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“Let’s go. Now.”

Somehow Carson’s grin grew even bigger.

“Yes, daddy.”

Zach hissed, and Carson laughed as he stood, adding a fifty from his own wallet to the table. He watched and did the math in his head, and realized that Carson was right, what he’d left wouldn’t be enough. He was used to paying for just himself, after all.

“I promise I’ll be good,” Carson purred, leaning in as if for a kiss.

“You’re goddamned right you will,” Zach replied, grabbing Carson by the jaw and preventing him from completing the kiss.

“Don’t forget your gift,” he said, and turned and walked out the door, leaving Carson to scramble after him.

“Zach! Zach!”

He grinned as he heard Carson come running up behind him.

“What the hell?” Carson asked as he fell into step beside him. They came up on a small alleyway, and Zach grabbed Carson’s arm and spun him, dragging him into the lengthening shadows the alley provided, wind-blown fallen leaves crunching under their feet.

“You are such a little shit,” he growled, slamming Carson up against the wall and crashing into him, their mouths colliding in a fierce kiss.

“You love it,” he taunted.

“We have three blocks to go. You think you can behave that long?”

“Probably not,” Carson replied, as he nipped at Zach’s bottom lip and tried to rub a leg between Zach’s.

Zach dragged his bearded cheek over Carson’s smooth one and brought his mouth to rest against his ear.

“I am fucking you on eight-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets tonight, with toys and lube at an easy reach. Not in this cold alley.”

Carson moaned and clutched at the front of Zach’s coat, and he had to fight to keep from laughing.

“You think you can behave now, kid?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Oh, God, yes please.”

****

The one thing about Carson’s job that took the most getting used to was the weirdly flexible hours, due mostly in part to their large international client base. He was paid a base salary, and expected to clock in and out when he was at his desk working. But he didn’t have to be there at eight in the morning every single day. He could waltz in at nine-thirty. Or noon. It didn’t matter. As long as he clocked at least forty hours, and was on time for any scheduled meetings, it was fine. If he clocked more than fifty-five hours, he received overtime compensation. If he hit seventy hours, he was locked out of the system for thirty-six hours. And they were never allowed to access the system remotely. Apparently, Mr. McAllister took his employees’ mental and physical health seriously, and insisted they have down time to spend with family or whatever they had.

So when he finally walked in—rather slowly and carefully—at ten the morning after dinner with Zach, nobody batted an eye. Sam did, only because Carson had never been there later than nine o’clock, but Carson had texted him to let him know he’d be late so he didn’t worry.

Meg had laughed when he’d called her from Zach’s bed early that morning—fighting to keep his voice level while Zach did his best to deep-throat him—as she told him it didn’t matter, she only needed to know if he wouldn’t be in at all that day.

“You okay, man?” Sam asked, as he watched Carson settle into his chair.

“Yeah. Just had a late night.”

“Uh-huh.”

Carson’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he jumped, which made him gasp as the plug in his ass shifted.

10:05AM Zachnew message

Z: Thank you for the picture as requested ;) I’d be very disappointed if you changed your mind after you got home. Are you sitting yet?

C:yes I just got to my desk