Office Romance Box Set

by J. M. Snyder

  A faint knock on the door interrupts them. As they part, Tim stares down at Bryce, his hunger raw in his eyes. “Come in,” he calls out.

  Bryce looks past Tim as the door opens and Alecia peeks inside. “Hey,” she says, apologetic, “your next interview is here. Should I tell him you’re busy, or…?”

  “I’ll be right there.” Bryce smooths down his jacket and gives Tim a quick grin. “You I’ll see at eleven.”

  Tim lets out a low, sexy growl. “Do you seriously expect me to wait that long?”

  Reaching out to straighten his lover’s tie, Bryce laughs. “Yes, sir, I do.”

  * * * *

  Though he’s tempted to rush through the second interview, Bryce doesn’t allow himself to. His conference with Tim is scheduled for eleven. If he moves it up sooner, someone in the office may say something—someone like Alecia, who already has her suspicions about her boss and his executive assistant, Bryce knows. So he takes his time, drawing out the second candidate with boring questions about past work experience he really isn’t interested in, trying hard not to check his watch every few minutes, and ignoring the vibrating cell phone in his pocket. He knows Tim is texting him just to test his willpower. When the potential employee leaves at quarter til and Bryce finally checks his messages, the latest one reads, Is it 11 yet?

  Bryce texts back, Close enough.

  As Bryce passes her desk, Alecia looks up with a smile. “What did you think of those two? Will they work out?”

  “I think they’re both perfect for the position,” Bryce tells her. “We still have a few left to interview this week, don’t we?”

  Alecia glances at a stack of folders on her desk. “Five. That Jackson lady told me she hit on you. Gah, was she embarrassed! Kept asking if I thought it would hurt her chances of getting the job.”

  If Mr. Eckhart has any say in it, Bryce thinks, but he doesn’t say that out loud. Instead, he simply gives Alecia an indulgent grin and shakes his head. “An honest mistake. I can’t help it if she thinks I’m all that.”

  Alecia snorts with laughter.

  “It’s the ones who persist after you say no who you have to kick to the curb,” Bryce points out.

  Before Alecia can reply, the phone on her desk buzzes. She answers it and. almost immediately. her gaze flickers to Bryce, so he knows whoever’s on the other end asks about him. “Yes, sir,” she says. “He’s right here. Okay, I’ll tell him.”

  As she hangs up, Bryce says, “Let me guess. He’s looking for me.”

  “He says you’re going to be late for your conference,” Alecia tells him with an apologetic shrug.

  “I say his clock’s off,” Bryce jokes. “Hold our calls, will you? We may be a while.”

  * * * *

  The door to Mr. Eckhart’s office is open, as it usually is when he isn’t in a phone meeting or a conference with Bryce. He likes to think of himself as accessible to his employees, though in reality, most of them who might have something to say stop at Alecia’s desk. A few make it past her to Bryce’s, but it’s rare if any actually bother Mr. Eckhart. He has a business to run. He doesn’t have time for petty squabbles and complaints about the coffee. That’s part of Bryce’s job description.

  As are the daily conferences Bryce has with his boss. Those are one of the better aspects of his position, he must admit.

  Bryce breezes through Mr. Eckhart’s door and closes it behind him. Mr. Eckhart is seated at his desk, the folder for the Japanese account open before him, his attention divided between it and the computer monitor. The occasional click from the keyboard tells Bryce his boss is taking notes on the file, most likely in preparation for this afternoon’s telephone call. But it’s now eleven, and the door is shut. Just to be sure, Bryce makes a show of checking his watch.

  Eleven-oh-one. He looks at Tim, who studies the monitor and doesn’t glance over at him. What happened to his ardent urgency a moment ago?

  Two can play this game, Bryce thinks. Crossing the room, he opens one of the cabinets along the wall and starts to prepare for their conference. On his first visit to Mr. Eckhart’s office, he could have never guessed at what all was hidden behind the unassuming wooden panels, but in the years he’s been Tim’s yes-man, he’s learned the ins and outs of their contents. There’s a dry bar, as he suspected then, and he takes his time pouring a tumbler of whiskey. Over his shoulder, he says casually, “You have ten seconds to finish what you’re doing or we’ll reschedule this for another time.”

  Behind him, he hears the keyboard clatter importantly. Tim assures him, “I’m almost done—”

  “Might I remind you,” Bryce interrupts, “when that door is closed during our conferences, you no longer call the shots?”

  He tries again. “Just a few more—”

  “And there’s only one thing I want to hear out of your mouth,” Bryce continues, “until that door opens again. And what is that?”

  Meekly, Tim admits, “Yes, sir.”

  Bryce sips his whiskey, savoring the smooth burn down the back of his throat. “Good. So are you finished being insolent and ready to begin?”

  One final tap on the keyboard, almost defiant, then the wheels on Tim’s chair squeak faintly as he pushes away from the desk. “Yes, sir.”

  “The sofa, then.” Bryce leaves his drink on the bar and goes to another cabinet, which he opens to reveal drawers set flush into the wall. The bottles in the top drawer rattle as he opens it—lubricants of every scent and flavor and type. He wants something silky and smooth, something silicon-based, something…ah, here it is. A tube that claims to contain liquid ball bearings. Odorless, tasteless, slick but not greasy. His preferred brand. He doesn’t like to stain his business suits, or leave behind oily patches on the leather sofa he can’t clean away easily.

  When he turns around, Tim sits on one of the sofas, one leg crossed over one knee. He’s removed his jacket, which rests folded up across the back of the sofa, but his tie is still snug against his throat, and his cuffs are still buttoned. A relaxed business-man pose.

  With a smirk, Bryce asks, “Did I say sit?”

  Tim rolls his eyes as he hauls himself to his feet. “You’re being a bit of a pill today, you know that?”

  “You’re not listening very well, are you?” Bryce counters. “What happened to yes, sir?”

  Tim starts, “You didn’t ask—”

  But Bryce cuts him off. “It was rhetorical. You know the rules; you set them up yourself. Another word that isn’t yes or sir and this ends, got that? Don’t make that face at me. Unbuckle your belt.”

  Pressing his lips together to keep from saying anything that might put a stop to the proceedings, Tim obeys. He unbuckles his belt, then goes a step further and begins to pull it off.

  By this time, Bryce is in another draw, picking through a box of condoms. He likes to keep five or six on him at all times—he doesn’t necessarily use that many, but he never knows if one will break or if they may be up for a second or third round before the conference is over, and the last thing he wants is to stop in the middle of things to get another rubber. When he sees movement out of the corner of his eye, he half-turns and sees Tim, belt in hand, struggling to get it free from one of the loops on his pants.

  “Did I tell you to take it off?” Bryce asks softly.

  Tim freezes. The correct answer is, of course, no, sir, but Bryce has already said anything other than yes will end things. But saying yes would be a lie. It’s a catch-22, and Bryce fights the urge to laugh as he watches the struggle to answer flicker across Tim’s handsome face. Yes, no? In the end, he decides to say nothing at all and drops both hands, leaving his belt to dangle from his waist, longer on the left side than on the right. His pants sag a little from the sudden lack of support.

  Half to himself, Bryce mutters, “What am I going to do with you today?”

  Again, Tim stays silent.

  Bryce pockets the condoms and the lube in his suit jacket, then closes the cabinet door. Returns to the dry bar
, tosses back his drink, and lets out a satisfied sigh as he loosens his necktie. He works a finger under the knot and slips it out easily, pulling the skinny end free and tugging the whole thing out from his collar. When he turns to face Tim, the tie is snaked between the fingers of one hand, waiting.

  “Since you’re having trouble listening to me today,” Bryce says, closing the distance between them, “here’s what we’re going to do. Hands behind your back.”

  Tim opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Bryce cautions, “Ah! The wrong word and this ends. Remember that.”

  Those piercing blue eyes turn downcast, hidden by the thick lashes Bryce likes to run his thumb over when they’re cuddling together in bed. But there’s no time for cuddling in the office; Tim has certain needs he wants fulfilled while he’s on the clock, and that was the reason he hired Bryce in the first place. The fact that they ended up falling in love was an added bonus. Who they are at home, outside of work, has little to do with who they are here, now. In their bedroom, there is no dominance, no submissiveness, nothing but love.

  Here, though. Here Tim wants someone to keep him from becoming the egotistical corporate megalomaniac he fears he might turn into one day. Someone to ground him into reality. Someone to debase him. To bring him low.

  And get him off while doing it.

  Get them both off.

  Again, Bryce says, “Hands behind your back.”

  This time, Tim responds, “Yes, sir.” His arms fold around behind him, wrists crossed at the base of his spine. He half-turns when Bryce steps up to him, offering himself like a sacrifice.

  Quickly, Bryce secures Tim’s wrists in place with his tie. “I know this isn’t foolproof,” he says, testing the slipknot. “It isn’t meant to keep you from busting loose or anything. I just want you to stop jumping ahead and wait for me to tell you what to do, you hear?”

  Tim’s reply is quicker this time, more sure. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” Bryce gives the tie one last tug, then leans against Tim’s arm to press his lips against his lover’s cheek. One hand trails down the front of Tim’s shirt, over the buttons, down to the fly of his pants. Deftly Bryce unzips the fly and slips his fingers inside, pushing against the outline of Tim’s cock through the jockstrap his lover wears. Against Tim’s cheek, Bryce murmurs, “Look at me.”

  When Tim does as instructed, Bryce closes his mouth over Tim’s in a crushing kiss. His tongue delves between Tim’s lips, demanding, eager. He can play whatever part Tim wants him to, but he can’t deny how much he needs this man, right here, right now.

  As he pulls back slightly, breaking their kiss, he whispers against Tim’s cheek, “You were being a little insolent earlier, weren’t you?”

  Lowering his forehead to Bryce’s, Tim murmurs, “Yes, sir.”

  With a smile, Bryce slides Tim’s belt free from his pants, which sag farther down his hips. “I’m going to have to do something about that.”

  Tim’s whole body quivers against Bryce’s. Even though he shouldn’t, Bryce knows he knows he shouldn’t, Tim sighs, “Please.”

  One good yank sends Tim’s slacks puddling to the floor at his feet. He wears a jockstrap underneath because he likes the feel of the rough fabric against his ass during the day, or so he’s told Bryce. The front of the jock bulges against his erection, and Bryce squeezes it until Tim gasps in delight. “Yes,” he hisses, arms locked, teeth clenched, every muscle strained. His hips thrust forward, shoving his cock into Bryce’s palm. “Please.”

  Bryce’s grip tightens almost painfully. “Don’t push me. Any word other than yes and this ends. That’s your rule, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Tim cries out. He wants to say more, Bryce can tell, but he bites back whatever else might be on the tip of his tongue and stays silent.

  Good.

  Bryce relaxes his fingers and massages Tim’s dick through the front of the jockstrap. Already the fabric is damp with precome. Tracing the hemline of the jock around Tim’s genitals, Bryce tickles up under the cup, behind Tim’s balls, and finds the sweet spot that always makes Tim’s breath catch in the back of his throat. “Ye-ye-ye-ye-yes,” he sighs, burying his face against Bryce’s neck. “Oh yes, oh please, oh God, oh please, oh yes, please, please, yes.”

  Bryce ignores Tim’s inability to remember the rules for the moment and eases his finger farther, working it between his lover’s legs, angling for the puckered hole at the center of Tim’s being. He feels muscles spasming as he nears, trying to draw him in, and Tim’s words dissolve into hitched breaths hot against Bryce’s shoulder. “Yeah, gah, pluh, yeah, uh, uh, uh.”

  It’s a heady thought for Bryce, to know he can bring the head of a large company to such a primal state. His palm and wrist are damp with precome that has sopped through Tim’s jockstrap, and his jacket is slick with Tim’s sweat and spit. When he turns towards his lover, Tim’s lips latch onto his with a determined possessiveness almost animalistic and raw with desire.

  You, Tim says, not with words but in the way his tongue fills Bryce’s mouth, the way his lips clamp onto Bryce’s. I want you, only you, and no other.

  Heady, indeed.

  Still, Bryce needs to take charge. That’s his role in this; that’s why Tim hired him initially, no matter how their relationship may have deepened or matured over the five years they’ve been together. So when his finger finds Tim’s tightened anus, he rims the furrow and dips inside, just a tease of a touch, before pulling back. He gives Tim’s dick a tweak in passing, snaps the side of the jockstrap in jest, and gently places his hand flat on his lover’s lower belly. He slides his palm up under Tim’s shirt, changes his mind and unbuttons it halfway up instead and rubs Tim’s flat stomach on his way to one ruddy nipple, which he pinches erect. Then he ends their kiss, keeping that hand firm on Tim’s chest to keep Tim from persisting for more.

  Softly, he says, “Bend over.”

  Tim gasps. His mouth opens and closes, working like a fish out of water, as if he wants to say something he knows he shouldn’t. In the end, he settles for, “Yes, sir,” and bends forward from the waist.

  That isn’t quite what Bryce had in mind, and he thinks Tim knows it.

  “Why are you being so difficult today?” he asks. Tim’s belt is still in one hand; now he loops it into his fist and slaps it against his open palm, enjoying the sting on his flesh, the resounding smack it makes. “Turn.”

  Tim stands and turns, his back to Bryce, who closes his eyes in frustration. “Are you being deliberately obtuse?” he asks. “I didn’t say stand up.”

  Before Tim can respond in any way, Bryce lashes out with the belt. The leather strap catches Tim across his bare buttocks, raising an instant red welt across both cheeks. In surprise Tim yelps and jumps. Bryce can’t deny the sudden redness on his lover’s creamy skin turns him on—his own cock, which had been semi-hard ever since he closed the door to Tim’s office, jolts to life in his trousers as if goosed.

  “Now, I’ll tell you again,” Bryce says. “Bend over.”

  This time when Tim leans forward, his upper body is angled over the leather sofa, his ass jutting out towards Bryce. His tied hands rest awkwardly on his lower back. For a long moment, Bryce savors the sight of his lover’s inviting ass, cheeks spread, bud puckered like a kiss in between them. He rubs the front of his slacks, feeling his zipper press against his erection, then unzips and pulls out his dick to stroke it as he studies Tim’s ass. “What a sight.”

  Face first in the sofa cushions, Tim’s voice is muffled. “Yes, sir.”

  Is that a smart reply? Bryce thinks maybe so…just to be certain, he slaps Tim’s buttocks with the belt again. He likes the crack of leather on skin, the yelp that escapes Tim’s throat, the way that pink bloom in the middle of Tim’s cheeks flared dark for a second when it clenched. He likes the redness, the sore flesh, the tiny burst capillaries like freckles rising to the surface of Tim’s fair skin.

  Digging out the lubricant from his pocket, he squirt
s a healthy dollop in his palm and slathers it along his length. He fucks into his hand, kneading and massaging his cock, working it erect. Then he runs the rest of the silky lube down the crack in Tim’s ass, smoothing it over the reddened skin, rubbing it between Tim’s butt cheeks, rimming it around Tim’s anus. He dribbles it over the damp jockstrap, too, tucking two fingers into the cup from behind to coat Tim’s balls and what he can reach of Tim’s dick from this angle.

  Beneath him on the sofa, his lover writhes with delight. His gasps are half-lost in the sofa cushions. One word, over and over again, as he squirms beneath Bryce’s touch. “Yes!”

  Next Bryce loosens the tie around Tim’s hands, but he doesn’t free his lover completely. No—Bryce simply guides Tim’s hands down farther, pulling them below him butt so they’re against the back of his thighs. His body compacts a little, his chest tucking in towards his legs, his knees now on the sofa, his ass really high in the air. His buttocks are spread wide, just as Bryce wants them. “Yes,” Tim sobs, head in the crook of space where the arm of the sofa meets the back, face turned to one side for fresh air.

  “You want more?” Bryce asks him.

  Tim wriggles his hips for emphasis. “Yes, sir! Please—”

  Bryce cuts him off with another stinging slap of the belt. “You’re not very good at obeying orders today. I don’t think I’m getting through to you.”

  “Maybe you should spank me again,” Tim says cheekily.

  Bryce does so, harder this time, and Tim squeals as the leather strop slaps his ass. “Yes!” he cries out, hands clenching into fists. “Again!”

  Now Bryce gets it. This isn’t discipline; it’s what Tim wants. Well, two can play that game. Quickly he extracts a condom from his pocket, unwraps it, and rolls it onto his rock-hard cock. He smacks Tim with the belt again, libido rising at his lover’s obvious delight in the light bondage play. “I think you like this,” he says.