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Category: Erotica/Gay-Lesbian Erotica/Romance
Description: Book six in the Perfect Timing Series On the stroke of twelve Devon belongs to him for one hour. One hour that will change the course of his life forever. Free of responsibility and provided with an independent income, Devon Ashford floats through life thinking only of where the next party might be. When a note orders Devon to present himself at Templeton, Crawford & Associates at noon on Wednesday, he's curious enough and bored enough to follow the order. He doesn't know what to expect when he arrives, but it's not to be told that on the stroke of twelve, he'll belong to the stern man on the other side of the desk for exactly one hour. He doesn't expect anyone to command him to strip for an inspection. Nor does he expect to follow the orders of a stranger. He certainly doesn't imagine he could like doing that enough to go back for more. Whatever he expects, Devon's about to discover that what happens at the stroke of twelve could change the course of his life forever.
eBook Publisher: Total-e-bound, 2011
eBookwise Release Date: April 2011

22 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [144 KB]
Words: 31825
Reading time: 90-127 min.

"At the stroke of twelve on this day, and on every Wednesday from now on, you will belong to me for one hour. Understand?"

Devon Ashford blinked at the man sitting on the other side of the desk. "What?"

"The appropriate answer is either 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir'," the older man informed him. "Answer the question. Do you understand?"

Devon gave a mental shrug. Okay, so the guy was kinky. He was also as hot as hell. For a man who looked like that, Devon was willing to learn to live with kinky. "Okay."

The guy just stared across the desk at him.

Devon shuffled his trainers on the richly patterned rug. Kinky was fair enough, but standing in front of the big mahogany desk made him feel like he was back in school, in the headmaster's office and waiting to be told how many hours he'd be sent to detention for. He pushed his hand through his hair, shoving the thick blond strands out of his eyes.

Finally, he realised what the other man was waiting for. Devon only just resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. "Yes, sir."

The guy nodded, just once, as if to show he'd heard. That was it.

Devon pushed his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels. At any other time, he wouldn't have thought twice about striding quickly around the desk to make his intentions perfectly clear. With any other man, he wouldn't have hesitated to straddle him in his fancy office chair and get the show going. But for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, right then and with that man, the idea of assuming the initiative was ludicrous.

Glued to the spot where he'd been ordered to stand, Devon cleared his throat. "So...um..."

The man held up a hand.

Devon watched it for a little while, to see if it was going to do anything interesting, but it just stayed there, indicating he should remain silent.

The big grandfather clock in the hallway outside the office began to chime.

As it slowly tolled the noon hour, Devon studied the older man across the desk. He'd searched the corners of his mind over and over again during the last few days, but all he really remembered was a lot of vodka slammers and, somewhere between late on Saturday night and the early hours of Sunday morning, someone pushing a piece of paper into his hand.

There'd been no name, no number, just a time and an address. This time. This address.

Devon waited out the clock, since it seemed important to the other guy. While it chimed, he happily took the opportunity to study the other man in a way he'd been too drunk to do before.

He was obviously far older than Devon. His hair was dark, but it was already gaining just a touch of grey around his temples. Still, even while he was sitting behind the desk, it was clear that the other man was also much taller and broader across the shoulders than he was.

Devon wasn't going to complain about that. Stern lips, brooding brown eyes, square jaw...Devon quietly nodded to himself. The guy was definitely worth putting up with a bit of leather for.

As the last note from the clock's chimes faded from the air, he opened his mouth to ask exactly what the other guy was into.

The older man cut him off before he could utter a single syllable.

"Strip."

Devon forced out a slightly nervous laugh. "You don't waste any time once you get going, do you?"

The guy didn't so much as crack a smile.

"Don't I even get some music to strip to?" Devon joked, but even he couldn't manage to chuckle this time. Suddenly uncertain for no logical reason, he pushed his hands deeper into his pockets.

"Don't dance," the man told him. "Don't perform. If I want you to put on a show, I'll tell you. Just take your clothes off." His voice matched everything else about him perfectly, deep and rich and apparently created especially for giving orders.

Devon took his hands out of his pockets. He pushed one hand through his hair again, shoving the scruffy blond stands out of his eyes as he considered his options. It wasn't as if either of them thought they were hooking up for anything but a midday quickie. They'd obviously be getting naked at some point, but still...