Divorced for Being Barren, I Came Back Pregnant by His Rival novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: After Hours

Eliot goes back for his bag and finds August alone at the whiteboard, who smells it and kneels.

He rode back up to thirty-one with his coat held over his lap and his thighs pressed together.

The notebook box was still in his lab.

That was the reason he gave himself, the whole way up.

The lab floor was dark except for one glass room at the far end, where a light was burning.

August VanDusen stood at a whiteboard in his shirtsleeves with a marker in his hand.

He had written Eliot's reaction scheme across the whole board from memory, every arrow, every solvent, the corrected order circled twice.

He turned at the sound of the doors.

Then he went completely still.

His nostrils flared, and the marker slipped out of his fingers and rolled across the floor.

"You're wet," he said.

His voice was rough and low.

"It started in the elevator." Eliot kept his hand on the door frame. "It's been four years, I didn't know it would be this much."

"Eliot."

"Don't say my name like that."

"How would you like me to say it?"

Eliot crossed the room and stopped a foot from him.

Up close August was enormous, a wall of white shirt and heat and cedar.

Eliot's whole body tilted toward him.

"Rule one," Eliot said. "No touching in the building."

"I remember."

"Take it back."

August's breath left him in one rough sound.

"Say it plainly," he said. "I want to be sure."

"I want your mouth on me. Now. Kneel."

August knelt.

He did it the way he had read the notebook, with his whole attention, down onto the lab floor in his good trousers.

He looked up at Eliot from there with his gray eyes gone black.

"Where?" he said.

"Wherever you want, as long as it's fast."

"It won't be fast."

Eliot backed up until his shoulders hit the whiteboard.

The tray of markers dug into his spine.

August opened his belt with careful hands and drew his trousers and underwear down to his knees.

The smell hit the room.

Slick had soaked the inside of both thighs.

August made a sound Eliot had never heard a man make.

"Look at that," he said. "Look at you."

He put his face to the inside of Eliot's thigh and licked a long wet stripe up through it.

Eliot's head cracked back against the board.

"God, VanDusen."

"You taste like," August said, and stopped, and licked again, breathless.

His beard scraped the soft skin.

His hands spread Eliot's legs wider and held them there.

"Hands on my head," August ordered.

Eliot's fingers went into the short sandy hair without a thought.

He was fully hard, his cock red and wet at the tip.

August took him into his mouth to the root with no warning at all.

The heat of it hit Eliot's spine.

"Fuck."

August hummed around him, and the vibration rolled up through his belly.

He sucked slowly, then hard, with a flat tongue and a tight throat, and he kept his eyes on Eliot's face the whole time.

Eliot had been touched by the same man for six years.

Nobody had ever looked at him like this.

"You corrected my solvent order without even blinking," August said, pulling off, his lips wet and swollen. "Do you know what that did to me? I've had a hard-on since nine o'clock this morning."

"Then do something about it."

"I'm doing something about you."

He took Eliot back in his mouth and slid two thick fingers down between his cheeks.

They found the hole slick and open and pushed in without any resistance at all.

Eliot's knees nearly gave out.

"Oh, fuck, oh."

"Easy. I've got you."

August crooked the fingers and found the spot on the first try.

White light went through Eliot's eyes.

He grabbed the hair in both fists and rocked his hips into that mouth.

August took it, groaning, his free hand clamped on Eliot's hip to hold him steady.

Slick ran down August's wrist, and he turned his head and licked it off his own forearm without stopping.

"More," Eliot said. "Add another."

"Give me a minute to enjoy this."

"You're enjoying it, then."

"I've never enjoyed anything more in my life."

Three fingers.

They stretched him wide and slow, thrusting in time with the swallows, and the sounds the slick made in the quiet room were obscene.

Eliot heard himself babbling.

"That's it, right there, don't stop, you're so good at this, harder."

August made a rough, pleased noise and obeyed.

His tongue pressed up under the head, and his fingers pressed in on the spot.

Eliot felt the climb start low at the base of his spine.

It had been so long that he didn't recognize it for a second.

"VanDusen," he started, and bit his own lip. "I'm going to..."

August looked up at him with his mouth full.

He did not slow down.

He pushed harder, and swallowed around him, and Eliot came with a long wrecked cry, hips jerking.

August drank every pulse of it down and kept his fingers moving through the end.

Eliot slid down the whiteboard until his ass hit the floor.

Marker ink had streaked across the back of his sweater.

August sat back on his heels in front of him, his shirt wet, his mouth glistening, his chest heaving.

The bulge at his fly was impossible to miss.

He wiped his mouth with his wrist and looked at the wrist.

Then he licked it again.

"Four minutes," Eliot said.

"I'd like to apologize."

"Don't."

August laughed, a tired, delighted, helpless sound, and rested his forehead on Eliot's knee.

"Rule one," he said against it, "was no touching in the building."

"It was a bad rule."

"Tell me the next one's bad too."

Eliot pushed the wet hair off August's forehead and saw that his own hand was shaking.

He got his legs under him.

He pointed a finger at the glass door and the long dark conference room beyond it.

"Table," he said. "Go."

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