fluorescent lighting creates a glare on Vincent’s head, and I squint when the light catches my eye.
“Sit.” I pull away from him and nod toward the table.
“Wait. Please.”
His lips find my neck—small pecks tickle across the tendons. He asked me to leave. Didn’t want my number. Why is his mouth on my skin? I lean against the back of a chair. My fingers grip the fabric, attempting to keep myself upright. Blood surges to my groin, and I tilt my head slightly, giving him better access. My back twitches and I wince. We need to discuss the situation. Last night. This morning. All of it.
“I don’t have a toothbrush. I mean, I could get one. The nurse has some.”
His lips crawl to my ear, and his hands paw at my back.
“We have some students who don’t regularly brush at home, and she takes them each morning to practice dental hygiene.”
“Are you talking about clean mouths to turn me on?” he whispers into my ear, the heat sending chills up my spine. I move backward and stumble on my heel before Vincent grabs at my sweater and catches me, holding me close.
“No. No, I honestly, I’m rambling,” I say.
His mouth lands on my neck, and his warm, sweet breath enters my ear, constricting my chest.
“Why are you so fucking sexy?” he purrs.
“Me?”
“Keep your mouth closed. Okay?”
I nod. Vincent’s lips dance across my face, my beard prickling at this touch, until his mouth lands on mine and he pauses. With his eyes closed, his long, brown eyelashes come into full view. I keep my gaze on him. I need to see this.
Carefully, he takes the tip of my bottom lip in his teeth. A hand lands on my pants and cups my package. He lets out a little moan.
“You had something buttery for breakfast.”
“A croissant,” I whisper with a smile. “From this bakery a few blocks from my place. The couple is French. They visited Maine one summer and never left. France’s loss is our city’s gain. And my stomach’s.”
“Shhh.”
Once again, his presence sends blood rushing to my cock, filling his hand through my pants. Vincent’s mouth leaves mine, and he buries his face in my neck, clutching me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, removing his hand and collapsing into me. “I didn’t expect to see you. Here. And well, I kind of go haywire around you.” He covers his eyes with a hand. “I thought if you kept your mouth closed … ”
Having Vincent here. In my office. Close. My heart flips. I wrap my arms around him, gathering him up, trying to hold him tight enough to squash all his insecurities, at least for a moment.
“Let’s sit,” I suggest.
