Sundays were for lounging and doing absolutely nothing. It was a rule designated by the Mayans or something, and on my normal weekend, it wasn’t a motto I argued. But as I scrolled through the cable stations and found absolutely nothing to watch and the anticipation of my upcoming lunch date with Nick started to make my self-diagnosed Restless Leg Syndrome flare up, I decided to snag my phone off the coffee table and bug him via text.
He was working while I was following Sunday’s number one rule of be a lazy motherfucker, but he’d been the one to plant the seed of a lunch plan in my head. It was his fault I couldn’t fully stagnate like normal, and he should be the one to pay for it.
Me: How’s work?
I watched as the text bubbles in our chat box moved, letting me know he was already formulating his response.
Nick: Pretty low-key. What are you doing?
Me: Cursing your inability to lounge naked as stated in rule 1A today.
Nick: No rest for the wicked, sweetheart.
Me: All work and no play make Nick a dull boy.
Nick: Haha. Jesus. Did you just put my name into a reference from The Shining?
Me: Uh-huh. ;) Scariest book and movie ever, btw.
Nick: It’s not THAT scary, Char.
Pfffft. That was total baloney. I was convinced he’d seen a different version of The Shining. I furiously typed out a three-word response and hit send.
Me: YES, IT IS!
Nick: I’m curious, which version is scarier, the book or the movie?
Me: The book, obviously. No movie can ever live up to their book counterpart.
Nick: Ah, I see. Are you a book snob, Char?
Me: No. I’m a *bibliophile*. There’s a difference.
Nick: Oh man. This I have to hear. What is the difference?
Me: A book snob thinks their reading preferences are better than everyone else’s. A bibliophile loves and respects all books and reading preferences.
Nick: Even erotica?
Me: Yes, even erotica.
Nick: What about weird, obscure erotica about zombies or dinosaurs or a man with a microwave fetish?
Me: Yes, even that. Humans should be free to read and enjoy whatever books tickle their fancy. Although, I gotta say, the microwave fetish sounds a bit dangerous…
Nick: Death by consumption of too many radiation waves while simultaneously reaching climax?
Me: Let’s just hope that fetishist follows the ten-second rule.
Nick: LOL. When are you coming to see me?
Me: When is your lunch hour?
Nick: NOW.
I grinned at his enthusiasm, but I still couldn’t stop myself from teasing him a bit.
Me: Perfect. I can’t make it, but I know someone who can. You’ll like him. He’s really good at eating Harry’s meat.
Nick: Very funny. Get your cute ass over here. And, if you’d drop by Mitch’s Deli on your way and pick me up a pastrami on rye and something equally delicious for yourself, I’d be forever grateful.
Me: Yes, sir. ;)
Nick: You’re the best, Char.
I glanced at the time. 11:00 a.m. I hopped off my couch and headed toward my bedroom as I typed another quick text and pressed send.
Me: I know you said now, but my body composition is nothing more than sweat and Cheetos dust right now. Can we make it 12:30?
Nick: Sounds tasty. A little salty, maybe, but overall more appealing than you’d think. But I guess I’ll allow time for a shower if you must.
Me: Careful how low you set your expectations, Dr. Raines. ;) I’ll see you at 12:30.
Freshly showered and carrying a bag from Mitch’s Deli, I strode into Nick’s office with a giddy smile on my face. He sat behind his desk, typing away on his laptop, and it took a few soft raps against his open door to grab his attention.
The instant his eyes left the computer screen, his face morphed into a welcoming grin.
Good Lord, I could get used to seeing that smile every damn day of the week. If that smile were a gym, I’d be signing up for the lifetime membership and willingly going to spin class seven times a week.
Taking into account my pathetic track record with gym memberships, that said a fucking lot.
Don’t tell me I’m the only one who signs up for a gym membership, ready and motivated to kick some fitness ass, only to last two weeks max.
My intentions are always good, but then life and laziness get in the way.
“But…but…I’ll start Monday. I’ll finally get my shit together Monday.”
I always have the same excuse and follow the same cycle of crazy.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I said by way of greeting as I closed the door behind me and dropped the bag of food onto his desk. “Because I ordered way too much food.”
“Starved,” he said and stood to his feet.
With three long strides, he closed the distance between us, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pulling me in close to his chest. I inhaled his delicious scent—clean laundry, his sexy cologne, and Nick. A true aphrodisiac to all of my senses.
He pressed his mouth to mine, and between one breath and the next, his tongue slipped past my lips.
I moaned. Goodness gracious, why did he always have to taste so good?
He turned me toward his desk and moved us backward until my ass bumped against the edge. Effortlessly, he lifted me up onto the mahogany wood and spread my legs, stepping between them and pressing himself between my thighs.
We stayed like that for a long moment, kissing and touching and grinding against one another, greedily increasing the sexual tension between us until it threatened to set the room on fire.
When he slid his hands up my thighs and pushed my jean skirt above my hips, my head fell back of its own accord.
Oh God, yes. Take me right here on your desk.
“I want you,” he whispered, and his lips painted kisses down my jaw, my neck, my chest. He yanked my t-shirt up and over my head with a quickness that urged a needy whimper from my lips, and the instant my breasts were bared for his heady gaze, I moaned—loud and guttural and without restraint.
“Yes, please,” I whispered and gripped his biceps with my hands, biting my fingernails into his skin. “I need you inside of me. So, so fucking bad.”
Hot and heavy, and with our lunch completely forgotten, we tore at each other’s clothes with reckless abandon. My panties were around my ankles, and his pants were unzipped with his hard, aroused cock in my hands in the span of a single breath.
Want. Need. Heady desire. Those were the only priorities.
“God, Char,” he groaned as he rubbed the tip of his cock between my arousal. “You’re so fucking wet.”
I moaned at his words. At his sounds. At the way his breath hitched when he pushed the first few inches of himself inside of me.
Yes. Yes. Yes. I wanted more.
But before he could fill me completely, three small knocks rapped against his closed office door.
We stopped, frozen in our positions, our bodies still intertwined like ivy, and our widened, surprised gazes locked with one another. Nothing but our heavy, panting breaths and pounding heartbeats filled the space between us.
I quirked a brow and whispered quietly, “Are you expecting someone?”
He shook his head, completely at a loss.
“Yo, Nick,” a male voice called from the other side of the door. “It’s Jorge,” he added. “The producer told me you’d be here for the afternoon so I could get a few live shots of you in your office for the promos and trailer.”
Both of our eyes went even wider.
Fuck. It was Jorge. The fucking cameraguy for the show.
“Oh, okay,” Nick responded. “Just a sec.”
“Cool,” Jorge responded from the other side of the door. “Shouldn’t take more than ten, fifteen minutes tops.”
Just a sec? Holy fucking hell. I’d love to meet the human beings who could achieve getting dressed and removing the scent of sex from the air in the matter of just a fucking sec.
I shoved Nick out of the way, hopped off the desk, yanked up my panties, and glanced around the room like a lunatic. I needed a place to hide. Anywhere. It didn’t matter. Just somewhere that I could hide and get myself back together while Jorge the cameraguy shot live footage of Nick at his desk.
I didn’t mind the reality docuseries, but I didn’t exactly want to be filmed mere minutes after engaging in sex. I mean, a girl had some fucking boundaries, ya know?
While Nick hurriedly zipped up his pants, tucked his shirt back in, and did his best to hide his giant sword of an aroused cock beneath his clothes, I stood frozen in my spot, halfway between the door and the desk. I felt like a caged animal that was ready to climb the walls any second.
Where could I hide without the cameraguy realizing that I’m here?
Fucking hell. I had zero clue. His office was spacious, but it wasn’t that spacious. My only options for hiding included his desk, his chair, and the stupid plant in the corner of the room.
“It’s fine, Char,” Nick whispered. “Just fix your clothes, sit down, and don’t worry about the cameraguy.”
“But this could look bad,” I whispered back.
He shook his head. “It’s fine. Promise.” But I wasn’t so sure I believed him as I witnessed the slight shake of his fingers as he handed me my discarded t-shirt and adjusted my skirt back into place.
After a soft kiss to my lips, he gently ushered me toward the leather sofa at the far corner of his office. “We have nothing to worry about, okay?”
I simply nodded for lack of anything better to do.
But the second he opened the office door and let Jorge into the room, I wasn’t all that sure everything was okay. The way the cameraguy’s gaze assessed the small space gave me an uneasy feeling inside my gut. It was heavy like a rock, weighing down my stomach with a persistence I couldn’t ignore.
Had he overheard us?
How long had he been standing outside of Nick’s office?
“Hey, Jorge,” Nick greeted. His easy smile and relaxed shoulders helped relieve some of the anxiety lurking inside of my chest. “I hope you don’t mind, but we were just getting ready to eat some lunch.”
Jorge set his camera gear on the floor and gestured with a nonchalant hand in Nick’s direction. “No worries, dude. I can work on setting up the lighting while you enjoy your lunch.”
Wait…did he just insinuate something?
I glanced up to meet Jorge’s eyes, but he had already begun to busy himself with pulling his equipment out of his black travel bags. And when I moved my gaze to Nick’s, he appeared completely unaware of anything weird.
I’m just being crazy, I told myself. He probably didn’t overhear anything.
I wasn’t sure I actually believed it, but I reminded myself this was a docuseries about Nick’s medical career, not the hospital version of The Real World.