Page 50 of Not Safe For Work

Chapter 13

During meetings, I usually struggled to stay focused. Sitting there listening to people drone on was Geneva Convention-level torture. Today, the struggle was to keep a straight face.

From the moment Teagan and I had taken our seats, I’d been restless with anticipation. Then Rick had come into the room along with Dion and Mitchell. His eyes had shifted straight to me, and suddenly I was pretty sure my trousers were almost as uncomfortable as his. That look on his face. My God. Intense. Focused. Like he’d spent all morning talking himself through every minute, reminding himself this was only temporary. I wondered how many times he’d considered texting me the safe word, or if he’d just closed his eyes, breathed and told himself it would be over soon.

I watched him for a moment, wondering how much of his expression was latent arousal. A sign of that feeling that could simmer beneath the surface for hours, even days leading up to something hot and exciting. Like he wasn’t turned on yet, but knew he would be in a few hours, and that, by extension, turned him on enough to make him squirm.

Or maybe he was one of those guys who was turned on by the torment. He wasn’t a masochist per se, but wearing that device was a constant reminder of who was in charge. I’d worn one before so I’d know how it felt, and it wasn’t something that could be ignored. It was always there. Always, at the very least, nudging the outermost edges of awareness, like an itchy cast that you’ve just learned to live with.

Beneath the table, I dug my heel into my other foot just to center myself and draw my focus away from Rick. Having him wear the cage to work had seemed like a good idea at the time—a tortured sub was a hot sub—but perhaps I’d underestimated how much it would fuck up my brain to sit through a meeting with him like this.

While everyone else had chattered, flipped through documents, checked the PowerPoint connection and topped off coffee, he stayed back, listening intently, but quiet. His eyes darted toward me a few times, and despite his obvious discomfort, he had to look away and smother a laugh. So did I.

Teagan elbowed me. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” I cleared my throat and tapped my pen on the binder in front of me. “Just…nothing.”

“Mmhmm. You’re—”

“All right,” Mitchell said, silencing everyone. “I think we’re ready to get started?” He looked at Dion and Rick, who both nodded.

Teagan shot me a look. This isn’t over.

Everyone took their seats, which was a much more difficult process for Rick than the rest of us. He hid it well. To the untrained eye, he probably just had a sore back or some stiff muscles. Maybe a rough night at the gym or feeling his age a little more than usual. There was nothing to indicate that he had a series of steel rings encircling his cock, all held together by a strap that wound around his balls too.

This was going to be a long meeting. And a long afternoon.

And a long, long night.

As subtly as I could, I took and released a deep breath. I willed my heart to slow down. And my cock…fuck…

Baseball. Old Yeller. Food poisoning.

Okay. That was helping. Just had to keep thinking about anything that wasn’t a turn-on, and—

I let my gaze drift toward Rick, and no amount of unpleasant thoughts could turn me off.

He was focused—or appeared to be focused—on whatever Mitchell was talking about. Elbow pressed against the armrest, chin cradled in his hand with his middle finger across his lip. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing at all.

Nothing except that sheen of sweat along his hairline. Or the way he held perfectly still, conspicuously still, not even idly twisting his chair back and forth like Dion did beside him. Every time he did move, his discomfort registered on his face. Lips twitching. Jaw clenching. Brow knitting together.

So much for turning myself off.

By the grace of God, we both made it through the meeting. As everyone stood, I heard Dion ask him, “You all right? You’ve been walking like an old man today.”

“Yeah, I’m good. Just”—Rick’s eyes flicked toward me, and his cheeks colored. “I’m good.”

“Sure about that? You’re moving almost as fast as Kyle was after he pulled his groin. What’d you do, take up basketball or something?”

I didn’t hear Rick’s response because Marie was herding Teagan and me out into the hallway. Oh, if Dion only knew. Maybe he hadn’t called the injury, but he’d certainly zeroed in on the right region.

“Any changes on ETAs?” Marie asked, as if there wasn’t a walking—well, limping—distraction in the conference room behind me.

“I’ll be finished with the piece for Spry Enterprises by noon tomorrow,” Teagan said. “After that, do you want me to start on the museum for Horizon? Or keep going on the Spry project?”

Marie pursed her lips. “You know what? Go ahead and keep up on Spry. You’ve already started, so wrap it up and get it out of your hair. We’ve still got some time on the museum.” She paused. “Unless you think it’ll take longer?”

Teagan shrugged. “I’ll look over the blueprints for both projects when I get back to my desk, and I’ll let you know before the end of the day.”