well of dark sensitivity Jenner has seen lurking behind his eyes. He wants to puzzle it out; the riddle to whatever it is that pains Brayden, the cause for that buried ache that can only be sensed when Brayden is not consciously hiding it. It can’t just be about the deceased father. That was too long ago to still be an open wound. Brayden isn’t his puzzle to solve, though.
The crowd has thinned. Their bar is known for its free-flowing alcohol rather than its dinner fare. The offerings that Art whips up in the kitchen are more to absorb the booze than sate a real appetite, so as the after-work happy hour crowd disperses and the after-dinner drinkers have yet to arrive, they are blessed with a small lull.
“Hey,” Jenner says, grabbing Brayden’s arm to get his attention. The contact is like a surge of electricity that sizzles up Jenner’s arm and simultaneously makes his dick stiffen.
Brayden turns to him, his customers temporarily forgotten, and looks up at his boss. For a split second, that heartache is there, close to the surface. Jenner tries to latch on to it, to draw it out even as his tortured libido tells him that all Brayden needs is a good, hard fuck or maybe a slow, intense blowjob. He can almost imagine how it would be, what it would feel like to be sheathed in him, or to taste his cock. In that fleeting moment, what he wants most in the world is to take one step forward, to trap Brayden against the wood of the bar, wrap a fist in his silken, gold-streaked hair and grind in one smooth drag against the perfect, rounded swell of his ass, tightly encased in jeans, and show him
exactly
what he does to Jenner just by existing. It would be easy. A tiny slip in self-control and it might happen despite what rational logic dictates.
“Yeah?”
The question snaps him out of it just in time.
Breaking eye contact, choosing to glance out at the emptying bar instead, Jenner says, “If you want to take a break and get some dinner, it’d be a good time for it.”
Brayden shrugs, watching his boss carefully. “Eh, I think I’m good for a little longer. You can go first. Looks like you might need the break more than me.”
That brings Jenner right back to focusing on Brayden and trying to determine what that comment could mean. But when he looks back, the mask is in place and he can see nothing in Brayden’s expression other than what he wants to be seen.
“Okay then. Yell if you need anything.”
“Will do.” Close enough to touch, Brayden simply turns from him and once more leans over the bar, like he knows that Jenner is studying him but doesn’t care. Eyeing the women, dressed in casual business attire—a-line skirts, high heels, ample cleavage and wearing plenty of makeup—Brayden says to them, “So, where were we?”
They giggle. One of them says, “Well, I
think
I was about to give you my phone number…”
Brayden leans in closer, saying under his breath to her, “And what would I do with something like that?”
“You’d call it,” she whispers.
“And what would we talk about?”
“Oh, I have some ideas…”
Scoffing at the scene under his breath, Jenner pushes past his employee, his hip brushing against Brayden’s ass, and storms off to the break room.
He prays that it’s empty and it is. Once inside, he slams the door shut and thumps his forehead against it. Baring his teeth, wanting to scream and growl and rage, he does so silently. Drawing his fist back, he wants to release the punch and whale on the door, to vent his pent-up frustrations on something inanimate simply because he has no other option. It takes all of his will but he pulls the punch at the last minute, touching his knuckles to the wood’s grain rather than hitting it so hard he breaks skin or bone.
He takes a deep breath, then another.
“Why did I do this? Why did I do this to myself?” Unsurprisingly, he gets no answer. “I should fire him. I have to fire him.”
But Jenner knows he could never fire
The crowd has thinned. Their bar is known for its free-flowing alcohol rather than its dinner fare. The offerings that Art whips up in the kitchen are more to absorb the booze than sate a real appetite, so as the after-work happy hour crowd disperses and the after-dinner drinkers have yet to arrive, they are blessed with a small lull.
“Hey,” Jenner says, grabbing Brayden’s arm to get his attention. The contact is like a surge of electricity that sizzles up Jenner’s arm and simultaneously makes his dick stiffen.
Brayden turns to him, his customers temporarily forgotten, and looks up at his boss. For a split second, that heartache is there, close to the surface. Jenner tries to latch on to it, to draw it out even as his tortured libido tells him that all Brayden needs is a good, hard fuck or maybe a slow, intense blowjob. He can almost imagine how it would be, what it would feel like to be sheathed in him, or to taste his cock. In that fleeting moment, what he wants most in the world is to take one step forward, to trap Brayden against the wood of the bar, wrap a fist in his silken, gold-streaked hair and grind in one smooth drag against the perfect, rounded swell of his ass, tightly encased in jeans, and show him
exactly
what he does to Jenner just by existing. It would be easy. A tiny slip in self-control and it might happen despite what rational logic dictates.
“Yeah?”
The question snaps him out of it just in time.
Breaking eye contact, choosing to glance out at the emptying bar instead, Jenner says, “If you want to take a break and get some dinner, it’d be a good time for it.”
Brayden shrugs, watching his boss carefully. “Eh, I think I’m good for a little longer. You can go first. Looks like you might need the break more than me.”
That brings Jenner right back to focusing on Brayden and trying to determine what that comment could mean. But when he looks back, the mask is in place and he can see nothing in Brayden’s expression other than what he wants to be seen.
“Okay then. Yell if you need anything.”
“Will do.” Close enough to touch, Brayden simply turns from him and once more leans over the bar, like he knows that Jenner is studying him but doesn’t care. Eyeing the women, dressed in casual business attire—a-line skirts, high heels, ample cleavage and wearing plenty of makeup—Brayden says to them, “So, where were we?”
They giggle. One of them says, “Well, I
think
I was about to give you my phone number…”
Brayden leans in closer, saying under his breath to her, “And what would I do with something like that?”
“You’d call it,” she whispers.
“And what would we talk about?”
“Oh, I have some ideas…”
Scoffing at the scene under his breath, Jenner pushes past his employee, his hip brushing against Brayden’s ass, and storms off to the break room.
He prays that it’s empty and it is. Once inside, he slams the door shut and thumps his forehead against it. Baring his teeth, wanting to scream and growl and rage, he does so silently. Drawing his fist back, he wants to release the punch and whale on the door, to vent his pent-up frustrations on something inanimate simply because he has no other option. It takes all of his will but he pulls the punch at the last minute, touching his knuckles to the wood’s grain rather than hitting it so hard he breaks skin or bone.
He takes a deep breath, then another.
“Why did I do this? Why did I do this to myself?” Unsurprisingly, he gets no answer. “I should fire him. I have to fire him.”
But Jenner knows he could never fire
Similar Books
