We've had a week with no electricity, and suddenly tonight it came back on! It's time for a celebratory post! In honor of glorious electricity, I give you a snippet from my short story Table Topped, which comes out in December in the anthology I Like To Watch, from Cleis Press. Voyeurs and exhibitionists, mmm. There will follow a real pimping post complete with links soon.
PS-This post is R-rated and m/m themed, so go no further if you're feeling particularly PG tonight.
by Cari Z
“What, here?” Michaels exclaims, his voice a lot higher than normal.
“What’s wrong with here?” I murmur in his ear as I pull him close to me again, wrapping my arms around his waist and slipping my fingertips beneath his belt.
“It’s…it’s Mr. Brandt’s office,” Michaels manages. His head is whipping from side to side, taking in everything as though he’s never seen it before. Which, come to think of it, perhaps he hasn’t. Matt Michaels works in accounting, has modest aspirations towards middle management, and a desk covered with pictures of his cat. I’m the vice-president of research and development for our corporation. I’ve been in this office plenty of times, but he’s probably never had reason to before. It’s likely a little intimidating. Lord knows I’ve found it to be so in the past.
“We can’t fuck in Mr. Brandt’s office, Jake,” Michaels hisses. “What if someone walks in? What if he comes in? We’ll both be fired!” Michaels and I have had the occasional interlude before in the workplace, but never in a space quite so…lofty.
“Matthew,” I say evenly as I let one hand drift up to undo his tie, “It’s the evening of the company holiday party. People are probably fucking everywhere right now. In the storage rooms, in the bathrooms, in the goddamn cafeteria…this is the one place we can be sure we’ll be alone. Mr. Brandt has been away on business all week and his secretary doesn’t work nights. We’ll be fine.” I slip his tie off and let it fall to the floor, then start in on his buttons. “Unless you’d prefer waiting in line for the broom closet…”
“No,” Michaels says quickly, leaning his chest into my touch even as his eyes rove over the furniture. I can tell it appeals to him. His nipples are pebble-hard beneath my fingertips and his breathing is fast and shallow. He’s looking at the table. Everyone looks at the table. It’s a goddamn fifteen-foot, lacquered, polished oak phallic symbol. When Henry first put it in I almost laughed myself unconscious.
I get our feet moving in the direction of that table, mindful of providing just the right view. “Do you want me to fuck you here, Matthew?” I purr, stopping my hand after the top few buttons of his shirt are undone. I want to keep some clothes between us, but I love touching his skin as well. Michaels has an incredibly smooth chest, almost certainly the result of careful attention, but so what? I like a man who takes care of himself. He’s a little smaller than I am, a little more slender and ten years younger, but when my hand finally presses against his erection I’m not disappointed. Michaels is just as ready as I am. “Is that what you want? Is this—” I pause and grind my hard-on against his ass, getting a groan out of him, “what you want?”