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Wish granted. I’m choked for words as I imagine him standing over me, commanding my attention. He’d have every ounce of it. Statistics and staples and bewitched copiers would fall right out of my mind, replaced by a throbbing in my fast-tightening pants and a desperate, hungry need for my hands to be all over his body—and for his hands to be all over mine.
He has to have strong hands to match those bulging biceps.
I cross my legs suddenly. I’m getting so stupidly hard just thinking about what those muscles might feel like beneath my gripping fingers. I wonder what the meat of his body would sound like if I were to push him against the brick wall over there.
No, scratch that; he’d be the one doing all of the pushing into brick walls. Definitely him.
I close my eyes, the noise of the nightclub far, far away as I imagine my hands on his chest, sliding down his rippling abs. Let’s face it: Mr. Hot Stuff definitely has rippling abs to go with that huge chest. And in my dream, I can put my hands anywhere I want.
Even in his pants.
I bite my lip, my crossed legs squeezing harder to conceal my throbbing, aching boner.
Then at once, I flip open my eyes. What the hell am I doing? Am I really this pent up that I’m going to sit here in the middle of a bar and fantasize about some random guy who might or might not have been staring at me across the crowded room?
Maybe Elijah is right. Maybe I really do need to get laid.
But not tonight. I lift my chin, take a deep breath, and try to coax my furiously cramped hard-on to go away.
No hot man with muscles in a bar, nightclub, or anywhere for that matter is going to distract me from my goal. That includes the dumb, sexy boys at the office, none of whom like me, I’m quite convinced. And they don’t have to like me, I’ve also decided. I’m there for only one person: Mr. Gage. He’s the only one who matters. Not my coworkers. Not Elijah and his quipping. Not even our immediate supervisor Rebekah.
And not a hot guy in a bar. I’ve worked too hard and for too long to be addled by some muscled man in a tight suit who’s giving me tight situations in my pants. That’s a fact.
“Were you looking for me?”
I turn at the sound of that deep, sultry voice right behind me, and my eyes fall on a beautiful man.
It’s him. The man. From across the room.
Yes, I’m still hard as a rock. And now I’m getting harder. He’s twenty times more gorgeous this close-up. Oh my gay gods. Now my fantasy has relocated to right in front of me, and for a countless amount of excruciating seconds, I can’t say a damned word.
And then …
4
Benjamin has his eye on the prize.
“E-Excuse me?” the boy squeaks.
I hide a smirk of amusement. This kid just might be the cutest damned guy I’ve ever seen at this bar, and I’ve been here so many times, I can’t count. He’s got this cute, slightly upturned nose, and lips that are frustratingly kissable. I say “frustratingly” because I’m fighting a nagging doubt that this guy, in fact, wasn’t looking at me, and maybe he’s yet another one of those hot dorky straight guys I keep going after.
But from the panic my mere presence just struck in his eyes, I think I might be talking to my sure-thing midnight snack.
I repeat myself. “I asked if you were looking for me.”
He seems to have trouble speaking, which surprises me, since he seemed so confident sitting here at the bar by himself. It’s kind of adorable, how instantly flustered I’ve made this kid. He’s got dirty blond hair, a sexy little body, and a mouth I’m pretty sure can take every inch of my cock. He’s simply perfect.
He’s gonna need to take a lot of inches, by the way.
Fuck, I’m gonna peel you like a sweet, ripe, tasty banana.
“You … were staring at me,” he insists with an annoyed crease of his brow, his voice like liquid silk and cream.
I keep my face strong as I appraise the package that is this kid, my gaze severe and my expression hard. “Is that so?” I love toying with him. He’s so easily ruffled; I can tell. “I’m not so sure.”
“Well, I am,” he chokes out, a delayed response, but there’s a touch more assertiveness about it.
This kid is stubborn. I’m pretty sure that means he’s going to be a cum rocket and a few attitude grenades in the bedroom, which is the exact brand of hot I need after the week I’ve had.
I tilt my head and prop an elbow on the bar, letting my mere presence overwhelm him. “So what’re you doing over here all by yourself?”
