He Took My Prison Sentence, So Now My Secretary Is Mine novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Fifth Day
On Yancey's fifth day as his secretary, billionaire Jud Trammell pins him against the desk and puts Yancey's hand on his cock, then says he knew him the minute the elevator opened.
"I need to go, Mr. Trammell," Yancey said. "The port authority is waiting down the hall."
"Let them wait."
Jud had him backed against the edge of the desk, one hand flat on the blotter beside Yancey's hip.
The other hand held Yancey's wrist, not hard, but not loose either.
"Say it again," Jud said.
"Say what?"
"Mr. Trammell. Say it like you did in the elevator on Monday."
Yancey's mouth had gone dry.
He had planned for a lot of things in eight months of planning, and this had not been one of them.
He had planned for the man to be cold.
He had planned for the man to be cruel, or to look straight through him.
He had not planned for Jud Trammell to stand this close in a navy three-piece suit, smelling of cedar and coffee, with his grey eyes gone dark.
"You have a meeting," Yancey said again.
"I have a problem." Jud lifted Yancey's hand and set it flat against the front of his trousers. "You did this."
Yancey went still.
Under his palm Jud was hard, thick and hot through the wool.
"Five days," Jud said, low. "Five days of you leaning over my desk with a folder. Five days of that tie hanging in my face."
"I was handing you a contract."
"You were doing it on purpose."
He was.
That was the worst part, because it was true.
Yancey had leaned over that desk on Tuesday and Wednesday and again this morning, and each time he had felt those eyes on the back of his neck.
It had been the plan.
Make the man want him, then take it all away, and leave the way Jud had let him be left.
He had not planned on wanting it back.
"Mr. Trammell," Yancey said, and his voice came out rough.
Jud's hand slid up from his wrist, over his forearm and the long scar there, and settled at his jaw.
"Tell me to stop," Jud said.
Yancey did not say it.
"Tell me to stop and I'll let you out that door. You walk to the meeting. I never touch you again."
"Is that a dare?"
"It's a door," Jud said. "It's open."
Yancey looked at it.
Then he looked at Jud's mouth, and he curled his fingers into the wool.
Jud made a sound low in his chest.
He kissed Yancey hard.
It was not a polite kiss.
It was nine years of something bitten down and held, and it came out all at once, with teeth and a hand fisted in Yancey's hair.
Yancey kissed him back just as hard.
He had no choice about that.
His body knew this mouth, though it had never touched it.
It had wanted it at nineteen, in a truck cab with the radio on, and it wanted it now.
Jud's hand dragged down his chest and caught the knot of his tie and pulled it loose.
"Shirt," Jud said into his mouth. "Open it."
"The door is not locked."
"It's locked," Jud said.
"Since when?"
"Since you walked in this morning with that coffee." Jud bit his lower lip. "Open it, Crenshaw."
Yancey's fingers shook on the buttons.
He got three open before Jud gave up waiting and tore the rest.
A button hit the carpet.
Jud's mouth went down his throat and over his collarbone, and Yancey's head fell back against the window glass behind the desk.
Thirty-eight floors down, the Ship Channel ran brown and slow under the cranes.
Nobody could see them up here.
He felt Jud's hands at his belt anyway, and he gripped the desk edge.
"Look at me," Jud said.
Yancey looked.
"You want this," Jud said.
"Yes."
"Say it like you mean it."
"I want it," Yancey said. "Sir. I want this."
Something went across Jud's face, quick and bright.
It was almost hurt.
Then it was gone, and his hand was inside Yancey's trousers, hot and sure, wrapping around his cock.
Yancey bucked against it with a shout he swallowed.
"Quiet," Jud said, and kissed him again. "The walls are thin on this side."
"Then don't."
"Don't what?" Jud asked.
"Don't be good at it."
Jud laughed against his mouth, short and surprised.
He stroked once, slow, from the base to the head, and rolled his thumb through the wet.
Yancey's knees almost went.
"There," Jud said. "That's what I wanted. You, with nothing smart left to say."
"Take yours out."
"Say please," Jud said.
"Please."
"Please what?"
"Take your cock out and put it against mine," Yancey said, "before I lose my mind."
Jud's grey eyes went black.
He freed himself with one hand, and he was bigger than Yancey had let himself think about.
He pulled Yancey flush against him, and they were cock to cock, slick and burning.
Jud wrapped his big hand around both of them.
"Oh, fuck," Yancey said.
"Hold on to me."
He held on.
His hands went into the back of Jud's vest, then under it, finding the heat of his spine through the shirt.
Jud began to move, slow at first, a long tight pull that dragged their cocks together.
Yancey could hear it, the wet sound of skin and the ragged breath between their mouths.
"That's good," Jud muttered. "You're so hard for me."
"I've been hard since Monday."
"I know," Jud said. "I watched you try to hide it behind a folder."
"You're a bastard."
"Yes."
His hand sped up.
Yancey's hips rolled to meet it, helpless, and his forehead dropped to Jud's shoulder.
The cedar smell was stronger there, and the heat of the neck, and under the wool a heartbeat that was going as fast as his own.
For one second he forgot everything.
He forgot the bridge, and Huntsville, and the stack of letters he had stopped writing.
He forgot why he had come.
There was only this man's hand, this man's breath against his ear, this man's voice saying, "Come for me, Crenshaw."
"Jud, I'm going to."
"Not yet," Jud said.
"I can't," Yancey said.
"You can." Jud's other hand gripped the back of his neck and held him. "Now."
Yancey came with a broken sound, hot over Jud's fist and the white of his shirt.
Jud followed him a moment later, with a groan he bit off into Yancey's temple, shuddering from the knees up.
They stood there breathing.
The room was very quiet.
A phone buzzed on the desk and stopped.
Jud lifted his head.
His hair was wrecked and his collar was open, and his mouth was red.
He looked at Yancey for a long moment, and the hard line of his jaw was not quite steady.
"Don't move," he said.
He went to the credenza and came back with a clean white handkerchief.
He cleaned Yancey's stomach with slow, careful strokes.
Then he wiped his own hand and tucked himself away.
Yancey stood there with his shirt hanging open, and he did not know what to do with his arms.
"Button up," Jud said.
"You tore the buttons."
"I'll buy you a shirt," Jud said.
"It's a good shirt."
"I'll buy you ten," Jud said.
Jud turned his back to fix his cuffs in the window glass.
For a minute he said nothing.
When he spoke, his voice was perfectly level.
"I knew you the second the elevator opened on Monday."
Yancey's hands stopped on his tie.
"You walked out in that grey suit with your chin up," Jud said, "and you said good morning, Mr. Trammell, as if we had never met."
"I thought you didn't."
"I know what you thought."
He turned.
His eyes were steady and quiet and terrible.
"Five days, Yancey Crenshaw. I have waited five days for you to say my name."
Nobody had called him Yancey in that voice in nine years.
His whole chest hurt with it.
He could walk out.
The door was open, and the port authority was waiting down the hall, and the plan was still his.
He lifted his chin.
"Jud," he said.
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