The Intern: An MM Office Romance Read online

  Quickly splashing my face with water, I messed with my hair some and then, sucking in a breath, accepted that I looked as good as I could after a stressful morning of doing a job that was so far above my pay grade it was a joke, all while waiting on a meeting that had unknown repercussions.

  That I didn’t have a semi was a miracle in itself.

  Leaving the restroom, I was grateful to miss Cassandra as I headed toward the elevators, and a few minutes later, I was there. On his floor.

  The trip in the elevator didn’t even register, not with my heart pounding so hard that it reminded me of last night when I was waiting in the dark room, wondering if I could do it. Wondering if I could finally take the step I needed to move on, to become who I wanted.

  No longer the jock with the head cheerleader on his arm.

  No longer the guy who was his father’s golden boy.

  Just Micah Nygard. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  And I had done it. I’d taken that step, had an epic orgasm as a ‘clap back’ from the universe, and now... Okay, so I might lose my position here as an intern. A lot of shit might go wrong from that one happenstance, but it’d be worth it.

  I was taking the path toward being me, and I could never regret that. Just the tiny blip on my resumé.

  Seeing Sadie in the reception area, I smiled a little, especially when she waved and got to her feet. She often joined Rachel and I for lunch, so I knew her quite well. That she looked pretty cheerful gave me hope because even if she wasn’t involved in Devlin Astley’s business in anything other than a light capacity, I figured she could read his mood. As she liked me, I also knew that she’d warn me if he was on the warpath.

  When I approached her, bypassing the sleek white leather sofas with the glass coffee table to move nearer, she tucked her arm in mine and asked, “What have you been doing?”

  I arched a brow at her. “Nothing?”

  She chuckled. “You think Mr. Astley often speaks with interns? Hell, he doesn’t talk to half his executives.”

  “I must have come to his attention somehow.”

  “Seeing as you do half of that bitch’s work, it’d be no wonder.” Her lips twisted into a grimace. “Tell him, if he asks. Don’t think about sugarcoating anything. She’s banging Paul to try to stay on Mr. Astley’s good side—”

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to bang the man himself?” I asked dryly, peering down at her as there was a good ten-inch height difference between us.

  “As if he’d have her,” she scoffed.

  “She’s beautiful,” I corrected, because newly come out or not, and her being a lazy bitch or not, before, I’d have been all over Cassandra like white on rice. “I don’t see why he wouldn’t want her.”

  “If you saw his usuals...” She rolled her eyes, but a smile danced over her mouth. “He got rid of his latest though. I dread to think what will happen when she gets her goodbye gift.“

  “Goodbye gift? He gives them something when they break up?” At her nod, I muttered, “I’m not sure if that’s chivalrous or a bit like a john paying for a lay.”

  “A bit of both. I think he means it to be a kind gesture, but they usually take it as if he’s buying them off. Which, I guess, he is. Either way, they never turn it down, no matter what it is,” she rumbled disapprovingly.

  Not wanting to hear more about Mr. Astley’s exes, I squeezed her side. “I wonder what he wants.”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “That sounds ominous,” I muttered.

  “Not really. He isn’t like that. He’s surprisingly nice.” She peered at her watch. “You’re early but he should have finished up by now, and he likes punctuality.”

  “He does? What else does he like?”

  She snorted. “Devlin is a gourmet of life. That should tell you everything.”

  Should it?

  I didn’t think it was that insightful.

  Because she was going to be close-mouthed about her boss, and I got it because she’d never been particularly vocal about him during lunch, aside from little comments on things that happened during her day, I asked instead, “Know why he wants to see me?”

  Sadie shook her head. “No. But there’s no surprise there. Anyway, I wouldn’t worry. He’s a kind guy.”

  Was he?

  I didn’t ask that out loud as she retreated to her desk to connect with his office, and when she murmured, “Sir? I have Micah Nygard here to see you,” my heart skipped a beat.

  Not from nerves.

  Not even from anxiety over what the coming meeting could mean for me…

  Simply because that voice of his, those dulcet British tones, the cut-glass edges, and the pronunciation that did funny things to my insides, slipped from the speaker like notes from an intoxicating song.

  “Send him in.”

  Never having realized the potency of someone’s voice before, I found myself biting my lip as I started thinking about the heated words we’d shared together. Mind back in the dark room, the past shattered into the present as, suddenly, Sadie was there, nudging me toward the door.

  At that moment, I didn’t know if his office was the only place in the world I wanted to be or the last.

  I guessed I’d find out...

  Five

  Devlin

  Whatever I thought I’d say to Micah Nygard slipped from my mind the second I saw him.

  I’d learned his full name after a sweep of his HR records, and then because I wasn’t busy enough, I’d done some snooping.

  Part of the company policy was that online activity was logged for random spot checks.

  It was a way of trying to make sure employees didn’t check Facebook during office hours, which I thought was hilarious considering a lot of our business was social media-based but who was I to argue with standard office practice?

  Another part of that same policy was that emails were open to periodic sweeps to ensure proprietary material wasn’t being sent out illegally. Accessing his emails, as a result, was simple and as I checked through his work log, I found a surprisingly large amount of communication with Rhode’s EA.

  There wasn’t anything wrong with that in the grand scheme of things. Not if those emails had been asking about coffee orders, and whether he could do some photocopying... but they weren’t.

  They were about sensitive business practices.

  As much as an intern was supposed to learn during their ‘mentorship’ with us, the state of the emails told me Cassandra was palming a lot of work Micah’s way, none of which he was being paid for, and most of it sensitive as well as proprietary information regarding campaigns that we were trying to keep under wraps in the run up to a release.

  I was concerned, but not enough to stop it because he’d proven time and time again that he could handle the workload, and with the NDA he’d signed upon starting here, I didn’t have to worry about him leaking information to the press without there being ramifications to his actions. Such experience would be more than he might have anticipated, but could be useful for him in the future.

  As he’d never complained to HR about it, I was happy with him to continue, but I’d definitely be making a note about Rhode’s EA on her file.

  This decision was something I’d come to after reading his outgoing emails, where I discerned that he was smart, polite, instinctual, not in the habit of complaining about a workload he couldn’t have anticipated, and eager.

  But I’d known about his eagerness already, hadn’t I?

  I almost shuddered at the thought, the same as I almost shuddered again when I looked at him.

  He was beautiful.

  Absolutely fucking beautiful.

  I’d never thought a man could be that. Not because I believed in outdated stereotypes or that beauty was a woman’s domain and not a guy’s. But because I looked to men for certain things, and appearances rarely mattered.

  In the dark, all sins were covered.

  Scars, tattoos, zits, the places I frequented
when I was in a mood hid all those from sight.

  I went to dark rooms to be fucked. For the adrenaline rush. For the release. For the freedom to be me, a ‘me’ who could only ever be allowed out amid the shadows. For the danger. No holds barred, no rules... liberation in its rawest of states.

  So, no, men to me weren’t about looking for some eye candy to drool over. If they had a cock, my ass was ready to be reamed. Simple as.

  But Micah proved me wrong.

  Green eyes that were like glass, skin like cream, lips that were pillowy and reminded me of exactly why being sucked off by him was delicious...

  For a second, he was all I saw. In the cheap suit that was surprisingly smart, in a rich navy that offset his hair and skin tone, that made his eyes pop even greener in the light from the wall of windows behind me...

  From my awe, you’d think some mystical creature had wandered through my doors—

  Sadie cleared her throat, drawing my attention her way.

  I blinked, spied her confusion, and beamed a smile at her. It was her turn to blink, before she licked her lips and, breathily, asked, “Would you like coffee, sir?”

  “Please.” While I drowned in his eyes, I rasped, “What would you like to drink?”

  “A black coffee. Thanks, Sadie.”

  Something had changed in his posture. Turning nervousness at being called into my office, which made sense as interns were so beyond my radar this meeting was unheard of, to outright agitation at Sadie’s fluttering lashes.

  He twisted to watch her go, saw her peer back at me with a fleeting glance that spoke of her crush on me, and the next time he glanced my way, I saw his pique.

  Understood it.

  What stunned me was that his jealousy didn’t irritate the hell out of me.

  I’d been sitting at my desk when Sadie had told me he was here, had stayed there when the doors opened, revealing a man that made me glad my desk was made of wood so it shielded the sudden painful boner he gifted me as a greeting, and it was stupid.

  Reckless.

  Crazy.

  But I stood up.

  Boner and all.

  Watching as his pique faded away after his gaze drifted over me.

  By comparison, my shoes alone probably cost more than his monthly rent. My suit was bespoke, everything about my outfit was night to his day, and yet, what he did for that cheap piece of polyester was magical.

  In his case, the suit didn’t make the man. With me? It certainly augmented things up a notch.

  He allowed the heat in his eyes as I rounded my desk to flare wide and free, not banking it as he should, as I should encourage. His hands balled into fists as his eyes stayed locked on my hard-on, and I felt a curious sensation whirl to life inside me.

  This was what it felt like to be in the light.

  Experiencing these things in the shadows, in the dark of night, sordid and shameful fumblings that were, nevertheless, the most powerful experiences of my life—but this was different.

  I felt different.

  It couldn’t be said that I was a submissive man. Not in my life or in my career choices. Only in the dark rooms did I ever give, instead of take, but my shoulders straightened, I stood taller, even. Everything about me morphed. As if, in the heat of the sun, the light of day, I was better.

  I was me.

  My throat worked at the stupid thoughts—I left the prose and narrative to authors who could do a better job than me—but under his jealous stare, I tipped up my chin and rasped, “Problem?”

  As if he had the right to be possessive over me, his nostrils flared when his temper got the better of him. “She has a crush on you.”

  “Most women in my employ do.”

  If I sounded cocky, so be it. I was. Had reason to be. I wasn’t saying I had a face that would sink a thousand ships, but my bank account could. Few women weren’t enamored of that.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets with a casualness that was totally feigned, which drew his attention to my dick once more.

  Fuck, this was only going to make a bad situation worse, but I couldn’t help myself.

  It was like being in the dark room—only in my fucking office.

  A split second was the difference between me spying the slight lowering of the door handle, before Sadie remembered herself and quickly tapped on the door.

  “Come in,” I called out, turning my back on her so she couldn’t see the shameful state of me and I peered out of the windows, staring at my adopted city.

  New York was melting under the sun’s powerful rays. Three days into a heatwave and it was a wonder everyone hadn’t turned into crisps, but the blinding gleam of the sun against the walls of windows opposite me, to my left, my right, to my back, was the shock to the system I needed.

  Like an eraser clearing away my sight, it let me take a break from staring at the sheer masculine perfection standing behind me, and gave me a second to get myself in line.

  My singular problem?

  I didn’t want to be back in line.

  I wanted a blowjob.

  I wanted those pillowy lips back around my dick, his tongue slurping up my pre-cum. I wanted to watch him swallow every ounce of cum I had in my balls. I wanted—

  Fuck.

  I just wanted.

  Plain and simple.

  My mind was at war. Rational sense and the heated desires of the dark room where everything was irrational fused together so tightly that I couldn’t pull them apart.

  I needed to be professional.

  I’d never felt less interested in the business side of things.

  This meeting was a mistake. A big, fat, fucking mistake. I knew it like there was a flashing neon sign advertising it to the world at large.

  Upon seeing him in the elevator this morning, there were many things I should have done, and this current course of action wasn’t one of them.

  I shored myself up, rallied my defenses until I heard the door to the reception close as Sadie shut herself out of my sanctuary. That was when I turned around.

  When I saw him there.

  No longer by the door where he’d been standing before. No longer dozens of feet away from me.

  There.

  Right behind me.

  So close the air I inhaled was permeated with that lemongrass aftershave he wore.

  So close I could see the tiny striations in his lips, the natural creases and the Cupid’s bow I’d licked last night.

  So close that I could feel his heat, smell his laundry detergent, reach out, if I wanted, to stroke the lock of hair that had fallen forward to bob on his brow.

  My hands actually trembled with the need to do that. To have the right to feel the crisp silk between my fingertips. To hold some part of him, some innocent, innocuous part in my grasp.

  To connect to him.

  Defenses down again, I gritted my teeth to fight the urge before I rasped, “What are you doing?”

  “You know what.”

  The surety in his voice was so at odds with this morning when he’d darted out of the elevator like a frightened rabbit. Anxiety and worry seeming to seep from his pores as I watched him hurry down the hall.

  Now, he was strong and assured, confident in himself without being arrogant as he stepped into me, his torso clashing against mine as he reached up, held my cheeks in place and kissed me.

  Actually. Fucking. Kissed. Me.

  His head slanted just at the last second so that he could join our lips, bring them together so that we could taste one another again in the puddle of sunlight around us. And somehow, though it made no sense, he tasted better. Richer. More intense.

  He tasted so good that I couldn’t pull back, pull out of his hold. I had no choice but to sink into this kiss like he sank into me, his muscles aligning themselves with my torso, his hardness brushing against mine, but merging too.

  His dick was there, a solid presence on my abs, and my butt clenched with remembered need. The desire to have him back inside me was so overw
helming that I groaned as I reached for him, no longer content to be passive, to have him kiss me.

  I needed to experience all of this, all of him, right now.

  My hands went to his hair, those thick, dark flaxen locks that felt superb against my fingers, and I tugged at him, dragging him where I needed him. How I needed him.

  He complied, showing that same contrasting push and pull of last night—eager to act, eager to lead, but also eager to concede. It was delicious, delightful. If he’d been more aggressive, I might have shoved him away, but he was too earnest in his passion to reject.

  And he tasted divine.

  Like spearmint and coconut water of all things.

  I savored him like I would a fine wine, supping from him rather than chugging it back like I would a shot of tequila, because that was who he was.

  A Chilean Médoc.

  A sweet, sweet Auckland Merlot.

  His hands moved to my shoulders, and he kneaded me there before slipping down, grabbing my ass and holding me tightly. His cock was so big and so perfect against me, and all I could think of was last night and my need for him to pin me to the bloody glass and do as he had back in VICE—fuck me.

  For the first time, my liberation in the dark rooms felt sordid.

  While this?

  This was freedom.

  He made the tiniest sound in his throat before he pushed me into the window. The second my back collided with the hot glass, he was there, a harder, more pressurized presence. I felt like I was being branded, felt as if he was hotter even than the window, and I was being roasted on both sides.

  I tugged at his hair, unable to stop myself from drowning in him as I thrust my tongue along his. The flavor of him was like champagne, utterly effervescent, so that I felt as if I was fucking flying with the sun on my back, and the wind in my goddamn hair.

  This was a kiss they wrote about in books.

  This was a connection they tried to replicate in movies—a foot-popping kiss.

  And it was with a one-night stand. An employee. Hell, not even that. An intern.

  The thought shuddered through me and I pulled back, gasping, panting, but he chased me down. He didn’t let me go. Wouldn’t let me stop. He didn’t force this on me, just moved where I went, taking my air from me so I was overwhelmed with him, with his kiss, the slant of his mouth, the way his tongue flicked mine, how he tasted me and savored me. In seconds, my brain forgot again who I was, what he was, and I tightened my hands in his hair as I began to thrust my hips, dragging my aching dick between us. The need to feel him against me was paramount, and like he knew, he arched his back, creating space for his hands and then he was there.