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Chapter 4 - After Natasha left
"She seems nice." He said, staring at me intently.
"Don't play with me, Thomas." I could feel myself getting tense under his gaze. He had this soft smirk and stoic gaze that felt like it was ripping through my soul.
"Am I playing with you?"
I tried to will my cock to soften, but with that look, he was giving me, it just went the opposite direction.
"I think you may." I tried to get him to stop without explicitly telling him that the way he was staring at me was making me hard, and that made me uncomfortable.
"Would you like that?"
Would I? Maybe if I wasn't supposed to be the woman. Or would I anyway? Fuck. Stop hardening! Why is this stronger than me?
I glanced at the window and back to him as I started to feel uneasy. His deep baritone gave me this dominant vibe, and I didn't know how to work with that.
"You sound different than usual," I said.
"In what way?" Is he hitting on me? The slow, smooth voice was tempting me.
"I don't know. More direct." I mumbled, trying to sound composed even though I was anything but.
"I have always been direct, Mr. Sanders." Ok. He is definitely hitting on me.
He smiled in a way that made me shiver.
I realized we were entering dangerous territory. I could see myself fucking Thomas as some improbable scenario in my head but being the one with the legs spread for him turned out to be a more daunting idea than the one I initially thought about. I turned my eyes away from his and realized I was drawn again to his forearms.
"Can I ask you something?" He said, obviously in a really good mood. He was speaking slowly with a low voice, and I have to say it was hot as fuck.
"What?"
"Why do you keep looking at my hands?"
Was he teasing me? What, for the love of God, was going on here?
"I love those veins," I spoke out unbeknownst to myself. Realizing it only after the sound reached my ears.
"Really?" He looked at his arms. It's been a few weeks since he started rolling his sleeves up regularly, and the truth is I couldn't stop myself from looking at them.
"Well, I never really thought about them before."
"Me neither until I met you." He looked at me, amused. What the fuck? Do I now think with that stiff cock beneath my table? Do I want to be fucked by him? Cos, if not, why don't I just stop spewing this nonsense?
"You don't have a filter sometimes, do you?" He laughed
"It's not like I don't have a filter. I just sometimes blab when I am nervous."
"Are you nervous now?" He seemed intrigued
"A bit."
"Why?"
"Because you are fucking intense." Why have I said that? Now it's probably best to use that filter, damn it!
"Am I?"
I glanced at him. "You know you are Thomas."
"I don't see you often like this, Matt," he was grinning.
"No, I am mostly collected, but I have my moments."
"Like when you said I am beautiful to your fiancé?"
"Well, you are beautiful. You must hear it all the time."
His smile disappeared, and he looked at me with strange intensity. We kept looking at one another, and I could see an appreciation on his face. Was he flattered?
"Not really. I don't remember if someone ever called me beautiful."
"I called you that, maybe 10 minutes ago."
He watched me as if trying to figure out if I was making a joke. But, honestly, I wasn't. I just splurted it out as I do.
"Well, ok. I don't remember when someone beside you called me beautiful."
"Why? Is it like a Top thing?" I was intrigued. Was that why I suddenly became this self-conscious, thinking if he would have me? Did I think about that? Damn. I was. What is happening? This chaos in my head was starting to mess me up.
"A Top thing?"
"You know the man in the relationship. Only the bottom man can be called beautiful?"
Thomas looked at me as if he couldn't decide whether to give me an explanation.
"Have I said something wrong? Is it too impertinent question?"
"Well. I have to say I am glad Dora warned me."
I was now a bit worried. Did I offend him?
"Have I said something inappropriate?"
"I can understand from what stereotype you are getting the idea, but it doesn't always work like that. Are you now blabbing, or do you usually speak like this about sensitive topics?"
"I think I am worse, to be honest. I had HR here so often that I would be unemployed for years if I weren't one of the founders." I laughed but then remembered all those times and felt terrible. "I don't usually even realize that until people call me out."
Have I had so few missteps since he came to work here that he doesn't know how bad it can be? He knows I often say inappropriate things...
"My specialty is congratulating women on pregnancy after they put on some weight... Dora was my savior most of the time, and I think if it weren't for her, I would be very unpopular here."
"Damn"
"Damn, is correct." I signed
Thomas raised an eyebrow as if to see if there was more to that. "What?"
"She was perfect. Since she left, I have had a hard time asking anyone outside my team for pretty much anything."
"You get nervous when you are asking for favors?"
"No. I just don't like asking for them." Thanks to my nervous outburst about HR, this conversation turned into a safer topic. Fuck yes! It was getting too much.
"What about your fiancé?" No... this topic is maybe worse.
"What about her?"
"Do you have a problem asking her for help?"
"I don't recollect any such instances in our relationship, but she is very versed in asking for anything from me."
"Ok..." He was maybe trying too hard not to judge, but it was apparent he did. It's ok. I am pretty much used to that.
"What if there was something you needed?"
"I wouldn't ask her."
"Why not?"
I shrugged my shoulder. "I don't trust her much."
He looked at me, concerned.
"Why are you then marrying her?"
"She was nagging me about it for the past year, and I decided it was the simplest option. With my company, personality, and sex drive, it's the most pragmatic solution."
He looked dumbfounded. I have had this conversation so many times with my friends. I can handle it with ease now.
"Your sex drive?"
"Well, my first girlfriend was a bit older than me and was amazing and hot. But mostly, she was a freak in bed. Thanks to her, I got kind of addicted. It's not like I am a nymphomaniac or have some kind of disorder. I just really love sex. Natasha is kind of using that against me, but still, the pros outweigh the cons. I don't want to end up alone. I got the mindset that to keep paying one woman is more perspective in the long term than paying prostitutes. Given that someone is there when I come home, and if I decide to have children one day, I can."
"Fuck... I don't think Dora prepared me for this. You don't mind if she is using you?"
"As I said, it's a mutual transaction."
"That sounds cold."
"Yeah, I know. It feels cold, but after a few years, I concluded it's the best offer so far, and I don't have time to look for another."
"Why do you think that?"
"I had my share of relationships, and all ended on one problem. I love this company more than I ever have any of them."
"You must really love what you do."
"Working on these is something that fulfills me more than anything. But don't get me wrong, I care for Natasha. I loved most of my lovers, but it's like when a person gets a cat. With that difference, that girlfriend can nag you when you leave her alone while you are at work for too long. Natasha realized early on that it would be like that and embraced it well. I somehow want to believe it will be deeper between us one day. But I want to have reasonable expectations, so I won't blame her if that will never happen."
"Damn, I have to say I wouldn't have thought. I am speechless."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"What is your boyfriend like?"
"My boyfriend?"
"Dora said you are in a relationship."
"I am not. I don't know why Dora said that."
"Right.. then it's probably because of me." She is a sneaky woman. She knows me well.
"You? Why?"
"Well, I probably wouldn't have agreed to the meeting with you."
"Why?" He said with a slight frown.
"I would probably think that it would be uncomfortable."
"What would be uncomfortable?"
"Me having a single gay man as an assistant."
"Why?"
"I don't want to go into that. I have been told it's a sexist excuse even though that wasn't my intention."
"Excuse me?"
"Well, I didn't think I would like that back then."
"Back then?"
"Before I met you." Fuck have I just said this? I should shut up.
"Before you met me?"
"Look, I am sorry. I told you I have a weird filter for the things I say, sorry."
"There is so much wrong with what you just said. I am genuinely shocked that I am not offended."
"You are not?"
"Look, Mr. Sanders, if this would be one of the first conversations between us, I would probably leave so I won't hit you."
"Hit on me?"
"Hit on you?" He looked amused
No... My brain seriously decoded it like that. Just by his look, I realized I was wrong. That's great. Finally, when I started to feel less like an idiot.
"What? No. I am sorry I don't know why I said that. Sorry. Could I shut up for the rest of the day?"
"You are seriously something, Mr. Sanders." He leaned back, watching me as he crossed his hands in front of him. I just shook my head and turned to my screen. Work save me!
The rest of the day was a blur! The most difficult was staying there and doing everything in my power to concentrate on tasks and not to keep looking at him. However, I think I acted casual enough, and the day finally ended.
I drove him home, and I tried to act normal. When he closed the door and walked away, my thoughts went wild. So he was top. Well, I had to admit I thought of him more like bottom, probably because he was leaner than me. He must be only two inches taller, but I outweigh him by at least 10 to 15 lbs. My parkour days are long gone, and it's been some time since I've seen a six-pack on my abs, but I am still solid 200lbs. I like that number and always felt best at this weight, so I try to maintain it. My height of 5'11" with that weight gives me a pretty good frame. He must be about 6'1", swims four times a week, and runs, so his body proportions differ from mine.
He's got a perfect V shape with lean legs, and I still have defined arms and chest and big strong legs with a round bubble butt from all that jumping. Damn, how I miss those days. I should start moving again. Nowadays, I am so consumed with work that if I ate as some of my friends do, I would have had a dad bod in a matter of months.
I parked and went to shower. This time it was different. Until now, I never thought of him as the one fucking. I thought about anal and felt intimidated. I heard it hurts like hell. I looked at my reflection and felt conscious about my body for the first time in my life. I scratched my pecs covered with a soft rug of hair and watched the train run down to my belly. Am I too masculine for a bottom? Fuck why did I think that just now? I need to stop thinking about this shit!
But first I need to shower.
Since that day, I have slept on the couch. When I got home, I found the bedding on it, and Natasha wasn't speaking to me. But that wasn't the only change that night brought. The way he said he was a top made me question everything I thought about myself, and the feeling that ran through me was still vivid in my memory.
Days started to drag, and I realized I was nervous around him. Like I wanted to be fucked by him, just to have that experience, but at the same time, it was different than any attraction I had ever felt, and I didn't know if I would be up for it. Natasha refused to let me sleep in the bedroom, and I already had enough and ordered a bed. But sexual frustration didn't help this matter the least.
Thomas was acting casual, but now I was aware of some of his innuendos and deep looks. I cannot blame him, as it was nearly impossible for me not to stare at him from time to time, and he was indeed aware of that. Our signature sessions became a torment in a way.
For the most part, he never mentioned anything about our talk or Natasha, and it seemed he decided to play it appropriately to our working relationship.
But this just stirred me more. Thomas was aware that I found him attractive, and I knew he must like me in some way too, but neither did anything about it. Well, if fingering my asshole for the last three nights doesn't count.
One evening we said goodbye to Ron as he popped in, saying we were the last ones on the floor and not to forget to set the alarm. Thomas printed some things for me to sign, and I realized I'd been staring at his neck with an intense need to lick it as he was taking it from my printer. He looked at me, knowing it, and stayed still, watching me. No smirk or smile, just a warning in his eyes as if to think twice about what I really want.
He handed them to me, and when I gave them back, I brushed my finger on his without intention. What the fuck? Since when do I get chills from touching someone's finger on accident? That stern look of his was fucking tense.
"Thanks." He went back to his table, sat on his chair, and turned on it to face the screen.
If you asked me why I did what I was about to do, I wouldn't have known. But the words came out anyway.
"You said that one has to ask you nicely for you to fuck him."
"I said, beg me nicely." He said with a smirk but still kept looking at his screen.
"How does one beg nicely?"
He looked at me, studying my face.
"On their knees." He said slowly.
I don't know what possessed me at that point. My mind was blank as a canvas, and my body moved on its own. As if afraid that if the brain knew about its intention, it would shut me down completely.
I watched his stoic look and those fucking deep blue eyes when I stood up and walked around my table. If he was shocked or surprised, there was no trace of that on his face. Just forbearing look as he watched me.
I took three or four steps toward him. Then, shaking all over my body without any other thought, I sank to one knee in front of him. If I saw myself with a clear head, I would probably feel ridiculous, but now I knew I wanted to try this! I was hard by the time my second knee joined the first, and I sat on my legs facing him.
Thomas inhaled sharply, and I could see his eyes close and open as if he was trying to restrain himself somehow.
"What are you doing, Matt?"
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I. Dusk