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)
Darius watched as Marc crossed the room to retrieve his sketches. He moved so smoothly and silently, every step a sensual display. Darius didn’t think it was conscious. Maybe it had been once, but showing himself to best advantage was now a natural part of him.
Marc bent to open his bag, and it was all Darius could do not to move up behind him and grind into his arse. It had only been a few days since he’d fucked Marc up against the wall. A few days, and he was starving for this man.
Marc turned pages in his sketchbook and then handed it to Darius. As he flipped through page after page of historically inspired ideas, all he could say was “Wow.”
“You like them?”
Darius loved the eagerness in Marc’s voice. “I love them. You intend to make them colorful, don’t you? More so than they would have been in their era?” The sketches were in pencil, but Darius filled in the color palate in his mind.
“Yes, do you think I’ll be able to sell them?”
Darius nodded. He considered proposing that Marc sell the designs in the shop. Adding a whole new line to his business would certainly help combat his boredom, but he should probably stick to what he did best. He was already in deep enough with Marc—though not as deep as his dick wanted to be right that minute. Tying them together more closely by expanding his business couldn’t be a good idea, could it? If Marc got enough costume work on his own, he wouldn’t need to work as Darius’s assistant anymore, and Darius wouldn’t have to confront the fact that he wanted Marc more each day and not just for fucking. He wanted to learn more about him, to talk to him, to share things with him.
Being bored was better than waking up thinking of Marc, watching him all day in the shop, longing to… No, he didn’t date, and he sure as fuck didn’t fall in love. That would lead to nothing but trouble. And pain.
***
Marc glanced at the clock. It was almost six, and he’d just finished reorganizing digital files of customers’ measurements to make them easier to locate. Darius kept very good records on his clients. They just weren’t filed in any sensible manner. If Darius expected him to produce information the second he barked out an order, then Marc damn well needed that information accessible.
He closed the laptop he was using and stood. “I’m going to run and get something to eat. Then I’ll work on my costumes if that’s okay.”
Darius looked him up and down. “You sure about that?”
“The costumes? Yes,” Marc said, pretending not to know what Darius was asking.
“No, leaving now.” Darius lowered his voice so it was gravelly and dark, and Marc’s body reacted.
“It’s six o’clock, so…”
Darius looked at him pointedly, heat in his eyes. “I’m well aware of the time.”
Marc was just as addicted to their six o’clock fuck as Darius seemed to be. But tonight they were going to have to delay or skip it altogether because there was no way in hell Marc could concentrate on his designs if he’d just been fucked out of his mind. Darius always rendered him practically comatose.
“Great. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” He winked at Darius, grabbed his bag, and rushed out the door.
When he returned, Darius was still there, banging away on his laptop.
“You’re working late?” Marc wouldn’t be surprised if Darius intended to wait him out. He never backed down from a challenge.
“Motherfucking spreadsheets” was all he said.
“All right. I’ll get to work and leave you alone.” Darius growled at him, and he bit his lip to keep from laughing. He might end up regretting this. A sexually frustrated Darius working with numbers couldn’t be a good thing.
Marc opened the duffel bag he’d brought with the fabric and thread and other supplies he needed. He laid out a piece of fabric and began pinning the pattern he’d created on top of it, but his focus was shit. Apparently, he also couldn’t work if Darius didn’t fuck him.
How did Darius manage to make his presence felt so keenly? Every time he yelled “cockweasel” or “fucktrumpet” in his rich voice, Marc’s cock reminded him of what he’d normally be doing right then.
A few times he glanced over at Darius and saw him stiffen as if he knew Marc was watching. But he never turned around. Once, when Marc could feel Darius’s eyes on him, he leaned over the table to cut fabric and stuck his ass out to give a good show.
Several times he almost gave up on working, thinking he might as well give Darius what he was waiting for. But he’d set a goal for himself that morning, and he was determined not to let his cock distract him from meeting it.