Chapter 2: Kneeling on the Glass Floor
The touch of Simon’s lips was a spark in dry tinder. A circuit completed.
Evan made a sound, low in his throat—a surrender, a release of held breath. The trembling in his hand vanished, replaced by a terrifying certainty. His fingers slid from Simon’s jaw to the back of his neck, gripping, possessive. The other hand came up to frame Simon’s face, his gaze laser-focused, devouring.
“You have no idea,” Evan whispered, his voice a rough caress. “What you’re doing. What this means.”
Simon’s own pulse was a frantic drum against his ribs. He felt the heat radiating from Evan’s body, smelled the intense, personal scent of him beneath the cologne and whiskey—sweat, clean cotton, masculine skin. “I think I’m starting to.”
That was all the invitation Evan needed. He closed the final inch of space, and his mouth crashed down on Simon’s.
It wasn’t a kiss of exploration. It was a claiming. Hungry, desperate, all tongue and teeth and raw need. Simon’s head spun. He tasted the expensive Scotch, the bitter echo of coffee, and underneath it, the pure, unadulterated flavor of Evan’s want. It was overwhelming. Simon’s hands, which had hung stiffly at his sides, came up. One gripped Evan’s bicep, feeling the solid muscle coiled tight beneath the fine fabric. The other fisted in the loose, untucked silk of his shirt, pulling him closer.
Evan groaned into his mouth, the sound vibrating through both of them. He walked Simon backward, not breaking the kiss, until Simon’s shoulders hit the cool, unyielding glass of the exterior wall. The entire cityscape pressed against his back, a dizzying tapestry of lights that meant nothing now. Evan’s body pinned him there, a solid line of heat from chest to thigh. Simon could feel the hard ridge of Evan’s erection straining against his trousers, a pressing, insistent reality against his own hip.
Evan broke the kiss, breathing harshly. He rested his forehead against Simon’s, his eyes squeezed shut. “I’ve wanted to ruin you since your first day. That fucking confident walk of yours.”
“Ruin me?” Simon managed, his own breath coming short.
“Yes.” Evan’s eyes opened, and the vulnerability was still there, but it was fused now with a dark, glittering dominance. “Take that sharp, clean mind of yours and smear my fingerprints all over it. Make you forget your own name.” He ground his hips forward, making them both gasp. “Make you forget everything but this.”
He shoved away from the glass, taking Simon with him by a firm grip on his arm. He led—no, directed—him to the center of the vast office floor, away from the desk, into the open space where the polished concrete met the seamless sheets of glass. The city lay sprawled beneath them, a silent, twinkling witness.
Evan stopped. His hands went to Simon’s shoulders and pushed, downwards. The command was wordless, absolute.
Simon understood. A hot spike of submission—and thrilling power—lanced through him. He was allowing this. He was choosing to kneel. He lowered himself, the cool floor seeping through the wool of his trousers. He looked up. Evan stood over him, backlit by the desk lamp, his face in shadow, his form a cut-out against the urban glow. The power dynamic had not just shifted; it had inverted, then twisted into something entirely new.
Evan undid his belt with a sharp, metallic rasp. The zipper’s sound was obscenely loud. He pushed his trousers and briefs down just enough, freeing his cock.
It was thick, fully erect, the head flushed dark and already beaded with moisture. Veins traced its length. It was a fact of the man—unadorned, demanding.
“You want this, don’t you?” Evan’s voice was no longer a hoarse whisper. It was low, controlled, edged with a taunt. “You ambitious little cunt. You’d do anything to get closer to the top. Isn’t that right?”
The crude word hit Simon like a physical blow, igniting a shameful flush across his skin. It was true, and it wasn’t. This wasn’t about promotion anymore. It was about the man holding himself, staring down with a mix of fury and devotion. Simon didn’t answer with words. He leaned forward, his mouth open.
Evan’s hand fisted in his light hair, not gently. He guided himself, the broad tip pressing against Simon’s lips, smearing them with wet salt. “Open wider.”
Simon obeyed, letting his jaw go slack. Evan pushed in.
The stretch was immediate, intense. Simon’s eyes watered as the thick heat filled his mouth, the intimate, musky taste of him overwhelming. Evan’s grip in his hair tightened, holding him steady.
“That’s it,” Evan murmured, looking down, watching himself disappear. “Take it. Take all of it.”
He began to move, slow at first, a shallow push and retreat. Simon focused on breathing through his nose, on relaxing his throat. He let his tongue press flat against the undershaft, feeling the rigid, pulsing weight. A string of saliva escaped his stretched lips, dripping onto his chin.
The pace quickened. Evan’s thrusts became deeper, more possessive. He wasn’t just using Simon’s mouth; he was occupying it, marking it. Each forward surge hit the back of Simon’s throat, triggering a gag reflex he fought to suppress. Tears tracked hot lines down his cheeks. The sounds were filthy, wet, rhythmic. The slap of skin, the choked gags, Evan’s ragged breathing.
“Fuck, your mouth,” Evan gritted out, his hips stuttering. “So fucking hot and tight. I dreamed about this. About wrecking this perfect, polite composure of yours.” He thrust deep, holding there, making Simon choke. He watched the tears, the mess on Simon’s face, with a kind of agonized rapture. “You look perfect like this. On your knees. Used.”
Simon’s own cock was aching, trapped hard in his trousers. The humiliation was a drug. The raw physicality was a fire. He reached up, his hands finding Evan’s hips, not to push away but to hold on, to feel the muscles working as he fucked into his face.
Evan saw the gesture. A ragged groan tore from him. “You like it. You fucking love it, don’t you? Being my good, greedy boy.”
He was losing control. His thrusts became frantic, punishing. His balls tightened against Simon’s chin. “I’m gonna come. You’re gonna swallow every drop. You understand? You take it. You take what I give you.”
Simon could only make a muffled, affirmative sound around the fullness in his mouth. He braced himself.
With a final, deep, shuddering drive, Evan came. A hot, bitter pulse flooded Simon’s throat. He swallowed instinctively, again and again, as Evan jerked through his climax, groaning out curses that were both praise and damnation. The hold on his hair was vicelike, keeping him impaled until the very last tremor subsided.
Evan slowly, carefully, pulled his softening cock from Simon’s bruised lips. He looked utterly spent, hollowed out, swaying slightly on his feet. He tucked himself away mechanically, his hands shaking again.
Simon stayed on his knees, breathing heavily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The taste of Evan was deep inside him now.
Evan looked down at him, the storm in his eyes clearing to reveal a vast, bewildered wreckage. He slowly, almost reverently, crouched down to Simon’s level. He didn’t kiss him. He just rested his forehead against Simon’s, his breath cooling on Simon’s wet skin.
“Well,” Evan said, his voice utterly wrecked. “Now you have something on me, too.”