Chapter 8
“That’s a no, then,” Doug said, a little weakly.
Beckett leaned down, trapping Doug’s body further, and he nipped at Doug’s jaw line. His lover writhed underneath him. Beckett ran his tongue over Doug’s throat, drawing out a gargled moan. He pushed up the hem of the T-shirt and dropped his head to lick along Doug’s belly.
“Board meeting scheduled in ten minutes,” Doug gasped.
A jolt of mixed excitement and fear shot through Beckett. “And?”
Doug gave a shaky laugh. “I can’t believe you said that.” He was panting, his hands outstretched on the surface of the table, his fingers clawing at loose papers. His feet hung rather clumsily over the edge of the table, and his toes skimmed just above the floor. “But I tell you, if you stop now, I swear your arse is mine for weeks.”