Matthias: So now you’re not even going to answer my texts?
Matthias: Rissieeeeeee, I need to know what soda you like!
Me: I was working. One of us has to.
Matthias: Ouch. I’ll have you know, I just spent half an hour designing my new business card. Now the font is 12 points instead of 13 points. Just call me Mr. Business Mastermind.
Me: BM? As in… in Bowel… M…?
Matthias: Hmm. Never mind. Just call me Genus.
Me: What kind of genus? Fungi? I should call you Candida?
Matthias: That was a typo and you know it. Why are you so mean to me?
Me: Because you like it.
Matthias: Well, I like you…
I put my phone into a locked drawer so I don’t respond to him again, and lock my office for good measure. But that proves to be even more detrimental than just answering the message.
Around lunchtime, Matthias comes bounding in, large bags in both of his arms.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, suspicious. Even after just spending a few days with him, I know that where Matthias goes, chaos ensues. He riles my staff up, and while it makes them excited for work, it’s annoying that they have quickly taken to him more than me.
“You ask me that question a lot,” he says, exasperated.
I laugh, realizing that I do, indeed, ask him that a lot. “Well, you’re around where you shouldn’t be a lot!”
“Darling, I am everywhere. You should just get used to it.” He winks and disappears into the kitchen and comes back with one smaller bag.
“What’s that?”
He dangles it in the air. “This? It’s food.”
“Why?”
He frowns. “Why is food? That’s an existential question if I’ve ever heard one.”
I’m going to strangle him one day. “Why do you have food?”
He grins, “It’s just some subs, I didn’t know what you like because you didn’t answer my questionnaire, so I got a Mediterranean roast vegetable one, a Greek gyro sub and a crispy skin pork belly roll. Someone told me the best place to get them in the city so I wanted to try out.”
He lays the food out on the bar and then pours us each a glass of apple cider from the bar fridge.
“Come on,” he calls me over. “Try to eat at least a little bit of each one. You can wrap up the rest and save it for later. Maybe try to eat something before you start work tonight.”
I pick up the plate he’s made for me, and bring it to my nose. It’s an explosion of flavor. And even though they’re all inspired from different countries in the world, somehow the smells mix together in a delicious cacophony of spices.
He takes a bite out of the roast vegetable sub and groans. “Damn, that’s delicious. Hurry up and eat yours or else I’m going to steal it.”
I hurriedly take a bite as he says, “So, what have you been doing today?”
Almost choking because I forget to swallow before answering, I take a sip of the cider before taking a breath. “Um, I’m trying to work out the entertainment schedule for the next week. One band had to pull out because”-I slap my palm against my face-“their bass player is grounded. Something about bad grades.”
“Grounded?” he repeats, laughing so hard he almost chokes as well.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, they start them young these days.”
“No kidding. Well, what kind of entertainment are you looking to fill the space? I might know a few people. There’s a pianist I know who would kill to play in a place like this. And he is good.”
He suggests a few people, including a guy he saw in the park who plays a piano that he pulls behind his bike, but also does blues performances.
“Thank you. I’ll call some of these people today.”
He beams, reaching over to touch me. It’s always him. I’ve never initiated contact. Maybe I’m just afraid he’ll reject me?
He comes the next two days for lunch.
Each time bringing something new and delicious, and bringing some for the rest of my staff as well. On the third day, he brings a picnic basket that has a bottle of Dom poking out of it and takes me up to the roof.
We talk about the club, mostly, but he shares stories about work, and slowly I feel us getting closer by the minute. We still fight, but somehow, it’s different because in the end, I feel like we’re in this together.
And when I’m not with him, I’m waiting until I can be again.
MATTHIAS
G
od.
Her lips are around my cock, sucking softly as her hands wrap around the base,
squeezing me.
My hands tangle in her hair, molding around her head, ready to hold her still so I can fuck her mouth when I’m ready.
“Yes, darling, just like that. Take my cock.”
She moans, sending shock waves all through my body, and I thrust up into her throat, needing more.
“Don’t stop, I’m so close, it feels so fucking good.”
Her head bobs up and down, each time taking a little more of me, her tongue pressed flat against the underside of my cock. Each time her lips graze over the seam of my cockhead, I edge a little closer to climax.
“Look at me, darling… let me see you sucking me off…”
Her eyelids widen and I almost come. Sweet and sexy both at once, she’s the perfect combination.
I’m close. I’m so fucking close.
I grab her head and drive into her throat. The sound of her gagging spurs me on, her eyes still locked on mine.
“Just a little more, god, I’m so close, darling.”
Her eyes glisten with tears as she relaxes her throat, taking me so deep.
My balls start to-knock, knock!
Fuck!
My hand stills, wrapped around the head of my cock, as I’m pulled out of my fantasy, seconds from coming.
“Matthias?” Clarissa calls through the door. The sound of her voice makes my cock jerk in my hand.
Another knock.