Chapter Five
Nash
My phone buzzed, and I blinked sleepily into darkness and groped for it on my nightstand. The screen informed me that it was 2:45, and I groaned.
What the fuck, Nash, did you set the alarm for the wrong time again?
But as the sleep cobwebs began to clear from my brain, I realized it wasn’t the alarm—it was someone calling me. I didn’t recognize the number, but I didn’t get a lot of telemarketers, so I picked it up and responded blurrily.
“’Lo?”
“Nash.”
His voice was low and husky, almost a whisper, but I would have recognized it anywhere. Even though it was an ungodly hour of the morning, a jolt of adrenaline shot through me, and I found myself instantly awake.
“Mr. Snow.”
“Alex,” he reminded me.
All at once I remembered how we’d made out in his Ferrari earlier in the evening, and a wave of heat washed over my stupid pale redhead skin. I was grateful he wasn’t there to see me blush.
“Yes, Alex. What’s wrong?”
I frowned at the silence that followed, and wondered how the hell he’d gotten my number. Well, he was the CEO of the company, after all. He probably had information on every employee at his fingertips. The fact that he’d apparently looked my number up ought to be a little creepy, and yet the fact that he wanted to talk to me again—well, it made my chest warm from the inside again.
Unless he was calling to fire me. Which would be a bummer.
“Nothing’s wrong.” His voice was still low, but it grew a little more intense. “I just wanted to tell you… I’m sorry I pulled away.”
“Oh.” My face flooded with heat. “That’s okay, Alex. I didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t comfortable with. I just thought you ought to, you know, have the experience.”
“I liked it.”
Jesus. If my skin got any hotter I was going to set the sheets on fire.
“Yeah,” I answered, just as softly. “Me too.”
“Yes, but you’ve done it before. With men, I mean. For me it was a unique experience. And it was… extraordinary.”
He sounded almost, well, reverent, and I flopped back on my mattress and stared at the ceiling. There was a streetlight right outside my apartment, and it shone through the crappy blinds that refused to shut completely, casting bands of yellow light on the ceiling. I stared at the light, and remembered.
I thought about the way his thigh had felt beneath my hand—so powerful, so solid, so heavily muscled. I wished I’d had a chance to feel the heat of it against my palm, without any fabric in the way.
“It was extraordinary,” I agreed.
“You’ve never made out in a Ferrari before, I suppose.” There was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.
“Fuck you, Alex,” I said amiably, before remembering he was my boss and that I really shouldn’t talk to him that way. Oh, well… in for a penny, in for a pound, as my mom always said. “I wasn’t talking about the Ferrari, you idiot. I was talking about you.”
“Me?” The edge faded, and he sounded almost… hesitant. I was pretty sure he didn’t sound that way often.
“Yeah, you. You’re hot as hell, you know.”
“Me?” he repeated.
He sounded like he didn’t believe it, and I frowned into the darkness. Did he really not know how attractive he was? Sure, maybe he hadn’t dated seriously since his divorce, and yeah, he obviously had been avoiding any sort of intimacy with men, but still, he had to have women dripping off him, not to mention photographers pursuing him all the time. How could he not know he was beautiful?
“Totally,” I answered. “You’re gorgeous, and you look like you live in the gym. You lift weights, right? Yeah, you have to. There’s no way you’d be that big otherwise.”
“I exercise because it’s good for me.” He sounded almost prim, like the thought of deliberately sculpting his muscles struck him as frivolous, and I couldn’t help chuckling.
“Yeah, well, what’s good for you is also good for me, trust me. You’re really something to look at. And to touch.”
“Oh.” His voice dropped even lower. “I thought perhaps you were mostly interested in the Ferrari.”
“Dude, are you fucking kidding me? You thought I made out with you because you have a hot car?”
“You did seem very impressed by it.”
I sighed. For a billionaire, this guy had some serious self-esteem issues. But then again, maybe it was difficult for a billionaire to know who wanted him for himself, and who wanted him as a sugar daddy. And in fact I couldn’t guarantee that my motives were one hundred percent pure. I mean, there was no denying the guy was my boss, and held my career in the palm of his hand. Had I made out with him solely because I’d wanted to, or because I thought I had something to gain?
If I didn’t know the answer to that question, how could Alex?
I blew out a long breath, and spoke as honestly as I could.
“Your car is hot, Alex. But you’re hotter.”
There was a long silence. At last his husky baritone spoke in my ear.
“I really wish we hadn’t stopped.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I chuckled. “Is that why you called me? You feeling… restless, Alex?”
“Mmmmmm.” The humming sound sent shivers down my spine. “I suppose I am, yes.”
“Well, let me help you relax. What are you wearing?”
“Silk pajamas.”
“Huh. I thought maybe you wore three-piece suits to bed.”
It was his turn to chuckle. “Too hot.”
“Well, if you ask me silk pajamas are too hot, too. I don’t wear anything to bed.”
A brief pause, during which I could hear him breathing, hard and fast. “You’re naked?”
“It’s the best way to sleep.” I paused. “You should try it.”
“I can’t—I shouldn’t—”
“Sure you should. I’ve read it’s healthier.” I let my voice drop to a low purr. “And it’s definitely more comfortable. Take your pajamas off, Alex.”
Another long pause, then a soft rustling sound. I imagined him stripping off his silk pajamas, slowly and methodically, and my heart pounded in my chest. The thought of a naked Alexander Rutherford Snow III was more than my internal processors could handle without overheating.
The rustling stopped, and his voice rumbled in my ear.
“I took it all off. Even my boxers.”
I felt heat flood me again. Being a redhead sucks, because I blush pretty much at the drop of a hat.
And tonight, Alex was giving me a lot to blush about.
I closed my eyes, imagining his perfect body sprawled out on an enormous bed. The sheets would be dark—navy blue, maybe; he seemed fond of that color, if his suits were anything to go by—and his skin would be winter-pale (though still darker than mine by quite a lot) against it. I imagined his silvering brown hair falling into his eyes, instead of neatly brushed back as it always was at the office. The thought of seeing him disheveled, when he was normally so carefully, perfectly groomed, made my dick so hard it ached.
I could hear him breathing harshly in my ear, and I knew he was waiting for me to say something. I opened my mouth and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“Are you hard, Alex?”
I heard his quick intake of breath, almost a moan.
“I’m hard as hell,” he whispered.
“Me too.” And it was true—my cock was lying against my stomach, swollen and heavy. It was already twitching and dripping precome, to the point that there was practically a puddle on my lower abdomen. I suspected just the sound of his voice in my ear would probably be enough to make me come.
“So touch yourself,” I said softly.
He groaned. “I can’t… I don’t… Nash, I just called to talk to you…”
It was more than obvious that he was lying to himself. Which wasn’t surprising, considering he’d evidently spent four years trying his level best to avoid confronting his sexuality. I didn’t know for sure, but I guessed that getting horny for guys might be all mixed up in his head with the end of his marriage, that lust was all tangled up with guilt and shame inside him. That’d be enough to make anyone uncomfortable with it.
But he was horny for guys, or at least for me. That was obvious. And it was stupid to pretend otherwise.
“Wrap your hand around yourself,” I told him, trying to sound firm and commanding. It wasn’t easy. To be honest, I’m not really the dom sort. But I tried consciously to emulate his voice when he’d said, Get it together and work faster, or I’m going to fire you.
It must have worked, because I heard a gasp of relief, and I knew he’d done what I’d told him to do.
“Don’t move your hand,” I told him. “Just hold yourself loosely for a couple of minutes. You said you’re hard. Are you hard for me, Alex?”
He whimpered, actually whimpered, and my own cock pulsed with a sudden acute hunger. I’d never heard anything as hot as this strong, powerful CEO whining with need. It gave me a confidence I’d never known I possessed.
“I bet the head of it’s wet already,” I said softly. “Dripping with precome. Am I right?”
“Unnnnhhhh.”
I couldn’t help chuckling. “What was that, Alex?”
“I just—I just—oh, God. I’m so hard.”
He sounded outright bewildered, like he hadn’t expected this call to wind up with him all hot and bothered. But there was really no other reason for him to have called me, was there? He was clearly good at lying to himself.
“Don’t worry.” I spoke more softly than before. “I’m gonna take care of you, Alex.”
His voice sounded strained. “I need it now.”
“And you’re going to get it. But slowly. Listen to me carefully. I want you to take your thumb and run it over the head now. Get it nice and wet.”
There was a brief silence, and then a low, resonant groan, right in my ear.
“Does that feel good?”
“Oh, God, Nash, God—”
“Slow down,” I snapped, as firmly as I was able. “We’re not going to rush through this, Alex. Take it nice and slow.”
“I have to come.” He sounded more strained than before, and I imagined him stretched out on his bed, stark naked, his head arched back, his eyes clamped shut, his mouth open as he panted harshly for breath. The muscles in his forearm bulging with the effort of holding himself still. His cock jerking in his hand, and weeping precome.
Christ.
I spoke sternly. “You’ll come when I tell you to come, and not before. Understand me?”
On some level I was aware that I was much smaller than him, enormously less powerful both physically and professionally. I felt a bit like a Jack Russell terrier snarling at an enormous Rottweiler. But he seemed willing to accept my commands, at least in this particular situation.
“Okay.” The word was nothing more than a gasp. “Okay. But please… please…”
“Keep stroking yourself with your thumb, Alex. Don’t move your hand otherwise. Not at all.”
He whined softly. I imagined his thumb slipping back and forth over the fat head, and wondered what his cock looked like, all swollen and flushed with blood and slick with precome. How long was it? He was a pretty big guy, so I imagined it must be eight inches or thereabouts. And thick. The thought of touching it, wrapping my hand around the girth of it, feeling the weight of it in my hand, stole my breath away. The thought of maybe pressing a kiss to the tip of it made me groan out loud.
“Are you—” His voice was breathless, desperate. “Are you touching yourself too, Nash?”
“Not yet. But I want to. I’m hard too. Really hard.” I let my eyes drift shut. “I’m going to take it into my hand in a minute, Alex, and stroke up and down. Maybe use some lube. Do you have any lube?”
“N-no.”
Poor guy. He was so repressed he didn’t even keep lube around to jerk off with.
“Lube helps,” I told him, still speaking quietly. “Makes your hand nice and slick, so you can jerk yourself without chafing. But if you don’t have any, I won’t use it either. I’m just going to wrap my hand around myself, and…”
He groaned. Loudly.
“…and then I’m going to move my hand, really slowly, up and down. Can you do that for me, Alex? Move your hand very, very slowly?”
He must have done it, because I heard a choked sound, like he was slowly strangling.
“That’s good,” I whispered. “Nice and slow, Alex. Do you have a light on?”
“N-no. It’s pitch dark.”
“Turn on a lamp. I want you to look down and watch as you touch yourself, okay? Tell me what you see.”
There was an audible click, and then a heavy silence.
“Are you watching?”
“Mmmmm hmmmmm.”
“Tell me what’s happening, Alex. Is your cock dripping precome, every time you move your hand?”
His voice sounded almost awed. “Yeah.”
“So it’s nice and slick. Good. Use that to wet your palm, and keep stroking yourself, but keep it slow, Alex. Really slow. In a little while you’re going to watch yourself come. You’re gonna watch your cock jerk and spasm, watch it shoot your load all over your stomach…”
“Jesus Christ.”
The hoarse words sounded like a prayer. I went on, relentless. “You’re going to come harder than you’ve ever come, just for me. Imagine my hand on your cock, Alex. Imagine me stroking you slowly, letting the pressure in your balls build, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter, until your thighs are shaking and you’re so hot you can’t take it any more…”
I was stroking myself now, hardly aware of what I was doing. I’d forgotten about going slow. I’d forgotten everything except the sound of his breathing, rough and frantic and desperate, in my ear.
“I’m imagining your cock in my hand,” I told him, “imagining I can feel it throbbing. You’re so close to coming, Alex, so ready to explode…”
He made a noise that sounded for all the world like a sob, and it thrilled me to the core. I had this powerful, strong man on his knees, metaphorically speaking. He was the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world, and I had him wrapped right around my little finger. The feeling of power over another man wasn’t something I’d experienced before. I liked it.
“What do you want most, Alex?”
“I want—” His voice sounded like he’d been gargling with glass. I imagined him, sweaty and disheveled and desperate, his chest heaving, his back arching as he thrust his hips upward. “I just want to come. That’s all.”
“If I were there,” I murmured, “how would you want me, Alex? What would you want me to do?”
“Just—just—your hand—”
I could sense the effort it took him to admit that. Despite the courage it had taken for him to call me, he was still scared shitless. He wanted this an awful lot, had probably been wondering what it might be like to be with a guy for most of his adult life, but it nevertheless scared the hell out of him.
I knew I wouldn’t get him to express anything more explicit than that, not tonight.
“Hand jobs feel good,” I agreed. “I’d kneel over you in bed, take your cock in my hand, and start stroking it just a little faster. Make you drip precome, and maybe, just maybe, I’d lick it away.”
He made a noise that was halfway between a groan and a sob, a wordless, anguished cry of need. The desperation in that sound made something inside me catch fire. I was jerking my own cock now, hard and fast.
“Are you ready to come, Alex?”
“Yes. Yes.”
He sounded broken, wrecked, and the knowledge that I’d brought him to this point filled me with spiraling heat. I could barely hold back my own orgasm.
“Imagine me licking you there, stroking you with my hand,” I managed between gasps. “Until you come—you come—right into my hair, Alex, all over my hair and my face—”
He cried out, and I knew from the feral, drawn-out sound that he was coming. I let my hand move hard and fast, and I came too, in hot, fierce spasms, my cock jerking furiously, shooting come all over my stomach. It felt incredible, intense and breathtaking, and so fucking long. At last I fell back against the sheets, drained, feeling a sudden exhaustion overtake me.
There was a silence on the other end, and I thought maybe he’d fallen asleep. But I thought I could hear fast, uneven breaths, slowly steadying. At last he spoke.
“Nash. That was…”
“Yeah. It was great.” I blinked into the darkness, trying to sound commanding. It was harder when I was so tired. “But it’s time to go to sleep, Alex. We both have to get up early.”
There was another silence. At last he spoke.
“Good night, Nash.”
“Night, Alex.”