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“I remember.” Cole smiled fondly. “Casey. She was sweet. Very creative. Wonder if she’s available?”
“Doing a girl you’re not serious about at Christmas never turns out well. You know better, Warner.”
Cole stroked his cock through his trousers. “Maybe Daisy was my one true love. Or was it Lacey?”
Des snorted out a laugh and scraped a hand through his hair. He needed to take a shower. The girls would be back soon, and not long after, guests would start flowing through the doors as fast as the champagne. Already he could hear the caterers bustling from room to room. “You good to handle things while I run upstairs?”
“Oh, you’re not ready? Hard to tell, since those ratty-ass jeans have been your wardrobe for the past week.”
“Scoping out my ass again? I’m so flattered.” Des grinned and headed out of the office, humming one of the holiday tunes that had played earlier.
He took the back stairs three at a time, then scattered his clothes on the floor on his way into the bathroom. In record time, his cock was in his soapy hand, his forehead braced on the arm he folded against the tile wall. Images of Wendy played behind his closed eyes. Dancing when she didn’t know he was there, gyrating her hips in maddening circles, bouncing her breasts with each movement. Shiny pink lips tilting into a smile as she crooned into her makeshift microphone.
She was so motherfucking sexy.
Des sucked in a breath and tightened his grip, working himself viciously. He’d never squeeze his dick hard enough to erase the pictures stored in his head so he used them as fodder, dragging his hand up and down until his gasps mingled with the hiss of the scalding water.
He wrenched the water dial hotter, then hotter still. Soon his skin would flay right off his damn bones, and he’d still be here, jerking off with her sweet southern voice tormenting him. Just her accent reminded him of fucking. She could say “pass the paper clips” and he’d envision throwing her legs over his shoulders and sucking on her swollen clit.
I’ll be back shortly, y’all.
Christ. He could’ve come from just that.
As clouds of steam rose around him, he threw his head back, the hot stream of water stabbing his face and chest offering additional sensation. Groaning, he reached down and grabbed his heavy balls, rhythmically pumping, his breath puffing over the tiles until the long white ribbons of his release fountained into the cascading water.
He slumped against the wall, panting. Shuddering. It wasn’t enough. He needed her under him, her tight pussy wrapped around his cock. Her seductively prim and proper voice whispering in his ear, her long nails raking down his back. She’d be a scratcher, he just knew it.
Snatching his bottle of shampoo, he dumped way too much on his head and took out his frustration on his scalp. Even knowing it wasn’t going to happen—that it couldn’t—the resentment still cut deep.
Thirty minutes later, he was on his way back downstairs. He passed a couple in a clinch on the landing. They let out guilty laughter when he cleared his throat. “Already seeking out the corners, Edwards?” he asked the gray-haired man who shamelessly left his hand on his partner’s ass.
Gerald Edwards, esteemed attorney at law, had boffed every secretary he’d ever had. When he ran out of them, he poached the receptionists from the law office next door. And that was exactly the kind of guy Des refused to be. He didn’t sleep with his employees. Never had, never would.
“Great party, Des.” Gerald extended a hand.
Des shook Gerald’s hand and continued downstairs. Not his problem.
A crowd had already started to form in the lobby. The entrance area contained several groups of laughing couples, and the hallway to the conference room held even more. A few pairs danced to the music of Josh Groban, and he spotted a few clients hanging out by the punch bowl.
It would be a successful night. He could feel it.
A quick detour to his office yielded a tall cup of coffee, with the added bonus of two sugars. He normally drank his coffee black but with Wendy and her sultry jasmine perfume due to arrive at any moment, he couldn’t take the chance. Somehow the burst of sugar on his tongue helped distract him from scenting her like a wolf, and he wasn’t about to question his coping techniques. They’d helped him keep his dick in his pants for an entire year so they must be working.
An hour passed in a haze of conversation. It didn’t take him long to lose the button-down shirt he’d thrown over a T-shirt—yeah, he dressed casually, Cole could fucking suck it—though he dumped it off on his friend’s chair rather than his own. There was a heated argument going on in his office, and he figured he’d be nice and not interrupt since he and Cole were the dumbasses who’d neglected to lock their doors.
Fighting was one thing. But he’d make sure no bodily fluid was spilled in his office—unless it was his.
“You wish, Martin,” he muttered.
The drinks were flowing, the food was delicious, and the entire place smelled of cinnamon, hot cider, and pine. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, some more than others. He’d come upon several couples under the mistletoe that Cole had insisted Van hang up near the exit, though Des knew his partner hoped to lure her there herself before the night ended. Unlike him, Cole had no qualms about sleeping with his assistants. Nothing had happened between Cole and Vanessa yet, but Cole would make his move soon.
Luckily, Des had a few more brain cells and knew where to draw the line.
Des did several loops of the party, determined to make sure all of his guests were having a good time. So many people grabbed him to talk that he didn’t notice Wendy’s absence right away. Cole and Van hadn’t seen her either.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Had something happened? It wasn’t like Wendy to blow off a work function. She was never anything less than diligent.
Just as he pulled out his cell to call her, a soft moan stopped him. His body tensed as he shifted direction.
