Undulate: A Hot Age Gap, Single Dad Romance (Alchemy)

The question is how my gorgeous, complex fuck-buddy will conduct himself today at work. Will he be socially awkward, or mischievous, or downright naughty? The cat’s out of the bag as far as Gen, Rafe and Cal are concerned. He bid for me publicly on Friday night. But, despite the gorgeousness of our afternoon together yesterday, I’m not sure which way he’ll go. His soft see you tomorrow as he left could mean anything.

Sigh.

Nerdy, grumpy Office Zach is annoyingly attractive.

Filthy, unleashed Playroom Zach is hot AF.

But intense, sensual Bedroom Zach is… dangerous.

And that’s a problem.

He was different yesterday, in the privacy of my home, in the quietness of a Sunday afternoon. It was different. Even without the kinky trappings and debauched company of Alchemy, he had this predatory, intentional vibe that seriously gave me goosebumps. Like, in a really good way.

It was so fucking hot with him in that shower. So insanely arousing and indulgent to lie there on the tiles as he sluiced me down and then fucked me. But it was the aftercare that got me. Aftercare definitely wasn’t part of our sexy, mutually beneficial little arrangement, and I pride myself on being a girl who doesn’t need aftercare.

But when an achingly beautiful man crouches over you?

And rubs your favourite body butter into the bits you got chafed by letting him (okay, making him) rail you hard on the floor?

And tells you how beautiful you are?

How much he admires you?

And who then proceeds to kiss and admire and compliment every inch of your body before fucking you slow and hard, with zero kink and just a whole lotta cock, and the expression in those blue eyes is so intense as he moves inside you that you find yourself soaring once again?

That.

That’s what I mean by dangerous.

Because this is just a fun little project for me. It’s a temporary way to give Zach what he needs until he gets back on his feet and I get bored and move on. And when the sex and the everything is as un-boring as it was yesterday, and the time before, and the time before that, it gets harder to have itchy feet.

My feet are decidedly un-itchy, in fact.

Hmm.

He’s not yet in when I get to the office, which is unusual. He and Norm still haven’t shown up, in fact, when we kick off our team meeting, and my stomach drops. Everything feels flatter when Zach’s not around. I mean, what’s the point? I have no one to flirt one-sidedly with, no one to wind up.

I’ve made as much effort as I’ve been making since we started messing around. Today I’m in my skintight fake leather trousers—black—and a camel polo neck, paired with black suede heels. It’s a look I like to call Classy but Sexy Autumn, otherwise known as He Doesn’t Stand a Chance.

Everyone who’s actually turned up for work is in a good mood, and I manage to refrain from asking where Zach is, because I know I’d never hear the end of it. He said see you tomorrow. He’ll be here soon enough.

We discuss how successful Slave Night was in financial terms. They raised an absolute wedge for the charity, and the response from the members has been so overwhelmingly positive that Cal suggests we should consider making it a quarterly event. Normally, I’d be the first to sign up, but I’m not sure I could persuade Zach to part with that much cash every quarter, and the idea of selling myself to someone else feels… icky.

I’ll get over that, I’m sure. I’m still in the post-orgasmic glow of yesterday. The extended post-orgasmic glow. What Zach and I have isn’t a relationship. It’s a sex deal. And while I adore a sex deal, nothing about it says I have to be monogamous. He’s a bereaved single dad, for crying out loud. He practically has emotionally unavailable tattooed across his forehead. And he knows I frequent the club, so he can’t be surprised if I go there without him.

I’m just not in a hurry to go there without him this week. It doesn’t seem necessary as long as he keeps the orgasm-count at current levels. And he promised me a replay on the Banquette so…

I’ll go there without him at some point.

Cal interrupts my musings. ‘So, Maddy, was Slave Night everything you hoped it would be? Cos I know you had very high expectations.’

I narrow my eyes, taking in his lewd, knowing grin and trying to assess just how much he knows. Just how much the rest of them saw. Rafe wouldn’t have seen anything, because he’d already carried Belle off to ravage her senseless (not conjecture; she spilt all the beans on FaceTime last night). But as for Gen and Cal, I’m not sure.

I decide on an uncharacteristically mature and enigmatic response, channelling Gen and smiling her Mona Lisa smile. ‘It surpassed all my expectations,’ I tell Cal. ‘And I appreciate your concern.’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘Surpassed, eh? Nice one, Zach.’

Thankfully, Gen interjects. ‘Give her a break, Cal.’

I shoot her a grateful smile and sit back as she steers the conversation away from me and Zach. It feels like I got away lightly there. I can’t imagine how they feel about him and me—I’m sure they disapprove—but the nice thing about working for a sex club is that people are far less judgemental, and far less interested in gossiping about who shagged who, than in any other office environment.

Zach turns up towards the end of the meeting, his man-satchel slung over his shoulder and his sweet doggy trotting faithfully behind him. Jesus. He looks like he’s been up all night. I stare at him in barely disguised shock. I mean, he’s still hot. Don’t get me wrong. The guy couldn’t look bad if he tried. But his hair is messier than usual, and his face is pale and puffy. Those Clark Kent glasses can’t hide the redness of his eyes.

‘You all right, mate?’ Rafe asks from his spot on the sofa.

‘Bad night,’ he grunts. ‘I need more coffee.’ He pulls his satchel off and heads through the double doors to the space where our desks are as Norm follows him.

I refrain from watching him go and try to focus on the task at hand, namely the educational series we’re currently running from our Facebook page. But I’m distracted. Zach looked like death warmed up. I just want to go in there and give the guy a hug.

Or a blowjob.

You know, whatever will get him out of his funk.

We wrap up, and I head back to my desk. Zach catches my eye and gives me a smile that’s tired but genuine. I sit down and take my phone straight out so I can message him discreetly.

Me: u ok?

Me: u look exhausted

He replies straight away.

Zach: Nancy got very upset about Claire in the night. I’m fucking shattered.

Oh, God. I bet he’s as emotionally wrecked as he is shattered. I can’t imagine what he has to deal with.

Me: so sorry

Me: u poor thing

Me: wanna give u a hug

Everyone’s at their desk now. I discreetly turn my head and give him an I’ve got you smile. We’re still for a moment, our eyes locked. Shortly after I look down, he replies.

Zach: Suspect I could use one.

Me: downstairs???

Zach: Yes. I’ll go first.

When I head downstairs to where six of the twelve private rooms are located, I find him standing in the corridor, waiting for me. He holds his arms out and I walk into them, allowing him to wrap them tightly around me. I reciprocate, my arms going around his broad back. His entire body shudders as he exhales.

‘Come in here,’ he says, releasing me. ‘This one’s clean.’

I give a little laugh, because the cleaners don’t come in until later in the morning and I have zero interest in having my moment with Zach amidst the sticky aftermath of other people’s fun.

He pulls me through to a room that’s perfectly made-up with black sheets and throw pillows. The gorgeous, decadent smell of Diptyque Baies hangs in the air. I loved that scent even before I worked here, but now I equate it with raw carnality.

I loop my arms around his neck as he folds me back into his body. ‘I’m so sorry you had a shitty night. I thought you’d float in here this morning like me.’

He smiles down at me, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘That was definitely the plan. Come and lie with me? I’m not—I’d just like to hold you, if that’s still on offer.’

‘Sure,’ I whisper, kicking off my heels.

We meet in the centre of the bed. I can’t get there quickly enough. He tugs me against his body, hooking a leg over me to anchor me to him as I go for his hair, raking my fingers through thick clumps of it and clawing lightly at his scalp. It’s already pretty messy, so I figure it can’t do much harm.

He shudders in quiet pleasure, his eyelids floating shut. ‘God, that feels good. Don’t stop.’

‘I won’t.’ I stroke his hair slowly, giving it a little grab at the roots each time I do. I bide my time. He’ll open up when he wants to. If he wants to.

‘It sounds so stupid,’ he says after a few seconds of this, ‘but I really needed to be touched. There is nothing, nothing, lonelier than lying in bed with two grief-stricken little girls and knowing there isn’t another grown-up to share the burden. It’s fucking terrifying, actually.’

‘I can’t even imagine,’ I murmur, stroking harder. I move my face closer on the pillows so our noses are almost touching.

‘Last night Nancy clung to me like a little monkey, and I felt so bloody useless.’ He brushes the palm of his hand downwards before it nestles firmly in the small of my back. From where I’m lying, it feels pretty amazing. ‘It just feels amazing to be touched by an adult—you.’

‘I’m here for whatever you need,’ I tell him, ‘and I don’t need anything from you. I’m here for you, okay? I had a great night’s sleep thanks to all those orgasms, so you should take, take, take.’

What I don’t say is how life-affirming, how right, it feels to have Zach needing me—or, more accurately, to feel like I’m helping him. Do I have some kind of saviour complex? Or do I feel like this because I genuinely care about him? Both prospects are equally alarming.

He raises his head and buries his nose in the crook of my neck. ‘Mmm,’ he groans. ‘You smell amazing, and you feel so… alive.’

I laugh weakly. ‘I’d say that bar’s pretty low. There are at least seven billion other people who could oblige you on that front.’ But I can imagine what he means. I’m young and pretty energetic—I suppose if I were him, and my wife had been diagnosed as terminally ill and dropped dead pretty much out of nowhere, I’d find youth and energy pretty appealing in a person.

In a woman.

‘I’d put money on none of them feeling as good as you,’ he murmurs against my skin. His hand roams down and cups my bum. ‘Bloody hell,’ he says. He squeezes my entire cheek hard. ‘I’ve just realised what you’re wearing.’

‘You must have been seriously sleep deprived if you didn’t notice these before,’ I joke.

‘Seriously.’ He’s definitely making up for lost time, copping a pretty good feel down there. ‘Aren’t these a bit kinky for work? Not that I’m complaining.’

‘You’re so old. They’re super fashionable. And they’re Balenciaga.’

I don’t for a second think Zach cares about whether my leggings are Balenciaga at the best of times, and certainly not this morning, but maybe he needs some normality.

And normality from me usually comes in the form of vacuous fashion-focused commentary. So.

He inhales against the skin of my neck again. ‘Well, they’re very sexy.’ The words come on a deep sigh of exhaustion and despair and God knows what else.

I rake my fingers through his thick hair slowly, thoroughly, enjoying far too much the sensation of his hand burrowing under my sweater to the bare skin of my lower back, and of his nose, his lips, pressed against my neck.

‘Is there anything that helps?’ I ask him. ‘Anything at all?’

His voice is barely audible against my skin. ‘This. You.’ He tightens his hold on me and I lie there, enveloped by him and wondering out of nowhere what spending a night together like this would be like. Wrapped up in each other, but without the clothes, obviously.

We lie there for a few minutes until he lowers his head onto the pillow, planting a soft kiss on my lips.

‘You didn’t sign up for this,’ he murmurs. ‘You signed up for lots of orgasms, not me dumping on you.’

‘I signed up for making you feel better,’ I tell him, ‘and if that includes this, then I’m grateful I can help.’

‘I’m not treating you well,’ he argues.

I pull my face away enough to see him properly. ‘Bollocks to that. What gave you that idea? Did you not see me on the floor of the shower yesterday?’

He frowns. ‘I mean this isn’t a great setup for you. It’s all on my terms. I should be looking after you better—I’m not that guy who rams his cock down a woman’s throat before he’s made her come. I’ve never, ever been that guy, except with you it seems I am.’

‘Hey.’ I still my hand. ‘I know you’re not. But you don’t do that with me because you’re damaged—you do it because it’s hot. It gets us both off when you dominate me, and you know it.’

God, his blue eyes are killing me. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘It’s just one more thing that makes me feel shitty. I’d like to be in a position to look after you better.’

Okay. I have some things to say, and he needs to hear them. I pull myself up onto one elbow and look down at him.

‘First, I don’t need to be looked after. I’m in a good place. And second, you have one job, and that’s looking after your daughters. Honestly, don’t go inventing work for yourself, because that’s a big one. And no one’s looking after your needs, so if I get to do that in any tiny way, even if it’s just by making you come whenever I get the chance, then I’m delighted.’

He looks up at me, his mouth twisting in a joyless smile. ‘You’re an angel.’

That makes me laugh. ‘No one has ever called me that. And I’m not. I’m doing this for me as much as for you.’

‘I do have people looking after my needs, you know,’ he says. ‘The guys upstairs, and our families and friends, and our nanny.’

‘I’m sure they help, and I’m sure they care very much about you. But keeping your girls from losing the plot with grief falls to you, and that’s a heavy burden, matey. So, for the love of God, please stop worrying about me and everyone else and just worry about yourself and the girls. I’m a big girl—I can look after myself.’

He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips. ‘Thank you.’

I nod briskly. ‘You’re welcome. Is there anything I can do—outside of the bedroom, I mean? Is there anything else that makes the girls feel any better?’

‘Distraction.’ He gives a weak shrug, still holding my hand. ‘I know they have to face their trauma, and all that crap, but honestly, distraction is the best and easiest method. I try to surround them with people and activities that are full of joy and light so they know life isn’t all darkness and tragedy.’

‘That makes sense,’ I say. I mean, it does. As long as they’re not bottling it all in, it makes sense that he wants to remind them that being alive, being human, is a wonderful thing.

‘Speaking of light, they talk about you a lot.’

I can’t help it. I beam at him. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yep. All the time. They ask me when they can see you again.’ He releases my hand and burrows back under my sweater, stroking my stomach this time. ‘You made quite an impression—or rather your makeup bag did.’

I smile smugly. ‘It is pretty epic. And I liked my girls’ night with them. Belle and I can do one another time, if they want.’

‘Honestly, they’d love that. Belle and Rafe are coming over on Thursday for pizza night—we have a pizza oven in the garden.’ He brushes his knuckles over my stomach, and I shiver. ‘Would you like to join us?’

I narrow my eyes at him as I try to work out his angle here. ‘As your… friend, I assume?’

‘Yeah,’ he says hurriedly.

‘Got it.’ I’m not sure why I feel so emotional at the thought of Zach inviting me round to his home, and of spending a cosy evening with him, his kids and the very loved-up Belle and Rafe, even if I’m going as his ‘friend’. ‘I love pizza,’ I manage. ‘Count me in.’

‘Thank you,’ he says, letting his eyes drift closed for a second. I marvel at how deep and dark those shadows look beneath his eyelashes.

‘You should stay here and get some sleep,’ I say, allowing myself to brush my knuckles over his cheek.

‘Mmm,’ he murmurs. ‘Maybe I will.’

I reluctantly extricate myself from his embrace and lay a throw over him. I think he’s asleep before I even close the door behind me.