Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
He stopped and turned. “What now?”
Darius bristled at his tone. You fucked the guy, and now you think he’s going to be able to treat you with deference like a regular employee?
That would be nice.
You need someone who’ll talk back to you. Those others were spineless. That’s why they didn’t last. Spineless fuckwits.
“I’m having a hard time with this suit, and it’s making me pissy. Take as long as you need. You deserve the break.”
Marc did not look convinced. “You want me to bring you anything?”
Darius considered that. He was supposed to be eating better. He had a salad in the minifridge in his workroom. He grimaced at the thought of eating it. It didn’t even have any motherfucking meat on it.
“Where are you headed?”
Marc shrugged. “I don’t know. Some place with burgers.”
Of course, Marc didn’t know the neighborhood yet. “Go to Maximum Diner; it’s four blocks down on the corner.” He gestured in the right direction. “Bring me back a bacon cheeseburger with spicy fries. Tell them to put it on my tab.” That would really help with his diet. Now he’d need extra time at the fucking shit fuck gym tonight.
“You have a tab there?”
He glared at Marc. “I like burgers.”
“Of course you do. See you in an hour.”
Darius watched him walk away. Damn, his arse was so fine, it made Darius want to forget workplace ethics or how much weight he’d gain stress-eating while working with him.
No. No. No. It was bad enough he’d given in once. Fucking Marc again would break way too many personal rules. It was unthinkable.
Yet it was all he could think about.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Marc had been working for Darius for a week, and he’d already learned a hell of a lot, like much faster ways to put in a zipper and make crisp collar points as well as better strategies for estimating measurements, though he doubted he’d ever be as good at guessing a man’s measurements as Darius. He’d also learned that no matter how many times he jerked off at night, during his morning shower, or in the bathroom at work—okay, he’d only done that once—he could not stop wanting the man.
Of course, the fact his jerk-off fantasies always included memories of being facedown over the worktable didn’t help. His cock took notice every fucking time he tried to get work done in the back room.
The door chimed, and Marc ran a hand through his hair. Get yourself together. Mr. Scott, their next client, had arrived, and now he had to face Darius whether he wanted to or not.
Don’t think about sex.
Great. Now it was all he would think about.
Don’t think about a pink elephant.
Nope. Still sex. Pink elephants were nothing compared to Darius naked and pounding his ass.
When he stepped out from the back, Darius was offering Mr. Scott a drink and explaining that he would need to take several measurements.
Once Mr. Scott was stripped down to his boxers, Marc and Darius entered the fitting room. Darius swiftly gathered the data he needed. As Marc recorded it in Mr. Scott’s file, he tried to keep his eyes on the iPad he was holding, but he kept watching Darius work, his long-fingered hands moving along the measuring tape. Dear God, he wanted those hands on him again.
Darius glanced up and winked at him. The fucker knew exactly what Marc was thinking.
Mr. Scott was their last client until midafternoon. Maybe Marc could seduce Darius after the man left and convince him to close the shop for a “lunch” break. If he succeeded in convincing Darius they should keep fucking, Marc had no doubt he’d fall for him. The man was an asshole, just Marc’s type. Riley would bitch at him. Thorne would roll his eyes over the whole thing, and…life would go on as it always had.
No. Marc was going to focus on his career. This wasn’t just a job serving food or fucking a man and making him love it. This was a chance to go where he’d wanted to be for a long time. Maybe designing theater costumes was a long way from snooty men’s fashion, but the design and construction techniques were the same. If he came up with some designs, maybe Darius would even let him use the equipment at the shop.
Don’t get ahead of yourself.
“There are samples on the left side of the shelf in the back. Bring those out,” Darius said in the cool tone he always used when they were working. How the fuck did he shift so easily between eye-fucking Marc and barking out orders? Of course, truth be told, he’d given plenty of orders when they were fucking.
As he walked to the back, Marc looked at the sketches Darius had scanned into Mr. Scott’s file.
They did nothing to refute the idea that Darius had magic powers. Even after only meeting Mr. Scott briefly a few days ago when he set up the fitting, Darius knew what would be perfect for him.