Conference Table Craving For Married Boss

The city lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the thirty-second floor, painting long silver stripes across the conference table. David stood at the head of it with his tie loosened, the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt open, revealing the thick column of his neck and the dark hair that dusted his chest. At twenty-eight he looked like the kind of man who belonged on a billboard rather than behind a desk—broad shoulders, heavy arms, a jaw that could cut glass. Married for six years, two kids, the perfect straight-passing CEO. Nobody would ever guess the thoughts that had been rotting his brain for the last four months.

Liam sat at the opposite end, laptop open, sleeves of his charcoal dress shirt rolled to his elbows. Twenty-four, lean but tightly muscled from years of rock climbing and early-morning runs. Openly gay since he was sixteen. He knew exactly what David had been doing for weeks now—the lingering stares when he bent over to plug in a charger, the way David’s hand would drift to his crotch and press down like he was trying to hide a crime. The tension had thickened into something alive, something that followed them both home at night.

They’d just finished the Q3 projections. The rest of the building had emptied hours ago. It was just the two of them and the low hum of the air conditioning.

David’s voice came out rough. “We’re done.”

Liam closed the laptop with a soft click. “Good. I’m wrecked.”

He stood, stretching his arms overhead. The motion pulled his shirt tight across his chest and rode it up just enough to expose a strip of smooth, toned stomach. David’s gaze locked there, then dropped lower, to the way Liam’s slim black trousers hugged his ass. The married man’s cock gave a heavy throb against his thigh. He didn’t bother hiding the adjustment this time. His big palm rubbed once, twice, then stayed there, squeezing the thick ridge through expensive wool.

Liam noticed. Of course he noticed.

He turned, one eyebrow raised, calm as ever. “You keep doing that, sir.”

David’s jaw flexed. The word sir in Liam’s smooth, low voice always hit him like a fist to the sternum. He took one step, then another, until he was close enough that Liam had to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact.

“I’ve been losing my mind,” David said. The confession scraped out of him, raw and ugly. “Four months of watching you walk around my office in those fucking pants. Four months of jerking off in the executive bathroom because my wife hasn’t touched me in three goddamn years. I think about bending you over this table every single night. I think about what your mouth would feel like. I think about—” He cut himself off, breathing hard through his nose like a bull.

Liam didn’t flinch. Instead, the corner of his mouth curved into something dangerous. “Then stop thinking.”