Page 17 of Tempted By the Safety

I get more confident with my movements, starting at his calves, working the oil in circles, up over the curve of muscle there, and then higher, over the back of one knee, up the long line of his thigh. I do the first leg all the way, then move to the second, and by the time I’m done, both his legs are shining, and my hands are not quite steady anymore.

Then there’s nowhere left to go but up, and I move to his ass.

Spencer gasps when I get both hands on one cheek, working the oil in. It’s not subtle, slipping out of him before he can stop it. I try to keep it impersonal. Hands and oil and skin, nothing more.

But he makes that sound again when I move to the other side, quieter, bitten back, and it undoes whatever thread I was hanging on to. My hands slow down. The circles become a caress, and I know exactly what I’m doing even as I tell myself I don’t.

I’m hard. I’ve been hard for several minutes now, tenting the front of my pants past any hope of hiding it. And I know, with total clarity, that the second he turns around he’s going to see it.

I finish the last of it, smoothing my palms over him one more time, and then I rise to my feet behind him.

“Turn around,” I say, my voice coming out wrecked.

7

Spencer

I don’t turn around right away, because if I do, Milo will see exactly what his hands did to me, and there’s no dressing gown of professionalism big enough to cover that up. So I stand there with both palms flat on the dresser and my head down, thinking about how I’ve spent thirty-one years attracted only to women, no exceptions. But my dick has clearly not read my resume, and none of it makes sense.

“Spencer.” Milo has never used my name like that before. “Turn around.”

I exhale slowly through my nose, the way I do on the sideline when a play’s gone wrong. Then I close my eyes and turn.

Milo pulls in a breath and holds it, and I open my eyes. He’s staring straight down at the front of the jockstrap, at what the green fabric is doing an increasingly poor job of containing. He’s got his bottom lip caught between his teeth so hard I’m convinced he’s going to draw blood.

“Fuck,” he says softly, and his hand drops to the front of his own pants, a quick, helpless adjustment, and that’s when I see it: the same problem, mirrored back at me, straining behind black fabric.

My chest loosens, marginally, at the sight of it.

“Sorry,” I say, and my voice comes out rough. “That’s just… it’s a bodily reaction. It’s been a while for me.”

“Oh, yeah, no, totally.” Milo’s still not looking at my face. His eyes are locked exactly where they were, and I feel it like a hand. His voice has gone thin and quick. “Totally get it. No big deal. Happens to the best of us.”

“They need me on set in five minutes,” I say, mostly to give both of us somewhere else to put our attention. “I’ll just wait it out. It’ll pass.”

“I don’t think it’s going anywhere anytime soon,” Milo murmurs.

My cock twitches at the sound of his voice, pitched low and close, and I have to look at the floor for a second.

“You’re not helping,” I say. “Please, just leave me alone for a minute.”

He doesn’t leave.

“Let me help you,” he says instead.

My head comes up. “What? No. Absolutely not.”

“Is it because I’m a guy?”

“It’s because you’re my PA.”

“Shh,” he says, and he moves before I can react, crossing the room in two steps to the door, and I hear the lock click over. Then he’s back in front of me, closer than before.

“You’re right,” he says, and the playfulness is creeping back into his voice. “I’m your personal assistant. So let meassistyou.”

There’s a whole sentence on the tip of my tongue about lines and power dynamics, but none of it comes out.

Milo leans in, and his mouth is so close to my ear that the words land on my skin.