The Intern
An MM Office Romance
Serena Akeroyd
Copyright © 2020 by Serena Akeroyd
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
PLAYLIST
Alert! Alert!
1. Devlin
2. Micah
3. Devlin
4. Micah
5. Devlin
6. Micah
7. Devlin
8. Devlin
9. Micah
10. Devlin
11. Micah
12. Micah
13. Devlin
14. Micah
15. Micah
16. Micah
17. Devlin
18. Micah
19. Micah
20. Devlin
21. Micah
22. Devlin
23. Micah
24. Devlin
25. Micah
26. Devlin
27. Micah
28. Devlin
29. Micah
30. Micah
31. Devlin
32. Micah
33. Devlin
34. Micah
Epilogue
Epilogue
Afterword
Free Book!
Connect with Serena
About the Author
PLAYLIST
If you’d like to hear a curated soundtrack, with songs that are featured in the book, as well as songs that inspired it, then here’s the link:
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5uNqJtIWAIVTTOgSdtaAhp
Alert! Alert!
So, a few things, my darlings,
ONE: I’m a Brit.
And yes, the things Devlin says are real words. LOL. We probably swear as much, if not more, than Americans. But I dialed it down for you guys. Still, be aware that Devlin uses British English terminology, and Micah American English.
TWO: The ‘f’ word of which Devlin speaks is frottage. When you come across that part of the book, you’ll know what I’m talking about. ;)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frot
Be warned, the link leads to a Wikipedia page with a graphic pic. Not as graphic as some of you might like ;) but there are other sites for that. LMAO.
You’re going to come across three inflammatory homophobic slurs in this book. I hated writing them but sadly, it defined a character, and I know you might think it worthy of including in a bad review, if that’s the case, I understand. As you can see, these characters live in the real world—homophobia exists. But, personally, I’d love to live in a world where love is love.
I pray that happens in my lifetime.
With that being said, I truly hope you enjoy my first foray into MM romance. I sure as hell loved writing it. I’ve only ever written RH with MM in it before, so this was definitely a change of pace… THE INTERN will not be my last MM romance. Of this I promise you, and I think that tells you how much fun I had writing Micah and Devlin’s story. ;) <3
Happy reading!
Love
Serena
xoxo
One
Devlin
It was the bite that grounded me, stirred me. Had need slapping me in the face and punching me in the gut.
The bite that turned an average hook-up into something intoxicating. Something delicious. Something raw.
I needed that.
I needed to feel the fierce edge of those teeth against my bottom lip. Needed the pain to make me feel something after this clusterfuck of a day.
He didn’t let go, either. He dug in, jerking me with him, and if I didn’t want to lose it, I had no choice but to follow.
And I did.
I followed.
I’d be crazy not to, wouldn’t I?
Not because I felt as if he’d tear it off, but because my dick was pounding from that alone, and my body was so beyond ready for more.
He relented, finally, giving way to the fact that my lip belonged to me and not to him, but only for a second. He thrust his tongue inside the hot cavern of my mouth, dragging his against mine, stirring sensations into being that I’d never bloody felt before. His aggression was frantic, and it stirred a need in me that had me groaning into him as he shoved me against the wall of the dark room.
His hands reached for mine, pinning them above my head, forcing me to stay still.
To relent to his will.
To not be the CEO of fucking Astley Publishing.
To be Devlin.
Fuck.
I shuddered as he pushed into my chest, and the scent of his sweat was phenomenal. Me, the clean freak, was in love with the salty tang that was peppered with lemongrass and mint. He smelled like a cocktail I wanted to dive headfirst into. I wanted to roll around in it, cover myself in his essence. Have my nose shoved into sheets that were coated in him.
But this wasn’t to be.
This was a hook-up.
A tawdry dark room in VICE, one of my pet projects that no one knew I owned, that I visited when the need for dick became something I couldn’t control.
I was Devlin Astley.
Devlin Astley, Viscount of Lynden, heir to the goddamn duchy of Keighly, could never like cock.
But in the shadows... In the depths of the night... In a club that was my dirty little secret, I could.
I could like whatever the fuck I wanted.
Be whomever I wanted.
Among the corridor of dark rooms, I could hear the sounds of men fucking just above the throbbing beats from the main club, and as sight was denied me, my hearing was working at fever pitch, making those grunts and the EDM feel like they were in my veins. In my body. Pumping me up, stirring me, rushing me with adrenaline that I wanted to burn off on this stranger.
His cock was big. I could feel the log against my belly, and wanted that ramming into me with the same ferocity as his kiss. I could already feel the burn in my ass, knew I’d feel that ache there tomorrow, and I wanted it so bloody much that I stopped letting him maul me. Instead, I shoved back, pushed forward so that he was against the wall this time, with me covering him.
He let me too. That surprised me. I’d almost wanted to tussle away in this darkened corner of VICE, but he allowed me to shove my dick against the flat planes of his stomach, allowed me to grind it against him, rocking my hips back and forth like I could get off that way.
I shoved my face into his throat, sucking on the tender flesh that scented of the aftershave I could drown in, and I nipped him. Hard. Enough for him to grunt. Enough for him to pause. To process.
To recognize it was a taunt.
He liked it.
I knew he did.
He wanted more.
I could feel it.
His stillness preempted what I’d hoped for—he twisted his arm and released himself from my hold, before he reached down and cupped my cock through my slacks. I’d come straight from the office, desperate for release, to be anything other than Devlin fucking Astley, so the fabric was soft, easy enough for him to shape me through it. He thrust his tongue against mine once more, dragging a moan from me as he cupped me, then, he freed his other hand and went to work on my zipper.
I groaned as skin met skin and he jacked me off, making no bones about it—being as firm and hard with his grip as he was with his bite. There was something no nonsense about him, like the orgasm was the end goal—I sure as hell wasn’t going to complain about that.
The thwap-t
hwap of my cock being wanked had me shuddering, then he tightened his grip to the point of pain and maneuvered me back against the wall with a silent threat if I didn’t comply.
I did.
Did I look like a fool?
And I was rewarded for my compliance when he pulled back from his kiss and dropped to his knees.
A startled cry escaped me when his lips, those soft goddamn lips that I’d felt against my own, encompassed the tip of my dick. I shuddered, shivering, crying out as he seemed to take me whole. No woman had ever done that, few men had either, so to feel every inch of me being swallowed was a luxury I’d never experienced. My hands fluttered at my sides, unsure of what to do, to cling to the wall or to grip him by the hair but I knew what these dark rooms looked like in the light.
Tiled walls that had seen more DNA than an episode of CSI. Unimaginative graffiti.
Why wouldn’t I prefer to hold him?
The crisp silk of his hair beneath my palms was as intoxicating as his smell, as his lips around my cock.
In my mind’s eye, I built a picture of him. He felt young. Younger than I’d usually go for. His aggression spoke of someone who was eager for this, who wanted it, but who was nervous. Something the tang of a whiskey sour on his breath confirmed—Dutch courage. He’d needed it to come in here.
The way he’d gone from eager beaver to letting me shove him against the wall, that also made me think he was younger than me. He wasn’t sure in his actions, would accept direction until I goaded him into his instincts taking over.
His hair drew me like a magnet, and my fingers crushed the artless fall of it as I raked his skull, grabbing a firm hold of him as he swallowed me down. I held onto him as he moved back and forth, his lips tightening, cheeks tunneling in so that they caressed my length as he sucked me, then, his hand moved to grab my balls and he rolled them in his palm, gently at first, taking care, before he pressed them together, squeezing them like they were ripe plums.
The startled cry that escaped me echoed around the room, prompting him to pause, before he carried on with what he was doing. The sudden rasps of my breath combined with the noise of him blowing me, and I had no choice but to choke out, “If you don’t stop, I’m going to come.”
He paused, not because I’d asked though. Americans—they were all the same. They loved a British accent. And I had the most English of English accents. Eton had seen to that.
A sigh escaped him as he moved over me, one last gut-wrenching swallow that made my eyes roll back into my head before he pulled back, peppering the tip of my eager cock with a kiss that had my eyelashes fluttering.
Tenderness.
Who was this man?
Hard and aggressive, needy and eager, then tender?
He didn’t belong here.
Not with the rough fucks, the dark and raw hook-ups that ended with cum splattered on the floor for my staff to clean up later—poor fuckers.
It was weird to feel like I was taking advantage of him, but I did.
Who was I to say that this was his first time in a dark room?
All I knew was that no one had ever kissed my cock after sucking me down like a champ... Yet that proved nothing.
With one hand on my dick that was drenched in his spit, he jacked me off again then ground his cock into me as he rumbled, “Turn around.”
I didn’t hesitate to comply, twisting so that my forearms pressed against the tiles as I stuck my ass out. He let go of my dick and went to work on my belt, then shoved the waistband down over my hips, not stopping until they were bunched around my knees.
His fingers smoothed over the taut swells of my butt, digging into the muscles with the tips as he scraped along the skin before he pulled the cheeks apart. I expected him to grind into me again, but he didn’t. He dropped to his knees once more, stunning the hell out of me as he shoved his face between them and licked the pucker, flickering his tongue along the rosette, prodding the hole, shoving it in, tasting me there with as much goddamn eagerness as he’d sucked me down earlier.
I groaned, long and low, especially when he reached around and jacked me off at the same time. That delicate flutter, the munching sounds, the feel of his fist around my cock—Jesus.
My eyes closed, my brow furrowed, and I had to focus on not coming. Yet again.
“I-I’m gonna come,” I rasped, wanting to be honest because this level of attention deserved that, at least.
This was the first time I’d felt seduced in a dark room, and fuck, I loved it.
He nipped at the side of my butt cheek, those fucking teeth stirring me to life yet again, making me clench down before he surged onto his feet once more. I heard his zipper, felt relief when his cock dropped against my butt, especially when I sensed his size.
A definite grower. The log of before was even bigger now.
Fuck, I’d get my wish of feeling that in the morning.
I’d have taken him dry—I was down for that shit sometimes, down for the grinding sensation that only spit would ease, that’d really make a memory—but I wasn’t disappointed when the stranger was prepared. He’d pulled something out of his pocket, two somethings, and I knew he’d covered his dick because the crinkling of the condom wrapper was unmistakable, and the squelchy splat sounds told me he was coating himself in lube.
Everything about a dark room was like asking for an STD. The shit we did, no questions asked—it was practically demanding trouble. But that was why we were here. Trouble.
Capital T.
Danger.
An insane need to feel alive by putting everything at risk.
He’d already sucked me down, licked my ass, what he thought he’d be spared with a condom was anyone’s guess, and I wasn’t about to argue... I just... I couldn’t get past the tenderness, the things he did that were different than any other dark room experience I’d had. If this was his first time, did I need to advise him?
My brain, my concerns, my stupidity were all abruptly yanked aside when his cock was there, at my asshole, and I felt the burn as he started to wedge himself inside.
He covered me from the back, his hands dragging out my hips so I had a deeper angle, and I let him position me, being docile when the last thing I was renowned for was that. I let him sink his dick into me, let him fuck me, let him, let him, let him.
And it felt so good. So fucking good. To just take it.
To have him ram into me, for his fingers to cover mine and to grip mine hard. For his mouth to nuzzle into my throat, to feel his teeth there as he held me in place much as if I was bucking away from him, trying to get free.
Freedom was what I found pinned in this position, however. I didn’t need to tussle with him. I just needed to be fucked.
Each thrust had my cock jerking, and every time he rocked against my prostate I saw goddamn stars. I closed my eyes, the scent of his sweat stronger now, the scent of my own filling the tiny space. The heat of us combined with the closed quarters gave everything a sultry tang, and I groaned, knowing when I left I’d smell of us both. Of this moment.
His hand released mine, but his teeth didn’t. He grunted, the sound jammed by my flesh between them, but he reached down and started to jack me off in time to each thrust. My ass clenched down around him, and the stars behind my eyes starting to ricochet like a game of pinball, shooting off into another stratosphere as I let out a sharp cry, my head bowing as he beat my dick with his fist, forcing the cum out of me, letting it spatter against the wall, allowing the pressure of being me to fold in on itself.
To breathe easier.
To lessen the weight on my shoulders.
To ease my grief, my stress, my regret.
He sped up as his own end approached, and his fingers dug into my hips, hard enough to bruise in the morning, and he growled long and low as the slap-slap of his hips against my butt echoed around the tiny room until he moaned. The sound small. Gentle. Especially in comparison to his pace, and I felt him—I fucking felt him come. I felt the heat even though hi
s cum was wasted in a condom. I felt his release, his need seeping away as his climax freed him from his own stressors.
With a final thrust, he came to a halt, and as he sagged against me, I didn’t have the heart to move away, to zip up and to get out of there.
I wanted a kiss.
God help me.
I wanted a soft, tender kiss from those pouty lips that had sucked me down, so I stayed there, remaining passive when I was anything but. He did what I thought he would, what confirmed my earlier beliefs—kissed the side of my throat before carefully pulling out of me. He twisted me around using the grip he had on my hips, dragged up my pants before carefully fastening the zipper with a gentle pat to my softened cock. I heard the rustling of his own zipper, and then, he was against me.
His mouth on mine once more.
Gentler now he’d come, now the pressure abated for him.
Softer, but still fierce.
Those kissing lips felt so good against mine that I reached up to rest my arms on his shoulders, to hold him in place as I sank into him and he sank into me.
The sudden cessation of sound outside didn’t register, neither did the soft beep that indicated the electricity had cut off. It was a boiling hot night in Manhattan, but these rooms weren’t serviced with AC. They didn’t even have an emergency exit light. The health inspector wasn’t exactly in the know about what this corridor of small ‘storage closets’ were used for once night fell.
The Intern: An MM Office Romance Page 1