Office Romance Box Set

by J. M. Snyder

  His legs spread wider as Jerry slathered lube along his dick and balls. Then Jerry dropped lower, beneath Quin’s nuts, to rub around his anus. Quin’s muscles clenched, his sphincter tightening around Jerry’s finger as Quin writhed on the sofa. Suddenly Quin’s sardonic attitude dropped away as he cried out in pleasure. “Fuck me, yeah! Oh God, oh please, oh shit, yes! I could come right here.”

  Jerry grinned and pulled away from his young lover. “Not without me, you won’t.”

  Quin slapped his thin belly, the sound loud in the quiet room. “Then get up here already and let me see what you’ve got.”

  He didn’t have to ask twice. Jerry clambered up onto the sofa, straddling Quin, who grabbed Jerry’s erect dick with both hands and started up a steady rhythm stroking the thick length. From base to tip and back again, Quin’s hands moved along Jerry’s cock without stopping, guiding him stroke by stroke toward release. It was up to Jerry to situate himself onto Quin’s cockhead, but when he couldn’t relax enough to ease the hard shaft in, Quin helped. Letting go of Jerry’s cock, Quin reached around Jerry’s hips and spread his ass cheeks apart, fingers diving for his puckered hole. One forefinger, another, then a middle finger, the stretch burning through him as Quin rubbed him open. Jerry sat on Quin’s hips and leaned back, gripping the narrow knees rising behind him as he clenched his buttocks, trying to pull those slim fingers farther into him. He rocked back, fucking Quin’s hands, and gasped with delight when he felt that thick, hard cock fill his ass.

  “Yes!” he cried, wriggling his hips to get the full length inside. It filled him completely, and when it bumped against his prostate, he almost came in a rush of pure satisfaction. “Fuck, yeah, God, yeah!”

  Quin’s hands returned to Jerry’s cock and resumed their steady strokes. Leaning forward, Jerry placed his hands on the cushion behind Quin’s head and matched the rhythm with his hips, thrusting back onto the thin cock, tensing his muscles to keep it inside as long as he could before letting it slide out a little, then in again, farther if it were possible, sparking the fiery lust rising within him. “Yes,” and “God,” and “fuck,” the words lost all meaning for him—they pushed free from his throat as he and Quin found the fast, furious rhythm of mutual release.

  Then Jerry plunged his fingers into Quin’s thick mop of hair and lay down, his mouth finding Quin’s as their bodies melded together in an ancient ritual that cared nothing for age, young or old. They were just two men seeking solace and release, both of them giving and receiving, each making the other whole.

  * * * *

  Later they lay together on the couch. Quin was thin enough that, when he scooted over toward the edge, Jerry fit snugly between him and the back of the sofa. Jerry’s arm around his chest and leg draped over his hips kept Quin from rolling off onto the floor. An old afghan was draped over the sofa, which Quin snagged and pulled down over them. It grew warm and cozy beneath the blanket, and Jerry buried his nose in the hair at the base of Quin’s neck. The arm not around Quin was under his head, and Jerry had yet to tire of letting his fingers roam through that soft, thick hair.

  After a long stretch of silence, broken only by the faint tick of a clock in the kitchen, Jerry stirred. “Not bad for a rookie,” he joked.

  Quin snickered as he burrowed back against Jerry. “I have to admit, you still got some moves. I barely even heard your bones creak.”

  With a grin, Jerry tweaked Quin’s ear. “All right, already. Truce. We’re not all that far apart in age, you know.”

  “Thirteen years,” Quin admitted. “When I was born, you were on the cusp of puberty.”

  Jerry hugged Quin tight against his chest. “I’ve found the older you get, the more all that evens out. I’m not worried about it if you aren’t?”

  Quin shook his head, tickling Jerry’s face with the feathery ends of his hair. “Not at all.”

  Another few minutes passed quietly, the two of them content to just cuddle. Quin broke the silence next. “I guess this means I have to pull out of the office pool.”

  Jerry kissed Quin’s shoulder. “What pool?”

  In his arms, his lover turned, and Jerry saw Quin’s teeth light up the dim room with a quick smile. “The one we have going in IT about how long it’s going to take before you cave in and start using the Mac. If anyone finds out I slept with you, they might think I had an unfair advantage.”

  “What?” Jerry laughed, surprised. “I’ll tell you when. Never.”

  Quin’s smile flashed again. “Damn, I would’ve won, too.”

  Jerry kissed Quin’s cheek, then his earlobe, then behind his ear. His hand smoothed across Quin’s hairless chest, and when he moved his leg, his thigh pressed pleasantly against Quin’s satiny balls. The movement stirred Quin’s dick, and the thought of a repeat performance before calling it a night made Jerry’s cock twitch eagerly.

  Then a sobering thought struck him. “Wait. What number am I?”

  Quin half-turned in his embrace to look at him. “Number? What do you mean?”

  Jerry strummed his hand down Quin’s belly to tug at Quin’s dick. “I mean, how many other guys from work have you done this to? Found incriminating stuff on their computers so you blackmail them into sleeping with you?”

  “Did I blackmail you?” Quin asked. “As I recall, it was you who wanted to know if I had any plans for the night. I didn’t make you ask me out. Or feed me. Or fuck me.”

  “Maybe blackmail’s too harsh a word,” Jerry admitted. Hearing the words spoken in Quin’s overly rational, slightly sarcastic tone of voice, it did sound farfetched. Still… “You told me yourself that you’re the one who put the virus on my computer.”

  “Company orders,” Quin said. “Do you know how much time people spend at work doing non-work-related things? Posting on Facebook, playing poker, watching porn. I was told to come up with a program to prohibit that, so I did.”

  Jerry frowned. Why hadn’t he been told about it? Then again, if the IT department had said anything, it might’ve been couched in a memo full of tech-speak Jerry hadn’t bothered to read. “Back to my original question. How many other guys have you fucked over this?”

  “None, honest.” Quin turned onto his back now to be able to look directly at Jerry, and despite the low light, sincerity shone brightly in his large eyes. “Most of the stuff that comes through the filter is straight porn. I tag it, report it, and move onto the next instance. The way the virus works, the end-user isn’t supposed to know it’s installed. It runs silently in the background of the computer, funneling your browsing history to our main database. No one ever knows what we find or what we don’t until we turn it in.”

  “But it made my computer stop working,” Jerry reminded him. “How…?”

  “I did that.” A faint blush crept into Quin’s cheeks, pinking them and making him look impossibly young. “I’ve had it bad for you for weeks now, I have to admit. Ever since the staff meeting after I was hired. I doubt you remember…”

  Jerry wanted to say he did, but the truth was, he usually zoned out at staff meetings. New employees were never introduced, so it wasn’t as if his attention had been called on Quin. Except… “Wait, I do remember. You got up and gave some sort of spiel about why we should ditch Windows in the first place. I thought you maybe worked for Steve Jobs or something.”

  “I don’t know what you thought,” Quin admitted, “but the way you looked at me while I was at the front of the room made me think you were interested in something you saw.”

  Jerry couldn’t deny it—even if he didn’t remember checking out the new kid, he probably had done so. He never looked at someone, man or woman, without picturing them naked in his bed. Against Quin’s neck, Jerry growled, “Well, it sure as hell wasn’t the Macs, I can tell you that.”

  Quin snickered and twisted beneath him, but didn’t pull away. “When the virus went live, I signed up to monitor your feed. I didn’t think I’d find anything, really. I thought you were straight. Until—”

 
; “Until you started seeing the porn sites I frequent,” Jerry finished for him. Quin raised an eyebrow and gave a slight nod that settled his head into the hollow of Jerry’s throat. “So this has all been an elaborate ploy to meet me, is that it?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Quin hedged. “But when I saw you liked gay porn, I hoped maybe the office rumors were wrong and you really were into cock. And maybe, by extension, you could get into me.”

  “I haven’t been there yet,” Jerry reminded him.

  “The night’s still young,” Quin conceded.

  Assured that this wasn’t another bedpost notch in a string of ongoing office conquests, Jerry hugged Quin close. “I left the condoms on the end table. Think you can reach them?”

  Quin stretched an arm overhead and Jerry buried his face in the hair of Quin’s armpit. The bright tang of Old Spice deodorant filled his senses as the hairs tickled his nose. Jerry kissed the smooth skin just underneath Quin’s arm, then leaned forward, tongue licking out to tease Quin’s nearest nipple.

  He heard Quin’s fingers scrambling for the box, then the arm came down around Jerry’s neck in a loose chokehold. Quin shook the box, rattling the condoms inside. “Got it.”

  Setting his chin on Quin’s chest, Jerry looked at his young lover and smiled. “If you’re not too tired yet…”

  “I’m game if you are,” Quin replied.

  Jerry’s smile widened. “Then roll over. You’re right, the night’s young.”

  And here, now, with you, so am I, Jerry thought as Quin hurried to comply.

  THE END

  Rub Me the Right Way

  It wasn’t that Mitch Adams didn’t trust his boyfriend Daryl Danson. They’d been in an exclusive relationship for eight years, during the last five of which they had lived together. He knew Daryl wasn’t interested in other guys, and he knew Daryl loved him. Every day he heard those words, and he knew they were true. Mitch just didn’t like the fact that Daryl spent all his working hours touching other people’s bodies.

  * * * *

  The two men met at a rehabilitation facility Mitch’s doctor recommended after a bad car accident left him with constant shoulder pain. A state trooper, Mitch was on patrol late one night when a speeding motorist on the interstate zoomed past his speed trap going almost a hundred miles an hour. Mitch flipped on his lights and gave chase, but the hotshot lead-foot didn’t even slow. He radioed in for assistance, and was assured exit ramps were being monitored in case the motorist left the highway. When another trooper pulled out into the interstate ahead of the speeding vehicle, lights flashing, Mitch’s quarry must have pulled up on the hand brake and let off the gas because the car did a lazy three hundred sixty degree turn in the middle of all three lanes of traffic, then zoomed back Mitch’s way.

  He barely had time to react. His first instinct was to the turn the wheel, but he waited until the last possible moment to make sure the motorist hit the rear panel of his patrol car. The impact stopped the speeder, but it also dislocated Mitch’s shoulder in the process.

  The rehab facility was part of the Henrico Doctors’ Hospital network, and approved by Mitch’s health insurance. On his first visit, he spent most of the time filling out paperwork, which only made his shoulder ache worse. Then a young woman wrapped his arm and shoulder in hot towels, which felt heavenly. Then she gave Mitch a tennis ball to squeeze in his fist. “Really work it,” she said. “Make the muscles burn.”

  “They already do.” Mitch let his gaze roam around the room where he was seated. It was an open area filled with therapeutic toys, almost like a playground for injured adults. There were weights to lift, medicine balls to roll on, large rubber bands to pull taut. A handful of others were in the room, each focused on his or her own routine, each supervised by a licensed therapist.

  Then Mitch spotted Daryl. Tall, lithe, well-toned, Daryl had chiseled good looks and a mop of brown wavy hair. He was working with an older woman, coaxing her to keep moving on a slow treadmill. As Mitch watched, Daryl cheered the woman on, pretending to run alongside her to encourage her efforts. When he smiled, his eyes seemed to light up his entire face. Mitch wondered why he couldn’t have gotten someone that handsome as his therapist. Would it be rude if he asked to switch?

  He didn’t realize he was staring until Daryl glanced over at him, then did a double-take. The smile faded slightly as Daryl watched Mitch watch him. A long moment passed, something unspoken between them, something visceral and real. Then Mitch’s therapist stepped between them and sat down in front of him, blocking his view. “So, how are we doing?” she asked brightly.

  He wanted to ask her about Daryl, but didn’t want to sound creepy. Turned out he didn’t need to ask—Daryl was just as interested in him. As Mitch was signing out at the front desk after his session, Daryl came out of the room with his client. The older woman headed for the restroom, and Daryl stopped at Mitch’s side. Leaning onto the front desk, he looked at Mitch with an open expression. “Hey,” he said. “How’s your arm?”

  Mitch shrugged his shoulder and felt the muscle pull. “It’s been better,” he admitted. “The doctor says I’ll live, though. Mitch.”

  He stuck out his hand and Daryl shook it with a firm, steady grip. “Daryl.” Keeping Mitch’s hand in his, he took a step closer and lowered his voice. “I saw you looking earlier. Do you like what you see?”

  Mitch let his gaze drift down, appraising. This close, Daryl was sexier than he’d been halfway across the room. Tight muscles, flawless skin, pretty eyes. Kissable lips. “Oh hell yeah,” Mitch breathed.

  With his free hand, Daryl clapped Mitch’s elbow, then massaged the tense muscles in Mitch’s upper arm. “You know, a massage would work wonders on this arm.”

  “The doctor said to take it easy,” Mitch said with a laugh. “I don’t want to ruin this shoulder.”

  Daryl gave him a coy smile. “I’ll be gentle. If you’re interested…”

  Of course Mitch was.

  * * * *

  Eight years later, Daryl couldn’t imagine not having Mitch in his life. When they met, Daryl was instantly attracted to the older state trooper—something about the way Mitch’s dark hair was already peppered with gray, or the ramrod way he held his shoulders back, or the way his jeans hung on his hips. Daryl couldn’t put his finger on it, but when he saw Mitch eyeing him from across the room, he knew he wasn’t going to let the man walk out of his life so easily.

  Daryl was always outgoing, bordering on flamboyant at times. He was quick to laugh and makes friends easily. Mitch, on the other hand, was quiet and reserved. His bulky frame filled out his uniform nicely. With his trim beard and mustache, his carefully groomed hair, and the thick, curly hair covering his arms and legs and chest, he looked like a gruff teddy bear. The first thing Daryl thought when he saw the dark hair on Mitch’s arms was, I wonder what that looks like between his legs.

  He knew he had to find out.

  Their first date ended with Daryl inviting Mitch into the small apartment he shared with his friend Wanda. The sight of the large man stretched out on his flannel sheets was an invitation Daryl couldn’t resist. As he warmed a tube of massage oil between his hands, he said, “I can take a look at that shoulder for you now, if you want.”

  “Is that all you want to look at?” Mitch countered.

  Daryl heard the soft sigh of fabric and turned to find Mitch bare-chested, his shirt discarded on the floor, his fingers already loosening the belt on his jeans. In two steps, Daryl was beside him, hands delving into the carpet of hair darkening Mitch’s pecs.

  “You like?” Mitch asked, a coy sparkle in his eyes.

  “I love,” Daryl admitted. Spreading his legs, he straddled Mitch’s knees and ran both hands through the chest hair. He loved a manly man, and Mitch fit the bill exactly. He bent down to rub his clean-shaven chin across Mitch’s muscles, feeling the pert nipples scrape across his skin. “Are you this hairy all over?”

  “Get me out of these jeans and I’ll let you fi
nd out,” Mitch teased.

  He wrapped an arm around Daryl’s waist, a heavy, welcome weight. Daryl didn’t want to move too far away, so he slid off Mitch’s lap onto the bed beside the trooper. Mitch lay back, unzipped his jeans, and shucked both them and his briefs to his knees with a fluid, well-rehearsed move. A fat cock jutted to attention from a mat of curly, kinked hair. Daryl couldn’t keep his hands from plunging into the dense forest of pubes.

  Pressing his face to Mitch’s crotch, he breathed in deep the heady, musky scent. “God, I love a man with hair,” he moaned.

  Mitch’s cock twitched at Daryl’s words. A firm hand clasped his neck, holding him in place. “You could’ve fooled me,” Mitch teased. “You’re as about as hairless as a school boy.”

  “My Native American roots,” Daryl said, rubbing his cheek over the soft down of Mitch’s pubes. “I only have to shave like once a week, if that. I have like three hairs on my chest.”

  Mitch laughed.

  “I’m serious.” Daryl grinned, his gaze roaming over the expanse of bare skin to meet Mitch’s. “I counted them. I get a haircut once a year whether I need one or not.”

  “So you like bears,” Mitch said. It wasn’t quite a question, but Daryl could hear the hope in his voice.

  “I like you,” Daryl corrected. “You know what I’d like? To bend you over and slick down all the hair around your asshole with my tongue.”

  Mitch’s cock twitched again as if eager to get things started between them. “Then what?”

  Raising his hand, Daryl trailed a finger from the head of Mitch’s dick down the underside of its length, over the fuzzy nuts, then down into the V of Mitch’s legs. He tickled hidden skin, feeling it press around his digit as he sought the tight, puckered hole at Mitch’s center. When he found it, he breeched it ever so slightly with the tip of his finger. “I want in there,” Daryl whispered.