Not Safe For Work

by L. A. Witt

  Not Safe for Work

  by

  L.A. Witt

  Copyright Information

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Second edition

  Copyright © 2017 L.A. Witt

  First edition published by Samhain Publishing, 2015-2017.

  Cover Art by Lori Witt

  Editor: Linda Ingmanson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact L.A. Witt at gallagherwitt@gmail.com

  ISBN: 978-1-943426-59-1

  Not Safe For Work

  Bored senseless in a meeting, Jon McNeill amuses himself with a kinky dating app on his phone. Then the app matches him with another user…who’s six feet away. Suddenly Jon finds himself on the same page as someone who’s way above his pay grade: Millionaire property developer Rick Pierce.

  The app isn’t kidding, either. They’re a perfect match. Jon’s a Dom, Rick’s a sub, and they both love bondage. Both guys are well into their forties, know their way around the bedroom, and definitely appreciate a good suit. And the best part? They’re a match outside the bedroom too.

  But office relationships aren’t easy to keep a secret. When the truth comes out, Jon is certain he’s about to get fired. Instead, he finds himself tangled up in a much bigger mess.

  Contains two men who’ve only dreamed of this kind of sex, literal and figurative sex machines, blindfolds, a sub being punished during a business meeting, enough rope to tangle up a millionaire, and a Golden Girls marathon.

  This 104,000 word novel was previously published.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  It all started with an app that I knew better than to check at work.

  I especially knew better than to check it during a meeting. I mean, I was not one to fuck around on my phone during meetings in the first place. If I did, I sure as hell didn’t load anything besides my e-mail and maybe some social media, just in case someone glanced over my shoulder.

  Most of the time, I sat there and paid attention—or, like I had in high school, at least made a damned good effort to come across that way—even when there was no rational reason for me to be parked in a chair in a conference room instead of working. I didn’t bitch (much). Not even when my boss inevitably bitched at me later for being behind on the project I physically couldn’t work on while I was in Meeting Purgatory with her.

  That day, my patience ran out. I already knew I’d be working late tonight because every minute I spent in here, listening to the architects and the property developers drone on and on about every fucking detail of their newest project, was another minute I wasn’t downstairs working. Once this meeting was over, my boss and the other architect would be on my ass about the model I needed to build—a to-scale rendering of the project they were all discussing. Ninety minutes into this, I could already hear them asking why the hell I hadn’t made any progress since lunch.

  So, fuck it. If they were going to kill my Friday night and likely my weekend, then I was mentally checking out. Perhaps not my most mature moment, but I’d been out of coffee for forty-five minutes, so I didn’t care.

  Carefully sitting back and leaning my binder up on the edge of the table, I surreptitiously propped my phone against the notebook. It was completely out of sight from anyone else in the room, and the sound was, of course, turned off. Perfect.

  E-mail. Check.

  Facebook. Check.

  Twitter. Check.

  Facebook. Again. Check.

  Meeting… Still going.

  I listened for a few minutes to make sure they hadn’t gone off on some topic I needed to know about—they hadn’t—and shifted my attention back to my phone. At the bottom of the screen, a newish icon caught my eye. The little pair of crudely drawn handcuffs was tempting. So, so tempting.

  No, better not. I’d only had the app for a couple of weeks, so it was still shiny and novel, but definitely not one I should be checking at work. Even if I wasn’t in a meeting. Which I was.

  Then again, no one could see my phone.

  No one was discussing anything that needed my input. None of my crew—the drafters and modelers I worked with on a daily basis—were here to sneak a glance over my shoulder, hoping to catch something they could razz me about until the end of time.

  Nobody had to know.

  Oh, what the hell?

  I clicked on the app and got a little electric thrill when the Searching For Kinky Singles In Your Area…popped up. I hadn’t had much luck on here lately, but I also hadn’t checked it in a few days. And, well, hope sprang eternal. An app that found kinky people the way Grindr and Tindr found casual hookups? Hell yeah.

  Found—17 possible matches.

  Seventeen? Last time, it had been fourteen, so that was an improvement. I tapped Show Me Matches, which I’d already set to Sort by Proximity.

  Last time, the nearest potential match had shown as five miles away, which had been surprisingly close. Sitting in a meeting with my boss, one of the firm’s partners and a few reps from our multimillion-dollar client, I was not prepared for what came up on my screen.

  Nearest Match—6 feet away from you.

  My heart stopped.

  And then I realized the match’s icon was green. They were not only in this room, they were online. They’d been active within the last few minutes. They could see me online and active.

  No. No way. That had to be a mistake. Someone’s profile had the wrong location. Could’ve been someone on the floor above or below me. Maybe something in the building was interfering with the app or my GPS or something. There was no way in hell someone else in this room was viewing the same app and had been matched to me.

  I lifted my gaze and cast a sweeping glance around the room.

  Bob Mitchell, the partner, was still droning on about something. Dion Young, the gorgeous CFO of the client, Horizon Developing, had his phone out, but it was facedown on the table and hadn’t moved.

  My eyes halted on my boss, Marie.

  It couldn’t be her. Even if she was kinky—and I suspected sometimes that she was—my filters were extremely tight. I was specifically looking for a submissive, and the vibe she gave off pinged very, very heavily on the dominant end of the spectrum. It wasn’t unusual for management types to be subs, but I’d have
been shocked if Marie had ever submitted in her life.

  Besides, I’d also specifically filtered my profile for male submissive. I hadn’t even listed myself as bisexual because lately I’d been in the mood for someone very subby and very male.

  So, not Marie.

  I gulped and continued scanning the group.

  My gaze landed right on Rick Pierce. The CEO of Horizon Developing. The wealthiest and most ambitious client who’d set foot in this firm in decades. The man who I was sure was the sole reason the suit had been invented.

  And he was looking right back at me.

  With his phone in his hand.

  I raised my eyebrow. He quickly dropped his gaze.

  Oh. Busted.

  The entire Internet could not have contained the sheer volume of images that suddenly flooded my mind. Rick’s brown hair—which was perfectly windswept right now—all messed up and dripping with sweat. A welt on his wrist that that shiny Rolex couldn’t quite cover. This powerful CEO who was always the very picture of boldness and elegance, kneeling naked at my feet, eyes wide and glazed, hands bound and shaking…

  And suddenly my binder was hiding more than just my phone.

  Chin down, Rick stole a glance at me from the corner of his eye. I chanced a subtle grin, one I was sure no one would notice but him, and I was rewarded with a little hitch in his breath just before he shifted his attention back to Mr. Mitchell.

  Holy shit.

  If we’d connected on the app, then there were things I knew without a doubt about Rick Pierce. He was either gay or bisexual. He wasn’t in a relationship. He was submissive. He liked to be bound. He liked to be watched.

  I shifted in my chair, hoping like hell this meeting didn’t end until I got this hard-on under control. That wasn’t an easy task. Not when I knew Rick was the type who absolutely combined kink and sex, as opposed to the guys who liked one or the other.

  There were a few things up in the air, though. He was submissive, but did he prefer top or bottom when he fucked? God, if he likes both…

  I shivered.

  “Jon?” Marie startled me, and my head snapped toward her.

  “Hmm?”

  She inclined her head slightly, eyeing me over her glasses. “Did you have anything to add?”

  Add to what?

  I cleared my throat and sat up, and as I lay my notebook on the table, my phone clattered to the floor, and I suddenly had a vision of it landing faceup with the incriminating app wide open for all to see. “Um.” I coughed again. “No. No, I…” Have nothing to add because I have no idea what we’re talking about.

  Marie’s lips quirked and her eyebrow rose, and I knew I’d be hearing about this later. She sighed. “What’s your ETA on the models for this project?”

  It’d be a hell of a lot sooner if you didn’t keep dragging me into these meetings.

  “I’ll need to check with my crew about—”

  “Can it be finished by Monday morning?” Marie broke in.

  Yep. There goes my weekend.

  “If Teagan and I work through the weekend, yes.”

  Marie was about to speak, but Rick broke in.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary.” He folded his long fingers on top of his phone. “As long as I have something for the board of directors by close of business Wednesday, that would be fine.”

  His eyes darted toward me, and the faintest upward flick of his eyebrow added You’re welcome.

  Marie pushed out a sharp, impatient breath. “Okay. Wednesday morning, then?”

  Tuesday morning or you’re dead meat, her arched eyebrow added.

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “Totally doable.”

  And like clockwork, Marie busting my balls in front of clients and colleagues took care of that troublesome hard-on.

  Minutes later, the meeting had wrapped up. Marie and Mitchell were busy shaking hands with the clients—kissing their asses, more like—so I picked my phone up off the floor and made the quickest escape I could. I stopped for a brief conversation with Horizon Developing’s facilities director, who was really the only one I had any reason to talk to about this project, and then slipped out of the conference room.

  I suddenly couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse that Rick and Dion were here so often. Their near-constant presence was unusual, but then again, so was a client with that many projects going at the same time. So they were here all the time. They’d be here all the time even after today. Even after Rick Pierce and I had connected where we had no business connecting.

  These meetings—which happened at least two or three times a week—were either going to get really interesting or really awkward.

  At the elevator, I pressed the down button and waited.

  Footsteps. Sharp, fast—definitely dress shoes, but not high heels like Marie wore.

  I gulped as the steps closed in. It’s him, isn’t it? The brushed stainless finish on the elevator doors revealed nothing, not even a faint reflection to let me know if it was tall, broad-shouldered Rick or his stockier CFO, or—

  He was suddenly right beside me, and no, it wasn’t the CFO.

  The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.

  Without so much as a look beside me, I stepped into the elevator, and when I turned around, yep, there he was.

  He flashed a faint grin. Then he joined me.

  “Second floor,” I said with just a hint of my Dom voice.

  Immediately, he pressed the button, followed by the parking garage for himself and the Close Doors button.

  Standing beside me, facing forward, he waited until the doors had shut. Then, without turning, he said, “Does this mean your weekend is free?”

  I somehow managed to choke out, “It is now.”

  He glanced at me, and there was that grin again.

  You’re a bratty sub, aren’t you?

  I shivered. A fully compliant submissive was fun, but nothing made my mouth water like one who needed some…encouragement.

  I muffled a cough. “I kind of feel like I owe you a drink after that.”

  He reached into his pocket, and, just as the elevator stopped on the second floor, he handed me a card. “If you text me a time and place, I’ll be there.”

  I took the card. Disbelieving and more than a little dumbstruck, I stepped off the elevator. I stared at the card, and it took a second to realize he’d handwritten his cell phone number on it. This wasn’t real, was it?

  I looked up to ask if he was serious, but the elevator doors shut, and he was gone.

  And I just stood there like an idiot. I had Rick Pierce’s phone number in my hand and a list of his kinks in my back pocket. He’d all but extended the invitation.

  For a submissive, he was pretty forward. Not quite demanding, but certainly assertive, backing it up with those devilish looks that dared me to do something about it.

  Still standing there in front of the elevator, I grinned. Yeah, I’d have a drink with Rick.

  And then I’d use the weekend he’d secured me to let him know who was boss.

  Chapter Two

  Throughout the day, in between working and texting with Rick, I must’ve read his profile a hundred times. I was still convinced he was miles out of my league, but the more I read his answers… Jesus. We were a match. He liked bondage. He liked to be dominated. Pain was fun, but he could take it or leave it.

  By the time the workday was over, I was absolutely useless to the firm. My mind was a million miles away, especially once we’d nailed down a time and place to meet tonight. Seven thirty. Hank’s Place, a relatively quiet bar on the other side of town. That gave me enough time to run home, grab a shower and get there with a few minutes to spare. I hated being late, and if Rick knew what was good for him, so did he.

  I arrived early and parked on the bottom level of a garage shared with several other shops and restaurants. The garage was huge and probably wouldn’t get crowded on a weeknight, but I liked to avoid door dings and people who insisted on parking so cl
ose I couldn’t get in and out of my car. I also figured the short walk up to the bar would be enough time for me to shake off these nerves that I didn’t remember ever having before about two o’clock this afternoon.

  As I crossed the mostly vacant level, I tucked my hands into my pockets and took a few slow breaths. A tingle of dread started working its way up my spine. Was I really meeting Rick Pierce for a drink? And seriously considering… God, what wasn’t I seriously considering with him? In my mind, I’d already tied him, flogged him, fucked him—it was hard to believe those fantasies were actually on the table.

  This is insane. You are asking to get fired.

  Just outside the bar, I hesitated. Mitchell & Forsythe had relentlessly wooed Rick’s company like broke kids sucking up to rich, dying relatives. Our firm was huge compared to most architectural firms, and had taken a massive hit when the economy tanked. Before Horizon Developing had signed with us, there’d been rumors of impending layoffs. I’d heard from more than one reliable source that the first Horizon Developing contract—not to mention the numerous ones that continued to come after—had literally been the difference between the firm staying alive or shutting down. There was a reason my bosses never objected to the countless, endless meetings and brainstorming sessions the Horizon people demanded.

  Hell, if anyone so much as stepped in front of Rick or his CFO in the elevator, their job was on the line. We’d all been told repeatedly that what Rick Pierce wanted, Rick Pierce got, because there was no way in hell we could afford to lose his business. Whenever anyone at Horizon Developing said jump, the collective staff of Mitchell & Forsythe said how high. I really, really didn’t relish the idea of him telling the partners he was taking his money elsewhere because a date—or a kinky scene—with one of their lowly modelers had gone sour.

  No pressure or anything.

  But it was too late to back out now. Standing him up would likely not bode well for keeping my job.