Not Safe for Work

They’re a match made in the dungeon…until their secret gets out.

Bored senseless in a meeting, architectural modeler Jon McNeill amuses himself with a kinky dating app on his phone. Then the app matches him with another user…who’s six feet away. Suddenly Jon finds himself on the same page as someone way above his pay grade: millionaire property developer Rick Pierce. His firm’s biggest—and hottest—client.

The app isn’t kidding either. They’re a perfect match. Jon’s a Dom, Rick’s a sub, and bondage is their thing. Both guys are well into their forties, know their way around the bedroom, and definitely appreciate a good suit. And the best part? They’re a match outside the bedroom too.

But office relationships aren’t easy to keep a secret. When the truth comes out, Jon is certain he’s about to get fired. Instead, his bosses throw him a curve ball—an ultimatum that puts both his job and his relationship in jeopardy.

Warning: Contains literal and figurative sex machines, blindfolds, a sub being punished during a business meeting, enough rope to tangle up a millionaire, and a Golden Girls marathon.

Not Safe for Work

L.A. Witt

Chapter One

It all started with an app that I knew better than to check at work.

I especially knew better than to check it during a meeting. I mean, I was
not
one to fuck around on my phone during meetings in the first place. If I did, I sure as hell didn’t load anything besides my e-mail and maybe some social media, just in case someone glanced over my shoulder.

Most of the time, I sat there and paid attention—or, like I had in high school, at least made a damned good effort to come across that way—even when there was no rational reason for me to be parked in a chair in a conference room instead of working. I didn’t bitch (much). Not even when my boss inevitably bitched at me later for being behind on the project I physically couldn’t work on while I was in Meeting Purgatory
with her
.

That day, my patience ran out. I already knew I’d be working late tonight because every minute I spent in here, listening to the architects and the property developers drone on and on about every fucking detail of their newest project, was another minute I wasn’t downstairs working. Once this meeting was over, my boss and the other architect would be on my ass about the model I needed to build—a to-scale rendering of the project they were all discussing. Ninety minutes into this, I could already hear them asking why the hell I hadn’t made any progress since lunch.

So, fuck it. If they were going to kill my Friday night and likely my weekend, then I was mentally checking out. Perhaps not my most mature moment, but I’d been out of coffee for forty-five minutes, so I didn’t care.

Carefully sitting back and leaning my binder up on the edge of the table, I surreptitiously propped my phone against the notebook. It was completely out of sight from anyone else in the room, and the sound was, of course, turned off. Perfect.

E-mail. Check.

Facebook. Check.

Twitter. Check.

Facebook. Again. Check.

Meeting… Still going.

I listened for a few minutes to make sure they hadn’t gone off on some topic I needed to know about—they hadn’t—and shifted my attention back to my phone. At the bottom of the screen, a newish icon caught my eye. The little pair of crudely drawn handcuffs was tempting. So, so tempting.

No, better not. I’d only had the app for a couple of weeks, so it was still shiny and novel, but definitely not one I should be checking at work. Even if I wasn’t in a meeting. Which I was.

Then again, no one could see my phone.

No one was discussing anything that needed my input. None of my crew—the drafters and modelers I worked with on a daily basis—were here to sneak a glance over my shoulder, hoping to catch something they could razz me about until the end of time.

Nobody had to know.

Oh, what the hell?

I clicked on the app and got a little electric thrill when the
Searching For Kinky Singles In Your Area…
popped up. I hadn’t had much luck on here lately, but I also hadn’t checked it in a few days. And, well, hope sprang eternal. An app that found kinky people the way Grindr and Tindr found casual hookups? Hell yeah.

Found—17 possible matches.

Seventeen? Last time, it had been fourteen, so that was an improvement. I tapped
Show Me Matches
, which I’d already set to
Sort by Proximity
.

Last time, the nearest potential match had shown as five miles away, which had been surprisingly close. Sitting in a meeting with my boss, one of the firm’s partners and a few reps from our multimillion-dollar client, I was not prepared for what came up on my screen.

Nearest Match—six feet away from you.

My heart stopped.

And then I realized the match’s icon was green. They were not only in this room, they were online. They’d been active within the last few minutes. They could see
me
online and active.

No. No way. That had to be a mistake. Someone’s profile had the wrong location. Could’ve been someone on the floor above or below me. Maybe something in the building was interfering with the app or my GPS or something. There was no way in hell someone else in this room was viewing the same app and had been matched to me.

I lifted my gaze and cast a sweeping glance around the room.

Bob Mitchell, the partner, was still droning on about something. Dion Young, the gorgeous CFO of the client, Horizon Developing, had his phone out, but it was facedown on the table and hadn’t moved.

My eyes halted on my boss, Marie.

It couldn’t be her. Even if she was kinky—and I suspected sometimes that she was—my filters were extremely tight. I was specifically looking for a submissive, and the vibe she gave off pinged very, very heavily on the dominant end of the spectrum. It wasn’t unusual for management types to be subs, but I’d have been shocked if Marie had ever submitted in her life.

Besides, I’d also specifically filtered my profile for
male
submissive. I hadn’t even listed myself as bisexual because lately I’d been in the mood for someone very subby and very male.

So, not Marie.

I gulped and continued scanning the group.

My gaze landed right on Rick Pierce. The CEO of Horizon Developing. The wealthiest and most ambitious client who’d set foot in this firm in decades. The man who I was sure was the sole reason the suit had been invented.

And he was looking right back at me.

With his phone in his hand.

I raised my eyebrow. He quickly dropped his gaze.

Oh.
Busted
.

The entire Internet could not have contained the sheer volume of images that suddenly flooded my mind. Rick’s brown hair—which was perfectly windswept right now—all messed up and dripping with sweat. A welt on his wrist that that shiny Rolex couldn’t quite cover. This powerful CEO who was always the very picture of boldness and elegance, kneeling naked at my feet, eyes wide and glazed, hands bound and shaking…

And suddenly my binder was hiding more than just my phone.

Chin down, Rick stole a glance at me from the corner of his eye. I chanced a subtle grin, one I was sure no one would notice but him, and I was rewarded with a little hitch in his breath just before he shifted his attention back to Mr. Mitchell.

Holy shit.

If we’d connected on the app, then there were things I knew without a doubt about Rick Pierce. He was either gay or bisexual. He wasn’t in a relationship. He was submissive. He liked to be bound. He liked to be watched.

I shifted in my chair, hoping like hell this meeting didn’t end until I got this hard-on under control. That wasn’t an easy task. Not when I knew Rick was the type who absolutely combined kink and sex, as opposed to the guys who liked one or the other.

There were a few things up in the air, though. He was submissive, but did he prefer top or bottom when he fucked?
God, if he likes both…

I shivered.

“Jon?” Marie startled me, and my head snapped toward her.

“Hmm?”

She inclined her head slightly, eyeing me over her glasses. “Did you have anything to add?”

Add to what?

I cleared my throat and sat up, and as I lay my notebook on the table, my phone clattered to the floor, and I suddenly had a vision of it landing faceup with the incriminating app wide open for all to see. “Um.” I coughed again. “No. No, I…”
Have nothing to add because I have no idea what we’re talking about.

Marie’s lips quirked and her eyebrow rose, and I knew I’d be hearing about this later. She sighed. “What’s your ETA on the models for this project?”

It’d be a hell of a lot sooner if you didn’t keep dragging me into these meetings.

“I’ll need to check with my crew about—”

“Can it be finished by Monday morning?” Marie broke in.

Yep. There goes my weekend.

“If Teagan and I work through the weekend, yes.”

Marie was about to speak, but Rick broke in.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” He folded his long fingers on top of his phone. “As long as I have something for the board of directors by close of business Wednesday, that would be fine.”

His eyes darted toward me, and the faintest upward flick of his eyebrow added
You’re welcome.

Marie pushed out a sharp, impatient breath. “Okay. Wednesday morning, then?”

Tuesday morning or you’re dead meat,
her arched eyebrow added.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Totally doable.”

And like clockwork, Marie busting my balls in front of clients and colleagues took care of that troublesome hard-on.

Minutes later, the meeting had wrapped up. Marie and Mitchell were busy shaking hands with the clients—kissing their asses, more like—so I picked my phone up off the floor and made the quickest escape I could. I stopped for a brief conversation with Horizon Developing’s facilities director, who was really the only one I had any reason to talk to about this project, and then slipped out of the conference room.

I suddenly couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse that Rick and Dion were here so often. Their near-constant presence was unusual, but then again, so was a client with that many projects going at the same time. So they were here all the time. They’d be here all the time even after today. Even after Rick Pierce and I had connected where we had no business connecting.

These meetings—which happened at least two or three times a week—were either going to get really interesting or really awkward.

At the elevator, I pressed the down button and waited.

Footsteps. Sharp, fast—definitely dress shoes, but not high heels like Marie wore.

I gulped as the steps closed in.
It’s him, isn’t it?
The brushed stainless finish on the elevator doors revealed nothing, not even a faint reflection to let me know if it was tall, broad-shouldered Rick or his stockier CFO, or—

He was suddenly right beside me, and no, it wasn’t the CFO.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.

Without so much as a look beside me, I stepped into the elevator, and when I turned around, yep, there he was.

He flashed a faint grin. Then he joined me.

“Second floor,” I said with just a hint of my Dom voice.

Immediately, he pressed the button, followed by the parking garage for himself and the Close Doors button.

Standing beside me, facing forward, he waited until the doors had shut. Then, without turning, he said, “Does this mean your weekend is free?”

I somehow managed to choke out, “It is now.”

He glanced at me, and there was that grin again.

You’re a bratty sub, aren’t you?

I shivered. A fully compliant submissive was fun, but nothing made my mouth water like one who needed some…encouragement.

I muffled a cough. “I kind of feel like I owe you a drink after that.”

He reached into his pocket, and, just as the elevator stopped on the second floor, he handed me a card. “If you text me a time and place, I’ll be there.”

I took the card. Disbelieving and more than a little dumbstruck, I stepped off the elevator. I stared at the card, and it took a second to realize he’d handwritten his cell phone number on it. This wasn’t real, was it?

I looked up to ask if he was serious, but the elevator doors shut, and he was gone.

And I just stood there like an idiot. I had Rick Pierce’s phone number in my hand and a list of his kinks in my back pocket. He’d all but extended the invitation.

For a submissive, he was pretty forward. Not quite demanding, but certainly assertive, backing it up with those devilish looks that dared me to do something about it.

Still standing there in front of the elevator, I grinned. Yeah, I’d have a drink with Rick.

And then I’d use the weekend he’d secured me to let him know who was boss.

Chapter Two

Throughout the day, in between working and texting with Rick, I must’ve read his profile a hundred times. I was still convinced he was miles out of my league, but the more I read his answers… Jesus. We were a match. He liked bondage. He liked to be dominated. Pain was fun, but he could take it or leave it.

By the time the workday was over, I was absolutely useless to the firm. My mind was a million miles away, especially once we’d nailed down a time and place to meet tonight. Seven thirty. Hank’s Place, a relatively quiet bar on the other side of town. That gave me enough time to run home, grab a shower and get there with a few minutes to spare. I hated being late, and if Rick knew what was good for him, so did he.

I arrived early and parked on the bottom level of a garage shared with several other shops and restaurants. The garage was huge and probably wouldn’t get crowded on a weeknight, but I liked to avoid door dings and people who insisted on parking so close I couldn’t get in and out of my car. I also figured the short walk up to the bar would be enough time for me to shake off these nerves that I didn’t remember ever having before about two o’clock this afternoon.

As I crossed the mostly vacant level, I tucked my hands into my pockets and took a few slow breaths. A tingle of dread started working its way up my spine. Was I really meeting Rick Pierce for a drink? And seriously considering… God, what
wasn’t
I seriously considering with him? In my mind, I’d already tied him, flogged him, fucked him—it was hard to believe those fantasies were actually on the table.

This is insane. You are asking to get fired.

Just outside the bar, I hesitated. Mitchell & Forsythe had relentlessly wooed Rick’s company like broke kids sucking up to rich, dying relatives. Our firm was huge compared to most architectural firms, and had taken a massive hit when the economy tanked. Before Horizon Developing had signed with us, there’d been rumors of impending layoffs. I’d heard from more than one reliable source that the first Horizon Developing contract—not to mention the numerous ones that continued to come after—had literally been the difference between the firm staying alive or shutting down. There was a reason my bosses never objected to the countless, endless meetings and brainstorming sessions the Horizon people demanded.

Hell, if anyone so much as stepped in front of Rick or his CFO in the elevator, their job was on the line. We’d all been told repeatedly that what Rick Pierce wanted, Rick Pierce got, because there was no way in hell we could afford to lose his business. Whenever anyone at Horizon Developing said jump, the collective staff of Mitchell & Forsythe said how high. I really, really didn’t relish the idea of him telling the partners he was taking his money elsewhere because a date—or a kinky scene—with one of their lowly modelers had gone sour.

No pressure or anything.

But it was too late to back out now. Standing him up would likely not bode well for keeping my job.

My stomach knotted—I didn’t like the idea of going through with this because I had to. I was a Dom, for God’s sake. No one told me what to do in the bedroom.
No one
.

But none of that had been an issue until just now, until last-second nerves had kicked in and made me question what I was doing. All afternoon, I’d been excited and barely believed this was real. I wasn’t here because I had to be. I was here because I wanted Rick. The firm had nothing to do with this, and what they didn’t know didn’t hurt me or my job.

So I exhaled and headed inside. Of course I was nervous about this. If it went south or the wrong person found out, it could have ramifications that went well beyond the sting of rejection. If things got weird and Rick decided it was easier to take his various projects to another firm, well…

The knot in my gut came back with a vengeance, but I’d already walked inside, and though we weren’t due to meet for another ten minutes, there he was.

He’d asked via text if I preferred tables, booths or bar tops—booths, of course—and he’d snagged a booth away from the windows. As I shrugged off my jacket, our eyes met, and Rick shifted in his seat.

I smiled and started across the room. Hopefully he couldn’t see my nerves. Though his profile had been made of all the things I itched for in a man—not that I’d read it thirty-seven times since the meeting—the fact remained that this was Rick Pierce. He was wealthy, he was powerful; hell, the guy had been on the cover of at least a dozen magazines with “Most Influential” or some similar title. Exactly the kind of man I’d
dreamed
of dominating.

Like me, he’d opted for a shirt and tie, and we’d both rolled our sleeves to the elbows. To anyone who cared to look, we were just a couple of guys meeting up for a drink after work. If not for that Rolex around his wrist and the years-old Seiko around mine, we might’ve even appeared to be the same pay grade.

What if someone from work sees us?

Panic tightened my chest, but I quickly brushed it off.
All I have to do is say he invited me to have a drink with him, and what was I supposed to do? Say no?

Bulletproof alibi.

With my heart still in my throat, I took a seat across from him. “You’re early.”

He smiled. “Wasn’t sure how long it would take me to get here. I, uh, didn’t want to be late.”

“Good. Punctuality is always a plus.”

Our eyes met again, and goddamn, he
was
a sub, wasn’t he? One little hint of approval, and I could feel the warmth radiating off him.

A waitress appeared beside us. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just an iced tea. Thank you.” As much as I wanted something harder, my head was already light. No booze this evening.

She turned to Rick. “And you?”

He gestured at the glass in front of him. “I’ll stick with water. Thanks.”

She smiled and then disappeared to get my drink.

Alone again, I looked at Rick. “Listen, um, before we settle in too far, I need to make sure we’re on the same page about something. We should, um…” I cleared my throat. “Look, to be perfectly blunt, if anyone at Mitchell & Forsythe finds out about—”

“They won’t.” There it was—that nonnegotiable tone I usually heard during meetings. He shook his head and added, “No one can find out about this.”

“I agree. But if, hypothetically, someone
did
find out, I could be out of a job.”

“Exactly why we won’t let that happen.” Rick’s expression softened. “I have no interest in anyone finding out about this. Everyone at Horizon Developing knows damn well I’m gay, but they don’t know I’m kinky. I’d just as soon they didn’t find out. So, absolute discretion.”

I nodded. “No one at Mitchell & Forsythe knows about me either, so…yeah. Discretion is good.”

“Of course.” He paused, studying me. “And I assume it goes without saying that during office hours, this”—he gestured at both of us—“whatever it is, doesn’t exist.”

I still can’t believe “this”
does
exist
.

“Agreed.”

He nodded. “Good. This is none of anyone’s business but ours, and definitely not our colleagues’.”

There was something odd about Rick implying we had the same set of colleagues. Technically we did. The difference was that I was several levels below them and he was miles above them.

“Right,” I said. “None of their business.”

Rick’s eyebrows rose. “So, we’re on the same page?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

His features relaxed, and his smile gave me goose bumps. “Good. Because I really like what I read on your profile.”

“Likewise.”
Where the hell is my iced tea? And why didn’t I make it a Long Island?
“Apparently I wasn’t the only one bored out of my skull during that meeting.”

Rick laughed. “Well, to be fair, I, um, saw your profile a few days ago.”

“Did you? But I didn’t see you on—oh, yours must have been private.”

“Yep. I mean, I thought about pinging you a few times, but with our, um, situation, I thought better of it.” He met my gaze, smiling a little bit sheepishly. “But when I realized you were on your phone right then, I thought, what the hell? I’ll take the chance.” He sat up a bit. He was taller than me by a couple of inches, and the way he sat now emphasized that, made me look up just slightly. “So here we are.”

“Yeah.” I shifted too, lifting my chin. “Here we are.”

Eyes locked on mine, he rested his forearms on the table, which brought him down just slightly. “It’s funny,” he said quietly. “You just never know who’s kinky, do you?” A grin spread across his slim lips. “I noticed you the first time I met you, but I was surprised as hell to see you on Leathr. Realizing we were on the same wavelength…” The grin broadened.

I was about to respond, but the waitress showed up with my drink. I thanked her and, as she walked away, took a deep swallow. “I didn’t expect you to be kinky either.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, can’t they?”

“They can. Especially when you find out that one of the ten most powerful men in the region likes getting down on his knees and having his face fucked.”

Rick dropped his gaze and shuddered hard. The pink in his cheeks didn’t strike me as embarrassment. I suspected that wasn’t the only place he had blood rushing right then.

I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “I kind of like the sound of that, you know? Someone with as much power and influence as you, down on your knees in front of me. Especially if you’ve got your hands tied. And maybe your ankles. If you’re good.”

Rick moistened his lips, and his eyes flicked up to meet mine. “Yeah. We’re on the same wavelength.”

Oh God. This is going to be
awesome.

“Good. Good.”

I watched him for a moment. “Have you had any bad experiences with Doms? You don’t have to go into detail, but I’d just as soon not step on any land mines.”

“No bad experiences, no. I still prefer to take things a little slower at first, though. Not just jump in and start breaking out the whips and leather, even when it’s tempting.”

I nodded. “No sense diving in headfirst while we’re still strangers for all intents and purposes.”

He held my gaze. How surreal, even thinking of being anything beyond strangers with him. Or realizing that, despite spending an unholy amount of time together in those stupid meetings, that was exactly what we were—we barely spoke directly to each other, since my bosses freaked out if anyone jumped the chain of command and addressed a client. Even in the same room, at the same table, in the same conversation, our interactions were filtered through Marie or Mitchell.

Until now.

I cleared my throat. “So then I guess the question is, what do we do until we get this ‘stranger’ thing out of the way?”

Rick smiled. “You’re the Dom. I’d say that’s your call.”

“In theory.” I took a drink of my iced tea, because holy hell, my mouth was parched. “But you know how it works—the Dom calls the shots, but the sub is the one in charge.”

“True. Then I guess we’ll take it a little at a time.”

I nodded. “I can work with that.”

“Good. Because I’ve met a few Doms who are impatient as fuck.”

“Ugh. No. I would never move faster than my sub was ready to move.”

“Good,” he said again. “Then I’d say we’re off to a damned good start.”

I nodded.

“And while we’re on the subject, it doesn’t have to be all kink, all the time. In fact, I’d prefer if it wasn’t. I dated a guy for a while who wasn’t into sex unless it was kinky, and it was…” Rick exhaled, shaking his head. “It was exhausting, you know?”

“Yeah, I agree. Some people like it that way all the time, but I’m with you.” I laughed quietly. “Maybe I’m just getting too old.”

Rick snorted. “I doubt that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Because if you are, then I am, and…no.”

I laughed again. “Fair enough. To be serious, though, I do enjoy vanilla too.”

“So I read. And same here.”

God, this was weird. We were in the same booth, on the same wavelength, and if I kept playing my cards right—no, if
he
kept playing
his
cards right—we’d be in the same bed.

Except we hadn’t even touched yet. Verbal games only went so far.

We were way too out in the open for any contact beyond hands on the tabletop. Not even touching an arm or teasing the inside of a wrist with a finger. Maybe if we were a couple of twenty-somethings, it would’ve been different, but I came from an era where that sort of thing didn’t fly. And, well, old habits died hard.

But I still wanted to touch him. More than that, I wanted to see him squirm.

So, beneath the table, I ran my toe along his insole. “Footsie” seemed like a childish game, but the way his eyes closed and he slowly pulled in a breath, the way the hairs on his arm stood up and my own spine tingled—this wasn’t child’s play.

I did it again. His other foot moved, rubbing against mine, and I quickly put mine on top and pushed his back to the floor.

Rick’s eyes flew open.

Right then, the waitress appeared beside us. “Can I get you gentlemen—” Her eyes darted back and forth between us. Some color bloomed in her cheeks, as if she’d realized a second too late what she just walked into. A little quieter, she quickly asked, “Any refills?”

“Some more water please,” Rick said, the words spilling out one on top of the other. “Ice water.”

The color deepened. She swallowed and turned to me. “And you, sir?”

“Water, yes. Please.”

She was gone so fast, she may as well have just ceased to exist.

Neither of us spoke. I slid my foot off his, and he shifted as if he suddenly couldn’t get comfortable. When the waitress returned, she deposited our drinks and made a quick exit, and still, we were silent.

He took a few deep swallows of water. I left mine on the table but wrapped my hands around it, letting the cold bring me back to earth.

My body temperature slowly came down, though the same could not be said for my pulse, especially as I whispered, “Why me, Rick?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”