I stepped out of the shower and pulled on a clean shirt. Evening light slanted through the windows, turning the white walls gold. Three months in Dionysus’ old mansion and I still wasn't used to the quiet. No gunfire. No screaming. Just the distant sound of waves and the occasional car horn from the street below.
This was home now.
I'd spent the afternoon going through contract offers in the upstairs sitting room. There’d been four that looked interesting, but I'd turned down three of them. It was nice to have veto power for a change. Sleeping with the boss had its perks.
I walked down the stairs, trailing my hand along the iron railing. The house had good bones with its high ceilings, arched doorways, and hardwood floors. Rafael had stripped out most of Dionysus's decorations within the first week. We’d sold the garish gold fixtures and expensive art at a charity auction. Now the walls were bare except for a few things we'd chosen together.
The kitchen smelled like the coffee I'd brewed two hours ago. Rafael's mug sat on the counter, still half full and probably cold. He'd promised he'd be done working by seven.
It was almost nine.
I smiled and shook my head. Of course he was still in the office. Rafael approached his new role as Director the same way he'd approached everything else in his life: total commitment bordering on obsession. He'd been managing territory disputes, renegotiating supply contracts, and restructuring the entire South American network to eliminate anything involving exploitation. The man had given himself an impossible job and then proceeded to excel at it anyway.
Stubborn bastard.
I crossed the living room and stopped at the office door. It was cracked open, light spilling into the hallway. Through the gap I could see Rafael hunched over the desk, his reading glasses perched on his nose, the eyepatch stark black against his skin. Papers covered every available surface. His left hand held a pen while his right hand rubbed at his temple.
He looked exhausted.
And sexy as hell.
I pushed the door open.
Rafael's head snapped up. His good eye focused on me, and his shoulders dropped slightly. “Oh, hi.”
"Hi yourself." I leaned against the doorframe and crossed my arms. "You said seven."
"It’s not seven yet, is it?" He turned to frown at the clock on the wall. “Fuck, sorry. I got distracted by this territory dispute in Manaus. I'm trying to find a solution that doesn't end in bloodshed. If I can convince them to split the port access, then maybe…"
I walked into the room and circled around behind his chair, hands settling on his shoulders. "You're not going to solve it tonight." I pressed my thumbs into the worst of the knotted muscle, and Rafael made a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh. "You need sleep. Food. A break from staring at spreadsheets."
"Lorenzo—"
"Not negotiable, Director Oliveira." I dug my fingers in harder, and he melted back into the chair. "You've been at this for twelve hours straight. Whatever brilliant solution you're looking for isn't going to appear just because you skip another meal."
He made a noise like he was going to argue. Classic Rafael. He never surrendered, not even when it was smart.
I bent down to put my lips against his ear. “You want five more minutes?” My breath stirred dark hair, sweat and salt and his cologne. “Fine. I’ll give you five minutes. But you’re not getting anything done.”
He barely got out a grunt before I slid down, hands braced on his thighs. The chair creaked. I unbuckled his belt slowly, knuckles grazing his cock through soft fabric.
“Lorenzo,” he groaned, fingers digging into the armrests.
I liked hearing him say my name like that.
I mouthed him through the expensive slacks, a pair I’d bout for him, using my teeth more than I needed to. Rafael tasted like sweat, salt, and power barely held together by self-imposed discipline. His cock twitched against my cheek, and his hands clawed the chair. There was a rattling sound as his knee hit the desk.
"You keep this up, I’m going to fire you," he gritted out.
"Yeah," I said, mouthing the crown through the fabric. "I'd like to see you try."
He cursed in Portuguese.
Then I got him loose, cock hot and heavy in my palms, flushed dark already. I licked up the shaft, slow, careful, letting spit drip down until he was so wet even my hands slid. His hips twitched, the chair creaking under the strain. I wanted to see how long he could stay quiet. Rafael bit back every noise until my tongue hit just under the head. That’s where he broke, grunting, knuckles bone white on the armrests.
I sucked him slowly, methodically, watching him grit his jaw against the sounds he didn’t want to make. I smirked and squeezed tighter, flicking my tongue just under the head, and got another desperate noise out of him—a choked-off gasp, almost a plea.
The air in the office was thick and humid with the scent of him. He gripped his pen tighter, but his hand was shaking so badly it tore the page. I fucking loved that. I still couldn't believe a man like Rafael could be unmade by something as simple as my mouth on him.
