Bound by Lies (18 page)

“What?”

Brayden grins, “I can tell what you’re thinking.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can. You’re wondering if I really did lay out naked on my balcony.”

“Well, you just don’t strike me as the exhibitionist type. What if your neighbors were watching?”

Brayden shrugs. “So what? I have a nice ass.”

“Oh, I know,” Jenner assures him. “Eh, I guess with that ridiculously small bathing suit of yours I could see you just going nude. Doesn’t really hide anything anyway.”

Immediately, Brayden comes to an abrupt halt, also stopping Jenner with a hand to his chest. They’re only two blocks away now. “Whoa, whoa. What? How do you know what my bathing suit looks like?”

Now it’s Jenner’s turn to be shy. Cursing under his breath, he hides behind a hand with which he rubs his brow and admits, “Maybe I saw you at the Y. Swimming.”

Mouth open with shock, Brayden asks, “When? I haven’t been back there since….”

“Before you started work at the bar,” Jenner says reluctantly.

Processing this slowly, Brayden doesn’t move to continue home. Jenner folds his arms and waits as he’s stared at.

“And you were
watching me
? You knew who I was before I asked for the job?”

“No, not really. Maybe a little.”

“Jenner!”

“What? You’re hot! Of course I looked.”

“You’re incredible.”

“Thanks.”

“That was sarcasm. Did you only hire me because you thought I had a nice ass?”

Jenner takes a minute to think about this one. His delay only causes Brayden to suspect the worst.

“Holy shit!”

“Okay, that
may
have been part of it,” Jenner allows, “but I was really swayed when you asked me so nicely for the job and told me how much you needed the work.”

“And then you made the move on me at Manse,” Brayden says, putting it together.

“I had no idea you were queer before that night. I swear to god.”

“Would you ever have told me that it was you if I hadn’t seen the tattoo and figured it out on my own?”

“Does it even matter? You did see it. It happened. I’m glad.”

“Yeah, because you got some.”

“You know,” Jenner says, very intentionally derailing the line of questioning. “You never told me what you want.
I
have been quite clear, I think, but
you
on the other hand….”

Brayden turns and keeps walking, quickly. Jenner jogs to catch up.

“Well?” Jenner presses. “Will you be bringing the bag tomorrow night? Should I get a bigger bed? Or maybe a St. Andrews cross and selection of floggers?”

After licking his lips wet, Brayden swallows, eyes fixed on his rapidly approaching home.

“Let’s wait and see, shall we? I’d hate to spoil the surprise.”

Jenner steps in front of him, cutting him off. “Tell me what you want.”

Amazed as ever at how much Jenner makes him feel like a dwarf, since he’s eye level with Jenner’s throat when they are facing one another, Brayden hesitates. Then he answers, but it’s too quiet to hear. Jenner prods him to repeat it.

“I want to trust you,” Brayden says, a little more loudly. “I want to belong somewhere. I want to be wanted, and not just for sex. I want to be wanted completely and belong… to you.”

Hooking a finger under his chin, Jenner tilts Brayden’s head up so that he can look into his eyes.

“Will you submit to me? Will you agree to be my slave? As your Master it would be my absolute responsibility to take care of you, in every way. Not just when it comes to sex. Taking care of you in every sense of the word would be the focus of all of my efforts. Whatever you need—pleasure, pain, comfort, support—I would give it to you. All you would be asked to do in return is obey me, and trust me,
implicitly
. You would never be made to do anything you didn’t want to do. Stop always means stop. You would belong with me. You would be mine.” When Brayden’s eyes slip closed, Jenner adds, “Look at me, Bray.”

Warily, devoid of all the lighthearted humor that has filled their walk, Brayden gives him a miniscule nod.

“No, say it. You have to say it.”

“Yes, I’ll submit to you. I’ll be yours. Your slave. Happy?”

“Not until you are, too.”

Brayden tries to turn away from him, so Jenner acts, bearing down, catching his lips in a soft kiss, holding his jaw to keep him there. Jenner takes the kiss a little deeper, a little harder. The hand on his jaw slides to cradle the back of Brayden’s head, the fingers splaying in his hair, keeping him still. Jenner hungrily licks back over Brayden’s tongue. His other hand, Jenner clasps to Brayden’s lower back, the arm wound tightly around as he easily pulls their bodies flush together from hip to chest. Tangled up in Jenner’s arms, Brayden opens wider to the kiss, his lips softening, kissing Jenner back and surrendering.

Only when there’s no fight or stiffness left in Brayden’s posture does the kiss end and Jenner release him.

“People could be watching,” Brayden murmurs, folding his arms self-consciously. His lips are throbbing slightly and the taste of Jenner is on his tongue.

“People can kiss my ass. And it’s the middle of the night.”

“I thought you valued privacy and discretion.”

“I do. I value you more.”

Brayden can’t help but smile, his spirits soaring with excitement for everything Jenner has promised, outpacing any trepidation that might try to drag him back down. When he bites his lower lip to try and hide his gladness, Jenner’s thumb brushes beside where his teeth dent the skin.

“Don’t. That’s one of my rules, too. No holding back. When it’s just you and me, I demand honesty. Always.”

Letting his lip slip free of the bite, Brayden is rewarded with another soft, quick kiss, and a murmured, “Better,” from his new, smiling Master. “Much better.”

They’re in eyesight of Brayden’s home and quickly reach it. With butterflies in his unsettled stomach, Brayden doesn’t know how to say goodbye. Hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet, head bowed, he says, “I don’t know if I’m ready for this. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around.”

“We can take it slow. We’ll go at your pace. No pressure. And this isn’t just a hobby for me. It’s a lifestyle and I take it seriously. I’ve been trained on how to do this,” Jenner tells him softly. “For years, I studied and apprenticed with an expert. The owner of Manse, David, well, you could say I’ve been a pet project of his. He taught me how to be a Master, the techniques, and the trust. All I’ve ever needed is the right person to be my counterpart, my slave. I’ve been searching for you, waiting for you, Bray, for a long time. All I’m asking for is a chance to prove myself, and that no matter how we may have found each other, or who we used to be, that you’re safe with me and that this can be amazingly rewarding for both of us. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of everything.”

Brayden glances up at Jenner, remembering how confident he had been at Manse, how comfortable he had looked wielding that leash and wearing his hood, navigating the mansion and crowd with ease. No wonder he looked like he belonged there. Brayden imagines that’s the same way Jenner walked the halls back at school, like they were his halls, his rules, his people. Jenner belonged there, too, in ways Brayden never did. It’s both terrifying and thrilling to have this chance to become part of Jenner’s world of belonging. It seems too good to be true.

“Okay,” Brayden says. “I’m yours.” Starlight reflects in Brayden’s eyes and, unbeknownst to either of them, part of Jenner’s heart is given away forever.

“Thanks for the company,” he tells Jenner, shyly. “Walking me home and all.” Brayden looks to the house, remembering how his grandmother was so easily roused the other night. He prays that Jenner doesn’t kiss him again, lest she be watching.

“My pleasure. Go get some sleep.”

“Yes, Sir,” Brayden says with a crooked smile. “See you at work?”

“Yep. Don’t forget your bag.”

Once Jenner rounds the bend in the road and disappears from sight, Brayden finally turns, ready to head inside. Shared secrets and promises buzz around his head. Already he feels different. Though his life may have just taken a wild, unexpected turn, he knows at the very least, it will be one hell of a ride.

Outside, heavy rain falls in sheets. It pounds against the earth, the house, and the plastic roof of Brayden’s Jeep. Though it’s morning, barely any daylight is visible. The clouds and relentless rain have washed it all away.

Thunder crashes loudly. Brayden glances up at the ceiling, listening to the pattering on the roof. He’s glad that there are still a few hours until he has to go out in this dismal weather and walk to work. He would be soaked to the bone if he went now.

As soon as the thought of driving to work instead occurs to him, he banishes it. The walk is something he needs—that few minutes of space to distance the facets of his life, shedding the persona of the dutiful grandson and cousin with each step, the closer he gets to the bar and Jenner. It’s a ritual preserved from his adolescence, when he chose to walk to school rather than ride in the bus. Then it was the many ways his father was absent that led Brayden to seek quiet and a reprieve from the whispers and secretive, judgmental glances of his peers. He was the boy whose mother ran from his father before the cancer made it worse, the way cancer makes everything worse. No matter how old he is, the comforts he needs seem to remain the same. Even a monsoon can’t dampen that.

Sitting up on his bed, he folds his legs and grabs his phone from the nightstand. Through the wall to his left, in Emma’s room, the radio is playing. The volume has been turned up loud enough to drown out some of the storm and, therefore, reverberates through the rest of the second floor of the house. Blanketed in all of the noise, Brayden feels safe—hidden.

In his mind, he forms the image of a person—someone he loves, someone he misses and likely will not see again for a very long time. Aware that it’s the coward’s way, that he could dial the phone and actually speak to them instead, he doesn’t. Instead he begins to speak to this person as if they could already hear him, pretending to confess his biggest secret.

“I guess you know that I’ve been lonely. How could I not be?”

He keeps his voice lowered, lest Emma hear him during a lull in the radio station’s airplay.

Brayden continues, “I met someone. Someone who cares about me. I imagine introducing him to you. It plays out in my mind and it goes a different way each time. You like him. You hate him. You hate me for being with him. And it’s not what you think. I’ve given him a part of myself that no one else has ever had. He’s my lover. He makes me happy. But no one knows. No one. And I just want to
tell you
. I wish I could tell you. Maybe someday.”

Thumb skating over the tiny, slick screen cradled in his hand, Brayden wishes he was brave enough to make that call. But since he isn’t, where hope and acceptance should grow in his heart, a dull pit of ache hardens instead and becomes heavy, weighing him down into that old loneliness again, despite Jenner and everything he has given Brayden.

Sometimes it’s just not enough in the face of all the lies.

“I wish you could accept me for who I am, and be here to tell me that it’s okay. That
I’ll
be okay.”

Of its own accord, without deciding to, his thumb awakens the gadget, bringing it to life in his hand. It glows brightly in the dim room. In his contact list, he finds the person he’s been envisioning. The picture glows out at him, the expression happy, tempting.

He does it before he can second-guess the decision, and types out a message:

I miss you. I wish you were here.

Then he clicks send and lets out a held breath. He imagines the message floating out into the storm, over rivers, lakes and miles and miles. It travels to its recipient in his stead. Brayden feels safe in the knowledge that he couldn’t call it back even if he wanted to.

The sky shines. The world below it is covered in amorphous mirrors. Puddles like glass multiply the available sunlight, making the world new.

Brayden lies on his bed. His pants are unzipped. His right hand is pushed down inside the front of them, hooked around the root of his flesh.

Thinking of Jenner, whom he’ll see in minutes, once Brayden finally leaves to start his shift, he fantasizes about what the night will bring, especially after everyone else leaves and it’s just him and the one person capable of taking anything from him. Jenner has so much power over Brayden, it makes his head spin and his cock hard. Jenner makes someone forever forsaken, unwanted, and abandoned feel crucially needed and absolutely possessed. More than anything, Brayden wants to beat off thinking of Jenner—his body, his mouth, the irresistibly dominant force in him—and imagine Jenner sucking or fucking him.

But the house is quiet. The rain has stopped. The radio is silent. Anyone could be listening.

In that moment, Brayden hates his life, that he’s living in this little house with people he can’t be honest with nor have privacy from.

He wills his erection away, even as his libido betrays him. Pulling his hand out of his pants and away from his stiffened flesh, he stretches the arm up over his head instead and grabs onto the mattress’ top edge, reveling in the torment of denial. Slowly, he begins to convince himself that Jenner has tied him to the bed like that, strung him out to endure the sensations. Wanting that so much he can taste it, Brayden is wracked by a shudder of need. His skin flushes hot, tingling with pure want.