Page 74 of Vicious Butterfly
He’s getting fucked by my only security guard manning the place, isn’t he? Yep. It’s the same one who took Ethan to his room a few weeks back. Jane is gonna bust the guard’s balls. Ethan’s a power bottom. Such a big man, doing everything Ethan says.
“Oh, hey, boss,” Ethan moans. He’s bent over a table, his pants only low enough to expose his ass and his hard dick hanging under the table.
“Meet me in my office.” I keep walking, expecting my orders to be obeyed.
“Yeah, I’ll be there in five.” There are slapping sounds. “Don’t you dare fucking stop. Finish me off, Jones. Hand on my cock,now.”
When Ethan joins me, his suit is put back to rights, his demure attitude settled onto his face. Only his hair gives away his earlier activities.
“Apologies. We weren’t expecting you,” Ethan says, taking a seat, leaning back.
“Clearly. Is this what you do between running numbers and designing brochures with the fancy software you bought yourself with my money?”
“Yes,” he says, unapologetic. “Why are you here on a Wednesday afternoon? If it’s because of that hockey hottie, I’ll scream.”
“I’m not here because of Ryan.”
“You’re notnothere because of Ryan.”
“Okay, fine. It’s because of Ryan.” I don’t feel as powerful at Shadowridge as I do behind this desk. “I need your help arranging my schedule so I can be at North Point as often as possible.”
I’ll have to run personal audits at other colleges to make it seem like I’m not biased, but I’m biased. Sue me.
“I knew that was coming based on our conversations. I took the liberty of doing a mock-up schedule for you. Now, can I go back to fucking that stallion?”
“In a minute. Your schedule will be changing as well.”
“Tate,” he groans.
“I pay you to do what I tell you to do—no complaining.”
“I don’t recall signing anything that says no complaining. I wouldn’t do that.”
We spend the next hour sorting through both our schedules. It’s easy for me to travel to most of the Pacific Conference colleges, except for a couple. Ethan will conduct my audits in those schools.
“Now, can I go?” he half demands. “I haven’t eaten, Tate. If you won’t let me fuck, let me eat.”
Well, now I just want to fuck with him. “You know, I could go for some good?—”
My phone goes off with a text. It’s the tone I have set for Ryan.
“Oh, brother. You have it bad, Tate. It’s disgusting.”
“Just for that, you get to stay right here until I release you.” I delight in his whines as I read the text from my man—no, my boyfriend. What would Ryan say if I called him that? I’d probably get that beautiful look of fury.
It’s nothing but a location. My blood freezes, prickling with darkness. Is he in trouble? Who would fucking dare?
“Tate? You’re growling.”
“I need Pearl and a few other items.”
He squints. “What are you?—”
“Now.”
Worry creases his brow. Ethan pushes away from the leather couch, his dress shoes slapping over the brewery floor.
It’s dark, shadows moving through the trees between the scant bits of moonlight. I drag and then stuff my heavy cargo into the back seat. Mulch and moss squelch under my boots. I toss Pearl, my exquisite Sig Sauer with the opal handle, onto the passenger seat and put my car in gear, pulling out of obscurity. When I make it onto the highway, I make a call.
