Pleasure doing Bussiness (Whip 3) ✔️ SAMPLE

Chapter 9

NIKLAS

I sigh as I turn on my back; my eyes wide open despite the early hours of the morning. I'm exhausted, and yet, no matter how much I try, I'm unable to fall asleep.

I brush a hand over my face, as my thoughts once again circle back to the infuriating man that's probably blissfully asleep just a few doors down the hall, unaware of the havoc he's playing on my mind by simply existing.

I flush in embarrassment as I remember Michael's stern words, anger etched into every line of the man's face. I screwed up, big time, and I feel angry with myself.

What is going on with me?

I've never acted so carelessly on a job before; drinking and making out with some no-name instead of doing my duty.

I sigh, already knowing the answer, since every time I close my eyes, I can see him up on that stage, tall and lean and so fucking naked.

It was all I could think about as I've made my way toward the bar, my cock so hard I thought that I could come without even being touched, which is something that has not happened to me since I was a teenager.

That's when I bumped into the cute waiter and proceeded to make a complete fool of myself. I didn't think, I just reacted, my mind filled with visions of him even as I kissed another man.

I never did manage to rest that night, my sleep filled with feverish dreams mixed with a lot of restless tossing and turning, so when my alarm rings the next morning, I feel like shit.

I stand up; wincing at the sharp pain that pierces through my leg as I do so, already knowing that I'm in for a world of pain today.

I dress and then make my way down to the kitchen, my eyes falling on Mr. Jones as soon as I step in. I stop in my tracks, feeling unsure of how to proceed, something that rarely happens to me seeing as I tend to stay in control over all aspects of my life, especially the ones concerning my job.

"Good morning." I say quietly, making him turn slightly at the sound of my voice.

"Morning." the man replies, his voice cold and distant, nothing like the man he had been just a few hours ago. The joviality and the upbeatness are gone, in their place a stone wall.

I gulp, feeling like a naughty child, and hating myself for it, as I walk further into the kitchen.

I step up to the counter, reaching for the coffee and pouring myself a cup before taking a seat at the table.

I take a sip of my drink, while quietly observing the man sitting across from me, wincing at the sight once I finally get a good look at him. He looks even worse than me, and that is saying something since I look like shit.

The bags beneath his eyes that have already been there when I met him are now almost black, his eyes bloodshot and his face extremely pale.

He's looking at the newspapers that are spread on the table in front of him, but I don't think he's actually seeing anything let alone reading, his gaze lost like he's a million miles away.

"I..." I start to say, feeling the need to apologize, even though I hate doing that and rarely do it, but I'm interrupted as the man suddenly stands up.

"We'll be leaving in half an hour. I trust you'll be ready by then?" Mr. Jones says, not even waiting for my answer before he's gone.

I snort, staring slightly wide-eyed at the empty place across from me, feeling stupid for feeling sorry for the asshole that is Michael Jones.