Authors: Kay Ellis
Wayward Ink Publishing
Unit 1, No. 8 Union Street
Tighes Hill NSW 2297
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors' imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Young at Heart Copyright Â©2015 by Kay Ellis
Cover Art by: Â Â Â Â Â Â Jay's Covers by Design
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other enquiries, contact Wayward Ink Publishing at: Unit 1, No. 8 Union Street, Tighes Hill, NSW, 2297, Australia.
GRADUALLY the harsh sound of ragged breathing abated; heart rates slowed; sweat cooled on skin. Devon Alexander shifted beneath his lover, twisting his head so he could see the clock on the wall. Ten minutes to his next meeting. What would his clients think if they could see him now? The CEO of Alexander Industriesâtremendously rich and powerful businessman, well-known public figure, feared and respected alikeâbent over his desk, his trousers round his ankles, and a young Adonis buried balls-deep inside him. His clients knew he was gay, had no problem with it, but there was a limit to how much he could shove it in their faces.
Fucking in the office during work hours was risky at the best of times. Normally Devon was against it, but when Jesse showed up, looking all sexy and gorgeous, the temptation was too much. Once Jesse started whispering in his ear all the things he wanted to do, professional ethics went out the window. But, hey, Devon was the boss. If he couldn't fuck in the office when he felt like it, what good was being in charge?
Reluctantly he pushed himself upward and back in an attempt to dislodge Jesse, who groaned and wrapped his arms tightly around Devon's waist. Devon gasped in surprise, chuckling as Jesse began to harden again inside him.
“We don't have time for this,” he said sharply, sliding out from underneath the other man with difficulty, given Jesse seemed reluctant to let him go. “I have a meeting.”
Devon pulled down his shirt and straightened his tie before bending to retrieve his underwear and trousers. Once dressed, he lifted his hands to his head, checking his hair. Vain, maybe, but he had an image to protect. All the while, he covertly watched Jesse tuck his rather impressive manhood into tight white boxer briefs and zip up the fly of his jeans. Jesse glanced up to catch Devon watching and a smug smile spread across his handsome face.
“Shit, did we even lock the door?” Devon asked suddenly, trying to remember if there had been time to turn the key in between Jesse walking into the office and them ending up sprawled half-naked across the desk. Emily, his personal assistant, was terribly efficient, but she was a shy, quiet girl and he hardly dared think what effect it would have on her if she saw Jesse in all his glory. “What if Emily had come in?”
“She wouldn't have,” Jesse said confidently.
“Really? What makes you so sure?”
“I told her not to.”
Devon narrowed his eyes, not sure he liked the thought of Jesse giving orders to his staff. The last thing he needed was Jesse getting ideas above his station. Devon would be a laughingstock if his much-younger boyfriend started throwing his weight around like he was the one in charge. “What did you say to her exactly?”
“I told her not to come in because I was going to fuck you hard over your desk,” Jesse replied with a smirk.
“I sincerely hope that's meant to be a joke.”
Jesse looked at him, assessing his change of mood. There was a sudden gleam in Jesse's velvet-brown eyes and Devon smothered a sigh, knowing he was about to be lied to. Such were the consequences of taking a man twenty years his junior as a lover. Jesse was Young in name and young in nature. Fortunately for both of them, his good looks and sexual prowess generally outweighed his immaturity.
“Of course it was a joke,” Jesse said, flashing his most disarming smile, the one that made women and quite a lot of men melt whenever they saw it. “You know I wouldn't do anything like that, Dev.”
. Nobody had ever called Devon that before Jesse. In the press and business life, he was Devon Alexander. To family and friends, plain old Devon. Only Jesse got away with calling him by the abbreviated form. Privately, he quite liked it when Jesse called him Dev, although recently he had come to realise the shortened version of his name was used most when Jesse either wanted something or was trying to wheedle his way into Devon's good books after doing something wrong.
Devon glanced at the clock again. Five minutes. His clients could arrive at any moment, meaning he didn't have time for an argument now. Vowing to take it up with him later, he shooed Jesse out the door, wishing he didn't look quite so much like a twenty-year-old who had just been well and truly fucked.
“Jesse, come over tonight. We'll eat in.”
“You're going to cook?” Jesse arched an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Not unless you want food poisoning.” Devon couldn't help but smile at his lover's alarmed expression. “I'll order in. Now, get out of here before anyone sees you.”
“Why? Are you ashamed of me?” Jesse's tone was light, making a joke of it, even though they both knew the truth.
Their relationship had been widely publicised, the press keen to make a big deal out of a forty-year-old high flyer hooking up with an unemployed twenty-year-old. Devon was often described by the media as a strikingly handsome man, as well as a wealthy one. He could have any man he wanted, yet he chose to be with Jesse, a nobody with nothing to offer except a handsome face, a good body, and a lot of expertise between the sheets. Devon's family, friends, and colleagues had all warned against a relationship, certain Jesse was only after Devon's money and whatever else he could get. Devon chose to ignore them all, but aware of their disapproval, he kept his time with Jesse and the rest of his life separate.
“Later,” Devon said with a subtle nod in Emily's direction.
The girl might be quiet, but her eyes and ears worked just fine. For all Devon knew, she was the one running to the press with lurid stories about him and Jesse. Someone in the office was certainly doing so, but he had yet to find out who among his staff was prepared to stab him in the back in order to line their own pockets. When he found them, the culprit would be out of a job before they could draw breath, but until then, he had adopted a policy of
trust no one
Sauntering through the main office on his way to the lift, Jesse drew the eye of every woman in the room and one or two of the guys too. There was no denying he was the best-looking man in the building, with his tousled black hair, chocolate-brown eyes, and toned body. Most observers doubtless wondered what Jesse saw in an old man like Devon. Then they would probably answer their own question with one word: money. How many times had Devon been told Jesse was a user? Why should he work for a living when he had a sugar daddy to pay his way?
Despite the fact he should be preparing for his meeting, Devon stayed in the doorway to his office, watching Jesse until the lift doors opened and he stepped inside the car, looking back with his sexy smile and a brief wave before the doors closed. With a sigh, Devon turned away. There were so many reasons why this relationship could never work. Jesse was so young for a start. He was also unreliable, unpredictable, unemployed, and a whole list of other words beginning with
“Yes?” Devon pirouetted at the sound of his name and was surprised to see the man who hovered in the doorway. “Luis? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
Luis shrugged his shoulders, a picture of nervousness as he twisted his baseball cap in his large hands. Two years ago, he had been homeless and living in an alley just around the corner from Devon's apartment. It had been another questionable relationship in his life, but Devon had stopped most days to talk to the gentle giant, sometimes taking him food and coffee, sometimes giving him money to go to a night shelter. Eventually, he had persuaded Antonio, his good friend and a renowned fashion photographer, to give the man a job as a cleaner in his studio. The arrangement worked well. Luis now had his own bedsit and was taking evening classes in English and maths. Every couple of months he sent Devon a cheap bottle of whisky, but Devon seldom saw him in person anymore.
“I sorry, Mr. Alexander, I know you busy man, but I need show you something.”
“Now?” Devon asked, glancing at his watch. “Is it important, Luis? Only I'm about to go into a meeting....”
“Actually,” Emily piped up from behind her desk, “your meeting has been delayed. Mr. Ramsey called to say he and his colleagues are stuck in traffic.”
“What?” He glared at her in irritation. “When? Why wasn't I told sooner?”
Emily blushed furiously. “You were... busy.”
“Right.” Devon felt his own cheeks fuse with colour in the knowledge the mousy little assistant did indeed know what he had been up to in his office. “In that case, Luis, come in. Take a seat.”
Walking around his desk, he sat in the plush leather chair. Luis took a seat on the other side of the desk and took out a mobile phone. Devon waited impatiently while he fiddled awkwardly with the keypad, the buttons too small for his large fingers. Surely he was not going to keep him waiting by making a call? After a few moments, Luis found what he was looking for and passed the phone across the desk.