Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
And now I finally get my chance.
He moans when I grip his butt cheeks, filling each of my hands with his firm flesh. I can’t help but kneel here and simply admire the joy that is Benjamin’s ass. I realize in this moment that I’ve never gotten a chance to worship it so up-close.
Really, how many damned squats does a man have to do to achieve a work of art like this?
At long last, I bring my face into his warm, perfect butt. I’m completely buried in it in seconds, engulfed in Benjamin on all sides. Just the sensation of having my face surrounded by him completely is overwhelmingly erotic. I can’t possibly quantify the amount of arousal I’m experiencing.
“Trevor …” I hear from above.
I groan, twisting my face and opening my mouth, desperate to get even deeper between his cheeks. I have never, ever wanted my face submerged in something so badly—not even my grandma’s lemon Bundt cake. I’ve never felt more thrill from such a simple act as this—not even from the very first time I was tall enough to ride the roller coaster with the loop.
Benjamin is my loop, and he’s got my head spinning in ecstasy between his magnificent cheeks.
“Trevor … it’s brighter in here …”
His words don’t even make sense to me. All I see, all I know, all I love and adore is Ben’s beefy butt, which has eclipsed all the light in my world. Who needs light when you have ass to the left, ass to the right, ass on my mind, ass everywhere?
“TREVOR! THE BLINDS!”
I pull away from heaven, my sight restored, and turn around to face the floor-to-ceiling office windows, confused.
I’m not confused for long.
The blinds are wide open. Through the glass, the entire office is watching.
Every single employee.
Every single intern.
And a cocky-looking teen I’ve seen on TV—Hawk, the Jersey boy himself—whose face is frozen in a permanent laugh.
And Rebekah with a turned-over cup at her feet, evidence of the coffee she just let go in shock.
And Elijah, my dear sweet friend, whose eyes have widened so much, the whites of them flash, and whose jaw hangs so low he could fit his fist inside.
And Brady, standing proudly right in the front, the only one whose expression does not reflect surprise, but rather knowing smugness, a look of dark triumph in his pretty, glittery eyes as he aims his phone our way, capturing it all.
And then there’s me, still proudly gripping the ass cheeks of my boss and taking the term “brownnosing” to an all new low.
44
Trevor’s not here. Leave a message.
I stare at the oversized stuffed teddy bear across the room.
It stares back and offers no advice.
I’ve been having a staring contest with an inanimate object in my bedroom that is Elijah’s storage room for three solid hours.
“Trev?”
Just like the last fourteen times my roommate’s tried to speak to me, I let his words go ignored, preferring the company of this teddy bear who knows better than to try and speak to me now.
Brady—or maybe another intern who also had their phone out, for all I know—recorded the whole thing the second Ben’s (or was it my?) hand slipped and hit that stupid switch on his desk that opened the blinds behind us and exposed us to the whole office, much like drawing back the curtains on a goddamned stage.
And there I was, center stage, right in the spotlight before my audience of coworkers, eating out my boss’s ass.
Benjamin Gage’s ass.
The pictures were online within hours. I had already made it home by then, unable to face anyone or anything. Having to cut through that office full of gawkers as I ran out is one of the worst experiences I have ever had to endure.
The amount of humiliation I experienced was paralyzing.
And it hasn’t ended. It chased me all the way home.
And now it’s on the internet. Forever.
Really, I should be able to look back and laugh at this, right? I mean, it’s hilarious. Gut-busting, even. After my best friend Elijah and arch nemesis Brady secretly and not-so-secretly assumed that I was trying to fuck my way to the top, I’m no sooner caught with my boss’s pants down and my face buried nose-deep in ass.
I mean, if they’re going to call me a brownnoser, can we get any more fucking literal than that?
Yes, it turns out we can. On my way home, I tripped over the leg of a homeless man on accident, flew over a surprise stack of newspapers that ambushed me, and landed face-first in a puddle of something brown and greasy that I will spend the rest of the night caring not to identify. When I got home, I had more than a brown nose. I had a ruined pink shirt, a soiled black tie, and a nightmare of nastiness across my face.