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The Other Book by Roe Horvat (1)


Joel Sandstrom must have had a wide range of facial expressions, judging by the lines around his mouth and eyes. Around me, he wore only two. There was the usual I hate your guts but can’t do anything about it face. And then there was the rare dick in my mouth face. Esthetically, I could appreciate both of those expressions, even though I preferred when he wore the other one.

“I have plans for the weekend. I can’t go,” I said, staring at expression number one. Joel was impassive, the strain in his muscles subtle, and his eyes narrowed infinitesimally. I guessed all anyone else saw was calm resolve. Not me. I knew every angle of his cheekbones, every blemish on his forehead, every tiny hair in his blond, aristocratically arched eyebrows. On the inside, Joel was irate.

He stared back. “It’s either you or Matt. Matt hasn’t had a weekend off in three weeks.” He spoke in a low voice, a highly professional leader. But I recognized all his tells. Elbows on the table, the fingers of his right hand tugged at the edge of his left sleeve. A small muscle pulsed in his cheek.

Next to me, Tina shifted in her seat. Matt, sitting on the opposite side of the large, oval conference table, dropped his gaze so far down he was staring at his crotch. Coward. The other six people in the room seemed to stop breathing. Joel had me. If I continued saying no, I’d be the asshole.

I almost wanted to do it, to challenge him in his power play, but it would only end up in arrogant prick-waving. Done it before, got the scars of embarrassment etched forever in my long-term memory.

I stood up, and the chair screeched on the wooden floor. “In that case, I have to finish the intro for Mercury.”

“We meet here on Saturday at six-thirty in the morning,” Joel added to my retreating back.

I dodged under the doorframe. I’d already hit my head there twice—after my first two meetings with Joel. I’d always considered my exaggerated height a liability. In the old converted warehouse where Sandstrom Studios & Advertising resided, it was even more of a challenge to avoid concussion.

“Well, fuck you, Joel,” I mouthed into the empty hall.

Weekend ruined. I’d miss my best friend’s brother’s engagement party, and a night at Christoffer’s pool house with his partner’s dance troupe colleagues. There had been a potential foursome with ripped, bendy dancers in that bright, alternative future—now lost forever.

Instead, I’d spend Saturday running up and down a golf course with a camera on my shoulder and my obsessive, cold bastard of a boss behind my back.

“I’m sorry,” Matt mumbled as he walked past my booth a few minutes later.

I waved him off. I understood—he had a family. I only lost a night out drinking and a glamorous fuck fest. There would be other opportunities for hangovers and dalliances. It was Joel’s attitude that pissed me off the most.


Three hours later, the office had emptied out, but I was still tweaking the last details on the intro, rendering what had to be a sixteenth version of the fifty-second video. I stretched my legs under the desk and leaned back, watching the blue stripe grow at snail speed. The late-evening sun was blazing into the windows in the opposite brick wall, making the dust glitter in the air, and I was still stuck here in the dark. The isolated booth for video and sound editing was an unpleasant place to stay for more than a few hours at a time. I let the door stand wide open, so I wouldn’t feel like I was being kept prisoner in a dungeon.

I barely heard him—he was a sneaky fucker, always quiet like a cat. There was only a rustle of his suit jacket as he leaned on the doorframe. He didn’t say anything; we didn’t talk unless we had to.

Choosing to torture him some more, I didn’t look his way. His aftershave drifted into the soundproof booth and surrounded me, tying me like rope. I let him wait for two more minutes as I watched the video finish rendering. I could make it for two minutes. Probably not longer, though. I saved the project and logged off. He waited, unmoving.

I stood and looked at him.

Joel’s cheeks were flushed, his inhumanly beautiful features tense, cold blue eyes pinned on me. I could see from the strain around his jaw how he grit his teeth. His nostrils flared.

I took a step toward the door, and he pushed off the frame, blocking my exit.

“Either you get out of my way or you get on your knees,” I said.

His gorgeous, stone-cold face didn’t show any emotion, but his blown pupils grew obvious in his light-colored eyes. His gaze never leaving mine, Joel shut the door behind him and slowly sank onto his knees in front of me.

“Hands behind your back.”

He did as he was told, looking up at me with defiance. And hunger.

He had his perfect golden hair combed back, his expensive suit molded to his perfect lean body, his perfect, chiseled face close to my groin, and his perfect pink mouth…

I was hard already. Painfully so. My dick, trapped in my jeans, ached as I stared at Joel’s mouth, full and plush, the golden stubble surrounding it…it was too much. Too puffy and too pink, too much beauty, way too much eroticism, just over the top in every detail. How did he even exist outside of Photoshop? How could anyone handle this man for more than a few minutes?

Joel’s tongue appeared between his lips, his eyes dropping to my fly. I stepped closer—like a lemming to a cliff.


I couldn’t wait anymore. I grabbed his hair and yanked his head forward, rocking and circling my hips so that his fucking perfect, puffy lips dragged over the coarse material of my jeans. I didn’t feel much through the thick fabric, but the visual was exquisite. Joel’s open mouth slid over my hard bulge, and his pupils grew so large the black almost eclipsed the blue. Pink spots appeared around his mouth where his skin scraped against the zipper.

I pulled his face away and saw him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The tendons in his neck strained as he fought my grip, but his hands stayed behind his back. During the next five minutes, I would pay him back for all his bullshit until he choked on it.

I unzipped one-handed and took my hard cock out, stroking it, rolling my foreskin back with my fingers. Joel watched, mouth open. He tried to lean closer, but I held him by his hair.

“Fuck,” he muttered. His chest heaved.

Watching intently, I let the tip of my cock trace his upper lip. A faint whimper escaped his mouth. I did it again, and he darted his tongue out, barely catching my slit before I moved away again, chuckling at his eagerness.

“Oh, Joel, you cock-hungry slut,” I said as I caught his head between my hands and slid home, pushing deep into his mouth, his hot tongue gliding down the underside until I hit the back of his throat. His eyes rolled up, and his body sagged with relief.

For the shit he pulled today, I should jerk off on his expensive suit, not letting him touch me, and then I should walk away. But fuck, I loved watching his lips tighten around my dick just as I hated when he spoke with that gorgeous mouth. I pulled out a little and pushed back in, making him moan. His voice vibrated along my dick.

The next time, I slid as far as I could, staying deep and watching him struggle. He gasped for breath when I retreated, and I thrust back in, barely letting him inhale.

He still didn’t move his arms, keeping them behind his back as I’d told him to.

I fucked his throat, and he took it. He even chased after my cock when I wanted to let him breathe for a few seconds. Jesus. He was in a mood today.

“Easy,” I said, and he immediately obeyed, licking along my shaft, his eyes shut, his usually frowning forehead smooth for once. Swirling his tongue around the tip, he hummed. I rewarded him by thrusting deep again. He gagged and then swallowed, thin silvery blue irises shining up at me as his eyes watered. The frenzy was already there. I knew that look. I remembered the first time I saw it two months ago. It was what made me come to him again and again. These glimpses of the wild creature inside the clean-cut man made me want to unravel him, lure the beast out and see what it could do when set free.

“Jerk yourself off,” I told him, and he pulled out his cock, never stopping the rhythmic movement of his mouth over mine. He sucked harder and moaned louder. He never lasted long when I fucked his throat.

I caught him by his hair again to slow him down and pulled him off me to watch his hand fly over his dick before I let him suck me again. I let go of the restraint and focused on the suction, the wetness and warmth, on the glide of his tongue. I watched the corners of his mouth, his hollowed cheeks, his now-red lips stretched around my erection.

Joel was the first guy who could take me to the root. He had porn-star cock-sucking skills. Which was reason number one why I let this become a regular thing. He was a size queen, and I—being freakishly tall and in proportion—well, Joel Sandstrom struck gold. Reasons number two…and three…and four—I loved these covert blow jobs, I loved the risk, the secrecy, and yes, I even enjoyed the twisted mind-fuckery of our lust-hate relationship. We clashed at work all the time, and because we were both sick idiots, it turned us on. I loved to make him beg—I even enjoyed watching his discomfort around me after we got off with each other. One day, I might grow up and date a nice guy. This was not the day.

Joel was whimpering now, his forehead damp and body straining as he jerked himself off.

“You ready?”

He moaned his agreement. Spreading my fingers and holding his temples, I started fucking his mouth in earnest, hard jabs into his throat, not caring about his breathing. He tensed and choked, and I knew he was coming. Joel was a freak, a fucking Incubus.

His broken shout of joy between my hard thrusts was what made me finish. My balls drew up painfully and my thighs tensed as I threw my head back and groaned my pleasure, my come pouring into his throat. He struggled to swallow around my pulsing cock, and my whole body tingled with ecstasy.

I let him lick me clean. Only when I started to soften did he let go.

He leaned back, gaze dropping. He pulled a tissue out of his suit pocket and cleaned his hand delicately, not looking up at me anymore. Then he stood and straightened his jacket, his face the impassive mask I knew so well. Except there were those dark spots around his reddened mouth. Not perfect any longer.

I zipped up, stepped around him, and left the office without a word.


The first time it happened, I had been working for Joel for three weeks. It was my second time at Sandstrom Studios, and I was surprised to be called in again after the boss made it obvious last year he loathed my guts. But the money was good and the projects interesting, so I took it again. I could handle one schmuck in a suit for a few months, no problem. Looking back, I was quite bigheaded thinking I could handle Joel Sandstrom. But hindsight and all of that…

It was late—I usually came to the office around ten or eleven if I could get away with it. I wasn’t employed—I worked there freelance for a limited time only—and Joel knew if he pressured me on my working hours, I could leave in mere minutes. He needed me, and I’d never missed a deadline.

I wasn’t a morning person. My most productive times were late afternoon and evenings, when the converted warehouse turned quiet and most people had gone home to their partners and families.

Joel worked late too, but he was there in the mornings as well. I wondered if he had a life outside of this building. Probably not. Maybe he just had a garage somewhere where he stood for a few hours in the middle of every night to recharge, an electric cable plugged into his perfect, robot ass.

That night, I was putting my last used coffee cup in the dishwasher when he emerged from his office, without his suit jacket this time, his pristine white shirt wrinkled and open around his neck. He looked rough—more than usual—overworked and distracted. He didn’t seem to notice me as he walked to the sink, staring at a paper in his left hand; he used his right to fill a glass of water.

I closed the dishwasher, and he looked at me, so obviously annoyed, I couldn’t keep my anger inside any longer. I leaned back, my ass against the counter, and folded my arms, staring at him.

He sipped his water and was about to turn away.

“What’s your problem?” I asked.

“What?” He swirled around, honest confusion on his face.

“You asked me to work for you. Again. Yet you don’t seem to appreciate my work or my presence here. What is the problem?”

He pursed his lips, eyes flitting around the room. I knew he was thinking hard for a way out of the conversation. I wouldn’t let him.

“Right now, my problem is your lack of professionalism,” he finally said, his calmness forced, stretched thin. He looked pointedly at my hot-pink T-shirt, which featured the sign “Plastic is Fantastic” and a Ken doll holding a vaguely dildo-like object. I raised my eyebrows. There had been no client meetings that day. Who cared what I wore?

“Bullshit! You say you need me, but you treat me like shit. I want to know why. I wouldn’t bother, but you’re an intelligent man, and I respect you for the way you do business. I haven’t ever done anything to provoke you. For the third time, what is your problem with me?” My voice grew louder—I couldn’t help it. I pushed off the counter, getting into his space. I was frustrated with his stubborn denial. He never behaved like this with anyone else. Only me. Snide remarks, cold stares, avoiding me in the halls and in the kitchen, a stiff nod instead of a hello. He didn’t fucking know me! And I did good job, great even—he never complained about any aspect of my work performance. I had won him prizes, for fuck’s sake!

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he insisted sternly. He put the papers he was holding on the kitchen counter and looked away.

I’d had enough. “I can quit tonight, Joel. If you treat me like dirt one day and like an idiot the next, I have zero motivation to stay. I can earn the same money elsewhere and even get some appreciation for it.”

Something flashed across his face, and I smiled. Fear. Joel was afraid.

“What the hell are you scared of, Joel?”

“You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Usually, I’d think it’s because I’m gay, but you don’t strike me as the type.”

There it was again. Fear. Genuine fear. His jaw twitched, his cheeks went pale, and he clenched his fists. Then it hit me. My mouth fell open.

“Oh, wow,” I gasped.

He met my gaze, and I must have missed the moment it all clicked into place. Because now he obviously knew that I knew, and his face went from pale to red in two seconds.

Joel Sandstrom was closeted. I would never have guessed.

His expression morphed from fear to anger, and he moved lightning fast. Suddenly, I was with my back to the fridge, Joel’s forearm over my chest and his knee between mine. His fist banged loudly into the fridge door next to my head. My eyes wide, I gaped. Joel was only a half a head shorter than me—we both towered over the crowd most of the time. He was broad and muscled, where I was wiry. A brutal, physical strength pulsed within his form. Yet I wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t violent. He was terrified. I felt sorry for him.

“I’m not going to tell anyone, boss,” I said, smiling a little.

His perfect lips parted as he breathed, hot air fanning my mouth. His face changed again, and this time, I could see perfectly the instant he lost his cool. He pushed harder against my chest, his jaw clenched. He didn’t say anything, just grunted with exertion. He could crush me like a bug—well, break my ribs at the very least.

And I, the sicko I was, found him incredibly hot right then. The way he lost control was so…erotic. I licked my lips, and he caught it, his eyes widening.

Letting him hold me against the fridge even though I could have thrown him off me, I bucked my hips until our groins met. He was hard just like me. He grunted, and I grinned wider.

I rocked my hips into him, and he gasped, his eyes closing. His grip on me loosened, and I moved my hands to cup his ass. He braced himself, jaw locked tight, eyes squeezed shut, hands flat against the fridge, bracketing my shoulders.

He didn’t move away.

Holding his hips, I thrust against him, feeling his erection through his slacks and letting him feel mine. His breathing intensified, and he started meeting my thrusts. He still wouldn’t look at me, his expression pinched and nostrils flared.

Tightening my grip, I swung him sideways, surprising him. He grunted as his back hit the wall next to the fridge. Not wasting any time, I unzipped his pants and mine, and caught our cocks together, squeezing and stroking. Joel’s mouth fell open and his moan echoed through the old warehouse like a gunshot.

I unlocked the cage, and the beast broke out. He was spectacular.

Gone was the rational businessman. This Joel was out of his mind with arousal and uninhibited passion. He moaned and rocked his hips, his hand fumbling over mine as I stroked our cocks, the other disappearing behind his back and down between his ass cheeks. I realized he was fingering himself. Fuck, yeah!

I grabbed his wrist with my other hand to trace the movement, and then I pushed, using his hand to fuck him harder. He threw his head back, and it banged against the wall. His exposed throat begged me to suck and bite, but I didn’t. I wanted to watch his face as our hands jerked our cocks and fucked his ass dry.

He roared when he came, spurting all over my hand and soiling the hem of my T-shirt. I let go off his spent cock but kept stroking myself hard and fast, his come easing the way. My other hand was still locked around his, and his middle finger, I realized, still in his ass. I gripped it tighter and pushed deeper, making him groan and rock his hips. I imagined turning him around, bending him over the table and pushing my long cock up his ass to the hilt, using only his own come as lube. He circled his hips and ground on our hands, on his finger, spent but still turned-the-fuck-on, making me think he’d love it. Joel would love me using him, fucking him raw, and he’d beg for more. I came to the fantasy, and he watched, rocking on the invasion in his hole, his cock half-hard.


The next day, he acted as if nothing had ever happened. Except when Tina left in the evening, and Joel and I walked into each other in the hallway in front of the conference room, he just looked at me and sank to his knees. He unzipped my pants and swallowed my cock without a word. That was two months ago.

Since the first time, I had learned I could count on him. The more stressed out he was, the more overworked, the more likely was he to seek me out. It didn’t seem healthy for him, but selfishly, I made myself available. A better man might have stopped him. But I just…didn’t want to.