Dean Walsh was happy with his new life, his job, his girlfriend. Until his boss, billionaire Salomon Ellis, discovers his darkest secret. From then on, he will hold Dean hostage to his whims in exchange for his silence.
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"Did you get the delivery?"
I nodded, noticing his mild limp as he circled the table to the first chair on the cupboard side, motioning for me to get closer. He saw my glance at his feet.
"Twisted my ankle playing soccer," he said casually. "You see, I'm European descent, and across the pond, actually all around the world, soccer is a sport for real men, not for kids and girls like it's here, in America."
Did it mean he considered himself a real man? Or his twisted ankle showed he'd tried and failed? My mocking speculations derailed when I saw him loosen his tie and take it off. Oh, no, not again! He threaded it between the cushioned headrest and the upper bar of the steel frame that supported the chair's back.
"Come," he said.
I approached him until he reached out for my wrist.
"There's no need," I said.
"I know," he replied with one of his smug smirks.
He held my eyes, raising his eyebrows. And I let him grab my wrist, of course. He wrapped one end of his tie around it, fastening it in a tight knot before grabbing my other wrist. A minute later, my hands were tied to each side of the headrest, forced to stand with my knees almost brushing the seat. I could stretch it to a full step if I raised my arms to my ribs' height, but that was the furthest I could get from it.
"Are you pouting?" he asked, chuckling, and ducked under my arm to sit down on the chair before me. "C'mon. I liked restraining you last week, and I know you liked it too."
"You have no idea," I grumbled, glaring down at him as I stood there between his knees, my arms in the air.
"Oh, I have," he replied, sitting back and reaching out again, this time for my crotch.
I nailed my eyes to the window behind him while he unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my slacks and opened the fly.
"Nice. Fits like a glove," he said, exposing one of the trunks he'd sent me. He pulled the slacks a little down to expose the trunks' right leg and the embroidering with my initials in white.
"They should be here," he said, covering my shrunk limp cock with his hand. "Lower case, to watch them go upper case."
So funny. Looked like he'd had a clown for lunch. I ground my teeth while his hand ran up and down my shaft, his thumb pressing softly, tugging. And my despicable junk responded right away. It started hardening in no time, stirring and stretching with every gentle tug. My breathing grew heavier, pushing my lips apart.
"Look at you," he murmured, pleased.
No. I wouldn't. Feeling the way my body reacted to his fondling was bad enough. Yeah, I knew the sooner I got hard, the better. But there was something else in play. Like my body had been longing for this. Him, getting me hard, and all I already knew would follow.
