Easy Money (Chapter 1)
It’s only been a week since Dion began working for Xander Sanchez , who is undoubtedly a very rich and envied man. Women want to be with him, men want to be him, and no one knows anything about him. He could be married or single, straight or gay, living in a big house or a small apartment. He doesn’t let anyone he works with know anything about him. That’s what makes him so tempting.
Dion has hardly spoken two words to him since the interview, which he spent most of the time trying to listen to what Xander - Mr Sanchez - was saying instead of marveling at his cheekboned masterpiece. All blue eyes and black hair, just like in the movies. Only better. Xander is better than the movies.
At lunch today, which is scheduled as an hour for all employees, Dion is scrolling social media and eating when Xander approaches. He’s wearing a white shirt with a red suit jacket and Dion cannot deny that he looks hot. ”Harrington,” he begins, “office.”
Dion looks up at him, surprised at his bluntness. “Am I in trouble?” He asks, half joking.
“Come,” Xander says, ignoring the question. He walks fairly quickly towards the lift, Dion leaving his lunch and trailing behind, confused. In the lift, Xander says nothing. He steps out first and Dion follows him into his office. “Sit,” Xander instructs, motioning to the couch. Dion does. “Now, Harrington, let’s not waste any more time than is necessary. Your work is quite phenomenal.”
“Sorry?” Dion asks, not understanding the rush if he’s just been brought here to be praised on his work which, frankly, he couldn’t care less about. He’s only here for the money. Surely Xander can see that.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, it sounding more like a question.
Xander sits on the desk. “But I don’t think you care about that,” he goes on, “the work, I mean. You seem like you’re here for other reasons.”
"Well, I am.”
“Yes, I figured. And what are those reasons? Care to enlighten me?”
“You’re rich, I’m not,” he shrugs.
Xander smiles then. Dion isn’t sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t that. “I see,” he purrs, “that’s quite interesting, isn’t it?”
“Well...yes.” He loosely clasps his hands together over his chest. “I’d feel bad, making you sit around here all day when clearly, you are better suited for other jobs.”
“What are you saying?”
“Are you at all interested in...” He looks around thoughtfully, smirking before he continues. “Getting money another way?”
Dion looks at him. He thinks he knows what Xander is on about but daren’t say it in case he’s way off.
“See, princess, I’m sure you’ve seen how-what’s the word-reserved I am, yes?”
Dion nods. Did Xander call him princess or is he going crazy?
“I don’t like getting close to people who work for me. Makes it difficult to fire them.” He chuckles to himself. “Point is, and you’re a clever boy, I’m sure you’ve worked it out, that I wouldn’t have to fire you if you didn’t strictly work for me.”
“It’s really quite straight forward.” He gets off the desk. “You want money, which I have, and I-to put it shortly-am horny.”
Dion gulps and looks away nervously.
“And it’s not often I get a pretty little thing like you in here, if you get my drift.” He leans against the closed door. “You’re gay, I know that much. You put it in your application. And can you really look at me and say you don’t find me attractive?”
“You are attractive,” Dion says.
“Why so hesitant?”
“You’re asking me to sleep with you for cash, wouldn’t you be hesitant?”
"So you don’t want to?”
Dion thinks he can hear disappointment. “I didn’t say that.”
Xander smirks again. “I’ll give you a couple thousand right now, what do you say?”
The younger’s eyes widen. “A couple thousand?” He repeats.
“You want money, no?”
Dion looks down Xander’s undeniably alluring body. “I’m bottoming,” he says.
Xander chuckles. “Oh, I know.” He turns and locks the door, pulling the blind down over the window so no one can see in. “Let’s say three,” he says.
“Thousand. Three thousand.”
“Well does it look like I’m gonna wait?” Suddenly his voice is lower, more demanding. Dion shakes his head and he talks again. “If you call me daddy I’ll chuck on a couple more.”
Dion ’s eyes widen.
“Don’t sweat it. Come, stand up. I want to touch.” He waits for Dion to do as he asks, putting his hands on his clothed shoulders and tilting his head to one side. “Say no and I stop.”
Dion nods. He swallows when Xander takes his hands, looking at him and waiting for him to make the next move.
Xander gathers both his hands into one, holding his wrists together and bringing them above his head. He pushes Dion towards his desk rather roughly, turning him around and bending him over the surface, knocking over a pen pot and a magazine folder, not caring to pick them up. He grips Dion’s wrists in one hand and feels for the zip on his pants with the other. After pulling the zipper down, he grabs Dion’s waistband, pushing both his pants and his boxers down over his narrow hips in one go. For a short minute, he fingers Dion, sensing that he’s no amateur and doesn’t need ‘looking after’, as such. He reaches for a condom that he keeps in the bottom of the pen pot they conveniently knocked over, tearing it open and releasing Dion’s hands to put it on.
Dion takes the opportunity to grab the edge of the table and brace himself, riding forwards with a sharp inhale as Xander thrusts in. He likes that the man doesn’t wait for him to adjust, that he goes fast and hard and rough. This isn’t a normal occurrence for him. Granted, he’s attractive and has had many a cock in him, but never like this. Never for money. And he can’t say he’s mad about it, not in the slightest. Who wouldn’t want Mr Sanchez to rail them over his shiny desk on their lunch break? “Fuck, daddy,” he whines, mainly to see if Xander actually pays him more for it.
The man hums at the word. Someone knocks on the door and he shouts for them to wait five minutes, gripping Dion ’s collar so it tightens. He pounds into him and growls for him to be quiet when he begins moaning. Once they’re done, Xander disposes of the condom, fixes his clothes, and waits for Dion to do the same. He wipes cum from his desk with a tissue, opens a drawer, pulls out a fair wad of hundred-pound notes and hands them to Dion, who stashes it in his wallet. Xander unlocks the door and says something about keeping up the good work to Dion, who mumbles a thank you and leaves.
For the remainder of the working hours, Dion is euphoric. The last thing he expected when he came in this morning, in a foul mood, was to be bent over Xander’s desk and fucked, and with such vigor. He counts the money when he gets home in the evening, adding it up to five thousand. Dion looks at the cash in surprise. He didn’t really think Xander meant what he said. He expected a couple hundred, maybe a thousand at a push. Not this much. Nowhere near this much. Not that he’s complaining. No one in their right mind could complain about this.
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