I lower my hand and push it against my dick. It’s rigid in my shorts, and there’s a damp spot. The pressure feels good, and I arch my groin into my hand for a brief moment before I realise that rubbing one out next to my boss is not a good idea. He wouldn’t approve. Well, not unless I cleaned myself up with the correct day-of-the-week hanky.

I snort and force my hand away from my cock before rolling onto my side and facing him. I can’t stop looking at him. He looks so different from the awake Zeb full of purpose and drive. Now he looks like he’s having sweet dreams, and it makes me happy. I don’t want to know why that is, so instead of thinking about it, I watch his peaceful face until sleep steals over me.

Zeb

I come awake slowly the next morning in a puddle of sheets warmed by the sun. The window is open, letting in the sound of birdsong. I stretch, enjoying the moments before I have to get on with the day. Then I register that the bed is missing a person, and I’m abruptly awake. Where the fuck is he? The suite is quiet. Has he gone downstairs for breakfast?

I groan and sit up, scrubbing my hands down my face. What is he saying to everyone? What ridiculous thing is going to come out of his mouth next that will make me want to gag him and kiss him at the same time? I think of Nina’s face last night at the dinner table, and unbidden, a snort of laughter escapes me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her speechless. It was a rare and beautiful thing. She’s always been so poisonous and controlling. It’s one of the reasons I cut Patrick so much slack. Who could turn out as a well-rounded individual with that as their role model?

I slide to the end of the bed and zip into the bathroom for a piss. Wandering out a few minutes later, I look around for my phone. I contemplate how he’s going to react to me summoning him back to the suite. I shake my head. Not well.

Seeing no sign of my phone, I hurry out into the lounge and stop dead. He isn’t downstairs regaling the table with more quirky conversation. Instead, bare chested and dressed only in his shorts, he’s sitting at the table on the balcony in front of his laptop. He’s tapping away furiously with a frown of concentration on his face, occasionally pausing to look at a huge textbook sitting to one side of him. A cafetière sits on a tray at the table filled with cups and saucers and plates and a big basket with a napkin over it.