Pleasure doing Bussiness (Whip 3) ✔️

Chapter 8

NIKLAS

"Scheiße..." I murmur, unable to look away, the look on Mr. Jones's face as he reaches the end making something deep inside of me roar in approval.

The man is mesmerizing; his head thrown back in pleasure, his lips pulled up into an uncontrolled smile, and his eyes, goddamn his eyes are so alive.

For the first time since I met him, I can see something in them other than worry or fear. He's fucking beautiful.

How have I missed that?

I finally avert my eyes, turning away from the sight of him putting his clothes back on, trying and failing to not think about the hardness that's insistently pressing against the zipper of my jeans.

Mr. Jones is my boss, I keep repeating in my mind like a mantra, and straight as an arrow to booth, in an effort to come back to my senses, but it's futile.

I only have to close my eyes and he's there, naked and willing, those mouth of his smirking at me in invitation.

Fuck ethics, I need a drink.

I think as I make my way through the crowd toward the bar.

∞∞∞

MICHAEL

I'm shaking as I make my way off the stage, barely managing not to fall on my face as I tighten my grip on the girl in my arms.

What in the fucking hell was that!?

I've never had an orgasm like that. It was indescribable, so fucking intense, so much so that I'm barely able to stay upright even now.

The only thing that had kept me from falling to my knees was the fact that I've been on stage in front of the whole Club, and if I've done that, I would never have lived it down.

I enter the resting room and walk over to the couch, laying Mikela gently down, careful of her neck since she's still a bit out of it, something I'm grateful for since I'm a bit out of it myself, and this way, I'll have enough time to get back in control by the time she comes around.

I go to the bathroom; closing the door softly before turning around to see someone I can barely recognize staring back at me from the mirror.

My face is flushed, my eyes wide and glassy and my skin is glistening from sweat.

As soon as I'm alone, I give up the pretense and slide down to the floor, my hands shaking as I press my face into them.

The scene from barely minutes ago keeps flashing in my mind, those blue eyes the only thing I can think about, even now.

What is happening to me?

I can't understand, as I keep going over the last half an hour of my life.

The scene had been all right; I chose to do something easy and fun seeing as I wasn't really up for anything too strenuous after the week I had.

It had been a good choice and I've been enjoying myself, nothing special, but still good enough.

It looked like it was going to be just a simple play with an average ending, and then I made the mistake of looking up.

I looked up and saw him, Niklas, standing there like a statue, his gaze hard and intense, as if I was the only one in the room who mattered, and for some reason just that thought had me coming harder than I could ever remember coming.