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Oliver’s breath caught in his chest. “I didn’t think you noticed.”
Victor sighed softly and shook his head. Oliver felt a little foolish because he noticed even the most subtle signs of distress whenever Victor was struggling. It was absurd to think it didn’t go both ways.
“I have something for you. Come here,” Victor ordered.
Oliver moved, shuffling over the aged, worn carpet that hadn’t been updated in decades. When he was close enough to Victor, warm, powerful fingers curled against his hip and tugged him between Victor’s spread thighs.
He braced himself to be pulled into a kiss, but instead, Victor took his hand and opened his palm, pressing something oddly rough yet soft against it. Oliver glanced down, and his heart started hammering in his chest. It was a small bouquet of lavender tied with a cheap ribbon. It looked hand-picked, like he’d somehow found a field of it growing wild and stopped.
“You didn’t forget.”
Victor laughed softly. “I didn’t forget. I was going to surprise you with melons as well, but there weren’t any ripe ones at the market.”
Oliver met his gaze and swallowed heavily, his thumb brushing over a soft leaf. “They’re not in season,” he managed to say, his voice a little choked.
Victor’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I hope this is enough.”
Oliver carefully set the bouquet down, then took Victor by the chin and laid a kiss on his mouth. It was hot, demanding, full of all the emotions he felt raging behind the beat of his heart. Victor opened to him, and Oliver slipped his tongue in, tasting coffee and chocolate.
“I’m so in love with you,” he murmured.
Victor’s hands gripped him by the ribs, then skimmed down to the top of his trousers. “I love you.”
Oliver felt wild suddenly—reckless and needy. He broke the kiss and took a step back, then dug his fingers into his waistband and tugged them just low enough for Victor to see a peek of the lace against his pale skin.
They were purple—Victor’s favorite.
“I was thinking about you this morning when I was getting dressed. You know that fantasy I have about you coming into my office and wrecking me?”
Victor’s breath caught for a second. “Yes. That wasn’t my plan today though. You know that, right?”
Oliver shrugged. “Plans can change, can’t they?”
Victor’s eyes darkened, and he bit his lip for a long second. When he released it, the skin was flushed and shiny with spit. “Lock the door, Oliver. Then come stand in front of me.”
Oliver’s face filled with heat as he walked across the room, his fingers scrambling for the little twisty lock he didn’t fully trust to work. When he turned back, Victor was watching him like a lion ready to devour prey, and Oliver’s face went white-hot with need.
He’d actually done an office scenario once or twice with clients, but those sessions had felt a little…odd. Like a right-sized shoe but on the wrong foot. But with Victor, everything was perfect.
He palmed himself through his jeans, his dick rubbing against the harsh lace panties, wishing his own hand was Victor’s.
“Oliver,” Victor said after a beat, a note of warning in his voice. “Do you want to be a good boy for me?”
“Yes,” Oliver breathed out. “Always.”
Victor nodded, then beckoned him closer. “Then let me see them.”
Oliver bit the inside of one wrist to hold back a moan as his other hand flew to his button, pushing it out of the small hole. His zipper damn near flew down with the force of how hard he was and how badly his dick wanted free, and he spread the fly into a wide v as he stared at his lover.
“Happy?”
“Not quite,” Victor said. He folded his arms over his chest, which told Oliver that he was going to be doing the bulk of the work—not that he was going to complain about that.
Biting his lip, he stalked a little closer. “What if I have meetings? Students? Someone could be listening outside the door right now.”
Victor’s eyes gleamed in the low light of the afternoon sun. “I hopesomeoneis.”
At that, Oliver both rolled his eyes and grinned. His office neighbor was one of the chemistry professors, and he’d taken an immediate liking to Oliver. He seemed like an alright guy, of course. His name was Renzo—Oliver didn’t know if that was a first or last name—and he was massive, with sleeve tattoos on both arms, and he filled out a pair of cargo pants like no one’s business.
