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He’s clearly nervous, and even though I should be locked in and focused on the task at hand, learning how this thing works, I’m not. Because Kris has moved his chair closer. Not too close, but close enough that I can feel him there, and close enough that I can only think about the fact that he has my panties in the pocket of his jacket.
Exactly like he said that I would.
Under the table, his fingers brush my thigh.
Reaching down, I grab his hand from tracing upwards further, the way I already feel that it’s going. Alone in the cafeteria? That’s one thing. Here? In front of every powerful person at the company? I…don’t think I can.
Instead of pulling back, Kris weaves our fingers together. It doesn’t make sense how such a simple touch can create the impression of such a dangerous secret. Nothing is bad or awful about holding hands. But where our skin is touching it feels like a brand. Hot. Overwhelming. I don’t want it to stop.
Nothing happens for a while. There are a few more speakers, men and women. I try to hear their words, but from the way even the managing team is looking at their phones and scribbling on their notepads, these people aren’t serious contenders. I’m sitting in between the real contenders, and based on the way people are being called on, Meynard and Kris will go last.
Because of course.
As if they didn’t have enough of a rivalry already.
Then again, I’m sure that the people on top don’t necessarily think that the rivalry is a bad thing. It does drive them both to produce work that will outdo the other.
That can only be good for business.
I’m sure that if I said that to uncle Meynard he would flay me alive yet again for the observation. But just because I’m new to business, doesn’t mean that I’m wrong.
Kris holds my hand for so long that I get used to it. And it’s only when he moves—brushes his thumb along the back of my hand—that I jump and realize it’s still there. What does it mean that it feels that natural? Is it bad that it does?
No. I don’t think that it can be. But the butterflies in my stomach still have me wondering. Is this…infatuation and craving normal for someone like me? Someone who’s avoided all of this and now is being given everything that they’ve dreamed of? Because this is real life. People don’t fall head over heels in love in a couple of days and then happily spend the rest of their lives together. That’s not a thing.
So…then the question remains. Is this a thing that’s going to end up hurting me?
Maybe. I have to admit that. But does that also mean that I should pull back and end it before it starts?
Pain in my chest is the immediate response. No. I can’t imagine that. There’s something too strong drawing us together for me not to see what it is. And in that same deep place where I know that Kris is the one I want to show me all these new things, I know that any pain that might come from this will be worth it, and I won’t regret it in the slightest.
That’s all I can ask for right now.
“Meynard,” the CEO calls. “Let’s hear it.”
My uncle gets up from his chair and strides to the front of the room. I already know what he’s going to say. It’s about as much as he’s shared with me about the project. I keep my eyes on him, because he’ll notice if I’m not paying attention. After this afternoon? I need to stay on his good side.
But that doesn’t keep me from being distracted when Kris shifts our joined hands under the table. Slowly, so that no one will notice the position of our arms. He moves my hand over onto his thigh. Higher. Higher. Until his hand, woven with my hand, is hovering right over his cock.
I’m not sure when my breath became so shallow. I’m still looking at the front of the room, but all my attention is under the table. What is he going to do?
Kris lowers my hand, and for a second I’m confused, and think I ran into a piece of the table or the arm of the chair. Nope. This is not furniture. His cock is just that hard. Even through his suit. I think it’s harder than it was in the cafeteria. Or at the very least, my fingers getting up close and personal with it make it feel that way.
And then, slowly, he drags my fingers up and down the length of it. If I look back at him, I know that I’ll find nothing on his face but the mask of utter boredom. All the while helping me jerk himself off. The tease.
