What Not to Wear

Chapter 1: Monday

Chapter 1: Monday

“Monday morning almost done.” Doug Jensen strolled into his manager’s cubicle with a swagger of self-confidence that he knew his lukewarm appraisal results didn’t merit. However, what he lacked in status as the company’s most junior sales and marketing administrative assistant, he was happy to make up for in bluster.

His colleague was seated at the desk, attending to work on a PC, back to Doug. Doug coughed to get the guy’s attention. “The whole week’s still ahead of us, man. I told Suzie to hold all your calls. You’re taking your lunch break with me.”

Two receptionists wandered along the corridor outside the cubicles, glancing quickly in at the two men. The man at the desk probably heard their horrified gasps, closely followed by their footsteps hurrying away. He didn’t look up from his keyboard, but his shoulders tensed and he sighed.

Doug peered at the new diary on the desk beside the PC. “Gold lettering, that’s impressive.” He read it aloud. “Beckett Stone, Senior Manager, Fleet Sales, South East England.” He smiled to himself. His guy deserved the promotion.

“Doug.” The other man’s voice was cautious. “So, what are you wearing?”

“Me?” Doug laughed and pressed his mouth up against Beckett’s ear. “I’m perfectly decent, lover. Unlike the crack of dawn, which was when you rolled me back over to my side of the bed and said that now you were some new, big-shot manager, you had to be in the office early, and you didn’t have time for another mouthful.” He flicked his tongue against Beckett’s earlobe. “Not only that, you said I had to shower my stark naked, irresistibly-ripped body, quickly throw on some clothes, and get ready to come into work with you like usual.”

“I meant, what are you wearing under your jacket. That’s all I saw this morning in the car.”

“Yeah?” Doug smiled. He only half-remembered the journey since he’d been sleepy, hunched up in the seat beside his lover, still yawning, and with the collar of his jacket tugged up around his neck.

Beckett sighed again. “They’re on their way to get the HR manager, you know. Those girls from Reception. You must stop provoking the other staff.” He spun his chair around and his eyes widened.

Doug bit back an even wider grin. Obviously Beckett’s management training hadn’t entirely prepared him for more challenging staff issues. Doug stepped back with hands held up, confident he was demonstrating his most engaging, innocent expression. Wait a minute! Maybe it was the lurid slogan slashed across the chest of his T-shirt that had startled Beckett. Doug glanced down at it himself.

Sorry girls, I suck d**k.

Beckett flushed. Doug’s gaze dropped to his lover’s lap. Yeah. Beckett’s well-pressed trousers looked deliciously tight today—or maybe that was just in the last ten seconds. “Not just a slogan,” he murmured mischievously. “Call it a reference. Maybe a mission statement.”

Beckett made a small, gasping sound.

“Lunch, did you say?” Doug raised his eyebrows. He grinned broadly and licked his lips. “Like, now?”

Beckett coughed as if he knew Doug wasn’t just referring to a cheese and pickle sandwich. “I’m afraid not. My phone hasn’t stopped ringing all morning with calls from my new clients. Two people have rung in sick and I have to cover their work. A proposal for the autumn marketing campaign is due to the Board by Thursday. I’m expected to attend a management team de-briefing any time in the next twenty minutes, I’m just waiting for email confirmation.” He coughed again, rather more uncertainly. “Your timing is, as always…challenging.”

Doug grinned even more and slipped his middle finger in between his thick, moist lips. Pulled it out…then slid it in again.

“Oh, yes,” Beckett murmured, surrender flickering brightly in his pupils. “Right now.”

Doug moved quickly and with familiarity, pushing the filing cabinet across the cubicle opening to obscure the view from the nearby lifts. He reached to flip the phone to voicemail while Beckett turned his chair so only the back could be seen by anyone passing down the corridor. Then Doug dropped to his knees in front of Beckett and unzipped the other man’s trousers. With one hand, he freed Beckett’s c**k, already swollen and straining wetly against the front of pale grey briefs. Very discreet for a Senior Manager. Doug approved. With his other hand, he steadied himself against the overhanging desk, dislodging some paperclips and assorted pens. The keyboard rattled off some nonsense as his grasping fingers skimmed over it.

“Watch that,” Beckett muttered. “I was in the middle of something.”

“Shut up,” Doug growled. “This menu isn’t available for the general public, right?”

Beckett stifled a laugh.

Doug savoured the delight of fresh, hungry saliva in his mouth, licked his lips, then slid them over the head of Beckett’s d**k. It was already thick and went deep; he felt it nudging against his palate. He grunted with satisfaction and looked up through eyes that felt heavy with lust, lapping over the crown. Beckett’s c**k jerked on his tongue in excited response. Doug would have smiled if his mouth weren’t full of it.

Beckett groaned and his head went back. He gripped the sides of his chair, the castors squeaking slightly under pressure. “Fuck.”

Doug felt the hiccup of pleasure he always felt when he played with Beckett like this, when he made his guy groan like that. Beckett was gorgeous; Beckett was hot. Beckett was good for him. It’d been a bloody lucky day for him when he was allocated to Fleet Sales: South East England, and Beckett Stone had turned those dark, sexy, startled eyes on him for the first time. Doug didn’t like to sound boastful, but it hadn’t been long before he brought his own special brand of enthusiasm and irreverence into Beckett’s team and—pretty soon after—Beckett’s bed.

He continued to lick enthusiastically, his grip alternating between playfulness and greed. He cupped Beckett’s sac in his palm through the cool cotton briefs. He let the little finger of his other hand tug at a stray, sweaty curl escaping over the top of the waistband. He made no other noise except for sucking. In the background, the lift bell chimed a few times; there was a gurgle from the fresh-brew coffee machine. Over by the copier, a voice laughed, and on the other side of the office, a couple of other employees started to argue aimlessly.

“Now…” Beckett whispered. He sounded as if he were merely addressing a negative in last month’s promotions budget. But his eyes rolled and his thighs tensed, and Doug understood much more than that.

Chuckling softly, Doug slid his fingertip just that little bit further, stroking behind Beckett’s balls. Beckett came suddenly, hard, gasping and grabbing at Doug’s hair. Doug tolerated the pain because, hell, that was part of the fun, wasn’t it? Still crouching on the floor, he took Beckett’s weight as his lover slumped onto his shoulder, limbs shaking.

The only sound was their harsh breathing. Slowly, Doug let the softening c**k slip gently out of his mouth. He smacked his lips with satisfaction. Propping Beckett back upright in the chair, he got to his feet, shifting the bulge at his groin and tutting with his own frustration. “Ought to visit the gents with this. Maybe after we’ve had lunch. For real. You know, with food.” He smoothed out his T-shirt and glanced down at Beckett’s stunned expression. “Okay, so maybe before.” He knew he was smirking, but he couldn’t help it, could he? He was damned proud of himself.

Beckett groaned. His gaze focused slowly back on his desk and PC, where the company logo circled lazily around on the screensaver. Doug smiled fondly. The reflection in the screen showed a very wild-eyed, dishevelled employee. Play-Beckett was always the most delicious thing.

“I definitely don’t remember saying all that to you this morning.” Beckett’s voice sounded very hoarse.

“Huh?” Doug still felt fond, but he had an idea that Work-Beckett was returning to action.

“I mean, irresistibly-ripped is not a phrase I’d use. And you should have a proper shirt on. That T-shirt’s still not appropriate for work, you know.”

“You bought it for me.”

Beckett grinned suddenly in return, a sharp, rare, wicked smile that would surely have shocked his other more respectable and restrained colleagues. “I remember.”

“We’re still okay for lunch, though, right?”

Play-Beckett was still smiling. He tapped the screen back on, revealing his e-mail application. Doug saw the way his shoulders tensed again. Something wasn’t…quite right.

Work-Beckett frowned. “Did you shut down my draft e-mail to the Sales Director? I was replying to the agenda for the team briefing. The one I’m due at…” He glanced at his watch. “Now.”

Doug shrugged. He felt flushed, and he wasn’t sure it was from s****l excitement. “Of course I didn’t.” Fuss about nothing. He took a step backward.

Beckett was peering at the screen. “I didn’t type this part.” He looked pale, as if something had suddenly disagreed with him. Quite strongly. Doug bit his lip. He’d only accidentally brushed the keyboard, going down on Beckett so swiftly. Anything he’d typed wouldn’t have been proper script. It wouldn’t have been anything legible, let alone anything obscene.

Would it?

Beckett growled in the back of his throat. Doug felt something stir in the pit of his belly that was neither hunger nor pleasure. He took another step back, this time toward the cubicle exit. Fuss about nothing, yeah. But maybe a strategic withdrawal was in order. A team briefing with his own hand in the gents toilet, yes, that’d do. He took the final step into the corridor, turned, and sprinted for the lifts.

He was well on his way when Beckett’s indignant protest hit its highest pitch.