13:36Melth Cosmetics Corporation
Leaning against his seat, a honk echoes distantly, reverberating softly in the office as Travis tips his head backward in a rare moment of relaxation, or rather, attempt. His shoulders are tense, his back starts hurting from sitting all day here, and a migraine is playing with him, intensifying and calming itself here and there.
He's not tired, per se. He's just not where he should be, and he doesn't appreciate it. He should be with you instead of working here like a mad workaholic who doesn't know how to take it easy. Yet he's not beside you. All of it because of him. He genuinely thought he'd be done with work hours ago, but one thing led to another and before he knew it, he was working on another matter that demanded his attention.
Travis blows out a frustrated sigh, the only sound filling the otherwise quiet office as he flickers his gaze down without lowering his head to stare at the screen of his computer. Are you upset? Do you think he loves his work more than you? He has no clue because you're not answering his call, nor do you respond to his messages.
His phone buzzes against his desk, breaking his train of thoughts and drawing his attention.
Reaching out to grab it, he unlocks his device, dimples almost instantly deepening as his lips spread slightly in a relieved smile.
You better make it up to me when you come back home.Actually, if you don't leave in the next minutes, I'm calling it a day.
You know well enough how to get him by the feelings. Not that he really needs you to; he'd listen even if you had said it plainly. You've got him wrapped around your finger, and honestly? Travis doesn't mind it.
He doesn't type a response. Instead, he decides he has worked enough for today. It's not like anyone will say anything about it; he's the son of the CEO, and he doesn't mind using his status if it means being with you. He stands up, gathering his things before heading straight to the door.
He should've done this sooner—leave his work to join you, to cover you with affection in his own way.
Perhaps he should buy your favorite food on his way, or at least ingredients to cook dinner for you. He'll definitely buy you the prettiest flowers and the best chocolates for this Valentine's evening, even if it might be a bit late for that. Technically, the day hasn't ended, but still, he should've offered all of this before leaving work this morning, even if he made sure to pamper you with the elaborate breakfast and gave you all his attention.
The journey to the underground parking lot goes smoothly, and before he knows it, he's walking toward his vehicle while he loosens his dress shirt with two buttons undone, revealing the expanse of his throat and the beginning of his chest without looking like he's trying to show everyone what's underneath.
Travis's footsteps falter upon noticing someone leaning against his black car, though it doesn't take long for him to hurry his confident steps to join you. An impatient feeling grips him, needing to reach you as fast as he can until his frame stops a tiny few inches from you.
His hand already finds your cheek, his chest heaving from almost the fast walk he just did, breath brushing your face. He doesn't conceal the smile making his dimples pop out charmingly, that giddy feeling not entirely showing but trying to get through his stoicism.
"What are the flowers for?" he inquires breathlessly, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it anyway. His lips find your jaw, then your temple and your forehead before finishing with a lingering kiss on your lips, which you return readily. He can't help himself now that you're close to him; he just has this urge to keep you close. "Did you come for me?"
Another dumb question he doesn't care about asking, his hands settling on your hips and gripping hard enough to ground himself.
"You were taking forever," you drawl, placing the bouquet of crimson roses on the roof of the car behind you, followed by the box of chocolate.
His grip on your hips tightens at your words, thumbs pressing into the bone with possession and warmth bleeding through his touch. Saying he wasn't pleased by your statement would be a lie. You feeling like he was taking forever means you missed him, and that fact is doing wonders to his heart.
With a deep inhale, taking in your scent, his nose brushes against yours as his dark eyes lock onto yours with an intensity he's never been good at toning down when the person he fancies is close, even less good when it happens to be his lover. You.
"I know," he murmurs, hating how long he made you wait when all he could think about was how to spoil you, how to bring that smile to your lips, about your touch, your eyes on him—everything about you was all he could think about. "I'm sorry."
"Mh," you answer, and he can't quite conceal the smile curling at that petulant lilt that seeped into your simple word.
His forehead presses against yours, and he breathes you in once more—your scent, your presence, everything that grounds him when the world feels too loud and demanding. "You shouldn't have had to come get me."
"But I wanted to," you reply. "It's kind of the only thing I can do when you're in your workaholic mode."
Travis pulls back just enough to study your face, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking along your cheekbone with a tenderness he never once even thought about hiding from you. Since the day he met you, he's always been honest, whether it was hard to hear or not. Honesty is something he cherishes, even more so because at least that way, his partner can fully trust him.
"You're too good to me, love," he says quietly. He still can't believe he deserves it but he'll take it anyway, greedily.
And you know too well how greedy he can be at times, though if you're still here, that means he's perhaps doing something right. He hopes so.
He reaches behind you to grab the flowers and chocolate, handling them carefully, like he's scared he might damage them, before his dark eyes flicker back to yours. "Come on. Let's go home."
"I came with my car, though," you point out.
"I'll call someone to drop it off at home," he murmurs, already pulling out his phone with his free hand while the other stays firmly on you. His fingers move quickly across the screen, typing out a message to one of the company drivers. "You're riding with me."
It's not a question, and the way he says it leaves no room for argument—not that you'd argue anyway. He knows he can be rather forward at times, though he always makes sure not to cross any lines until your say so. That's why, after saying it, he leans in to press a brief yet lingering kiss on your lips before finishing sending the message, pocketing his phone, then gesturing toward the passenger side.
"Let's go?" he inquires, only moving the second you nod in agreement.
Walking around the car with you, Travis opens the door for you, waiting until you settle inside the leather seat before he closes it with a soft click. He places the gifts in the backseat delicately, then circles around to the driver's side, sliding behind the wheel.
The engine purrs to life as he starts the car, one hand on the steering wheel while the other finds your thigh, fingers spreading possessively over the fabric of your clothes and squeezing gently.
"I'll have to be sure to spoil you rotten even more when we get home," Travis adds as he drives toward the exit, toward home, toward the evening he should've given you from the start.
And you know what? You're all too happy to get home and have his full attention, and he's all too happy to give it to you.
Give it all until all you can think about is him.
Only him.