Dirge

Not just the empty house and empty bed, but because when I’m there it’s too easy for me to get distracted in unhelpful and unhealthy ways, and this really is part of my job that I should have a laser-focus on. Passing the budget is one of the most important parts of my job, especially since we only have a part-time General Assembly.

I work until after nine. I haven’t even had dinner yet when I’m nearly ready to call it a night, but I have some frozen dinners at home so I can nuke one of those. I also have some notes for Casey to look at.

Rather than calling or texting her and disturbing her, especially after showing my ass yesterday, I opt to walk the handwritten pages down the hall to her office and leave them on her desk. I don’t necessarily want a record of these notes. If I use text or e-mail, there will be one. She’ll simply shred the notes for me once she’s reviewed and followed up on the items I’ve requested. They’re just requests for more information on a few things, my questions about stuff I’m unsure about. If Casey thinks I should save the notes, she’ll compose a formal e-mail for me in my work account and send it to hers, creating a public record that says the same thing.

Then no one has to see a copy of my shitty handwriting, and it creates a public record that’s digital and actually searchable by anyone running a records request. It saves time instead of having a staffer transcribe every tiny bit of paper that passes through my fingers.

Our suite of offices is locked down for security reasons, with no public access except through a security checkpoint, which is manned until everyone leaves for the night and the area is sealed. Unless I call for an officer, or they feel they have cause, they won’t enter and disturb me, especially this time of night. Only certain badged employees and state officials can get through without a security check. It holds my office, Casey’s, Declan’s, the state attorney general, the secretary of state, and the treasurer, along with three admin assistants, one who’s dedicated to me, Casey, and Declan.

I’m not here by myself very often, especially at night, and it feels eerie being here alone.

Or so I thought.

I mean, I thought I was alone.

As I approach Casey’s office, I hear soft noises, voices. The door is closed, but there’s a strip of dim light visible beneath it that shouldn’t be there if her office is truly empty. It’s not the cleaning crew, either, because they came through over an hour earlier and have already moved on to another floor. I should be alone in this area.

Reaching for the door knob, I hesitate when I hear a soft moan.

Not a female moan.

And then Casey’s voice filters to me through the door.

“Good boy.”

Deep in my gut I feel that same slither I did yesterday. My cock stirs, surprising me. Too many memories threaten to wash through me, memories I’m usually successful at holding in check while at work.

Memories of Ellen on her knees before me, my cock in her mouth as she blows me in my office during lunch or after work.

Me whispering, “Good girl,” to her.

Both of us loving the delicious naughtiness of it. Hell, we were married. What was someone going to say to us? That we couldn’t have a little bit of fun? It’d be embarrassing, but far from a headline-worthy scandal. Married Guy Caught Having Sex With His Own Wife isn’t exactly TMZ.com-worthy stuff.

We were never caught because I was careful. Yet it was that illusion of risk that sharpened the edge of our fun for both of us.

When I suck in a breath, I realize I was holding mine.

Still outstretched toward the knob, my hand trembles a little. I finally close the distance and slowly turn it, somehow not surprised to find it unlocked.

As I carefully ease the door open far enough I can peek through, my cock hardens and howls at the sight before me.

Declan’s naked, except for a black leather collar buckled around his neck, and matching leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles. He stands bent over the end of Casey’s desk with his hands gripping the edges. It looks like she’s got his ankle cuffs attached to the bottom of the desk, keeping his legs spread open.

Casey’s wearing a lacy black bra and matching panties, and is plowing Declan’s ass with a strap-on.

Fuuuuuck.

I edge my way inside through the opening and quietly close the door behind me, locking it. That’s when Casey looks at me, smiling, and I realize I’ve been set up.

I don’t fucking care.

So many things click into their rightful places now—Declan’s Ma’ams are definitely capitalized when they refer to Casey, and I guess I was wrong when I thought there was nothing going on between them.

Shows how much I know.

Then again, I’ve had a lot on my plate the past two years and not enough brain cells to deal with that, much less speculation about my best friend’s sex life.

Also speaks to how well both of them have kept it on the down-low, because there’s never been so much as a hint of gossip about them, and I honestly didn’t suspect anything.

I know she works out a few days a week. It shows. Her body trends toward the leaner end of the scale, and at five-five she’s an inch taller than Ellen was. But she’s usually wearing heels at the office, so she seems taller. She’s not painfully thin though, and has sweetly soft curves in her ass and thighs that I’ve always appreciated and never thought I’d ever see like this, outside of a bathing suit or workout clothes when she and I exercise together sometimes.

Unable to help myself, I reach down and squeeze my erection through my slacks and boxers, because I’m so hard I’m fucking aching. Literally nothing, from that day until now, has done this to me. I’ve masturbated, sure, but it was more a mandate from my body than my brain.

My lizard brain.

The sadistic Dom part of me? I honestly thought that would remain dormant and unsatisfied for the rest of my life.

Declan lets out another needy moan as his fingers tighten around the edge of the desk. It takes everything I have not to answer with a hungry one of my own. His eyes are closed and his head hangs down, his brain likely deep in subspace.

I’m looking Casey squarely in the eyes as I step forward, toward one of the two chairs usually positioned in front of her desk. She’s moved them tonight, pushed one out of the way and set the other one up for…

Well, what looks like a spectator.

Again, part of me realizes I’ve been set up. She obviously wants to give me this show.

Why?

Fuck if I know, but I can’t stop watching and I’m not stupid enough to question it in this moment.

His body is smooth and firm, slender, hard planes of lean muscle. I know he’s a runner, and it shows. I try to take in everything at once. Her fingers are wrapped around his waist as she pulls him toward her to meet her next thrust, making him moan again and widening her sexy smile.

Making me throb like a motherfucker.

I don’t assume I can touch her or him, but I realize now why she has absolute trust in the boy.

Also, the real reason why she refers to him as “the boy.”

Because he is—her boy.

An aching pang plucks at my soul and I gently close that mental door on thoughts of Ellen right now.

Something in me…needs this, this moment.

I’m not going to waste it.

I step around the far side of the chair, which puts me closer to Casey and keeps me out of Declan’s line of sight. I unfasten my belt and slacks as I lower myself into the chair and shove the waistband of my boxers down. I flip my tie back over my shoulder and splay my legs wide. If I’m going to watch this sexy fucking show, by god, I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of it while I do.

If Case’s goal was to focus my mind on something else for a while—mission accomplished.

Doesn’t mean I don’t still hurt, or that I’m not still bleeding inside, but I need a goddamned distraction and this’ll do nicely.

If for no other reason than my mind is quiet and still for the first time since that day, blissful silence I never get to enjoy.

Not anymore.

Fuck yeah, I’m going to enjoy this. I’m going to savor it like a perfectly cooked filet mignon paired with a delicious wine.

“That’s it, boy,” she says, still looking directly at me. “You needed this, didn’t you?”

I’m not sure if that’s directed at me or him—or both of us—but I remain silent.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he softly moans.

I realize now she’s got a couple of towels spread out, one on her desk and hanging over the edge under Declan, and one on the floor under them. A thin string of pre-cum drips from the tip of his cock, which is hard and hanging below him, onto the towel, where there’s already a small puddle forming.

I spit in my right hand. He flinches at the sound and looks over as I cup my erection, a startled cry escaping him when he spots me sitting there.

Casey shoves a hand between his shoulder blades to keep him from standing up. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she says. “Hands stay right where they are, or you’ll end up locked up for a damn month. Don’t try me, boy.” That’s when I realize Declan’s been set up, too.

He obviously had no clue she’d staged this.

“Don’t mind me,” I say as I give myself a stroke. With my free hand I roll my shirt and undershirt up and out of the way. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

Like hell am I wasting this opportunity. I’ll think about what it all means later.

The slithering inside me catches up to my sleeping Dom, who awakens and stretches. My sadist is now paying attention and watching the events with decided interest. They happily merge and join forces as my gaze meets Declan’s and I spot the absolute terror in his brown eyes.

I don’t even realize I’m grinning until Casey chuckles.

“There he is. Welcome back, old George.”

“Thanks.”

Declan’s still watching me, his eyes wide with fear and meeting my gaze while Casey long-strokes him. The terror painted across his face makes my cock throb. I squeeze my fingers around the head, holding, waiting, breathing through it. I damn sure don’t want to come yet.

This is too good of an opportunity to waste.