Heartsville 04 - Clique (Jayden Brooks) (4 page)

Taking a page out of his book, I waited him out, observing his shifting expression.

He sighed, his brows deeply furrowed, and peered into the drink resting between his palms. “I’m having a hard time answering that.”

“Oh, okay. Well, there’s plenty of other things we can talk about, right?” Sitting back, I drew my hands off the table to dry my suddenly damp palms on my jeans. Things had been comfortable between us.
Why did I have to lead with that question?
I mean, there were thousands of things I wanted to know about Brandon. Surprisingly enough, not all of them were carnal. Don’t get me wrong, a good number were, but not all.

He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean,” he groaned. “No matter how I say it, I’m going to come off like an ass.”

“You’re in luck. I happen to be an ass enthusiast.”

Chuckling, he said, “You say that now.” He sat taller and admitted, “I’m a dog walker.”

I hung my head in mock shame. “I had you pegged as a dognapper.” In the interest of not sabotaging any potential naked time, I left out the lab-testing part. I’m smart like that.

He promptly choked on a mouthful of beer and wheezed, “What?” He cleared his throat. “A dognapper?”

“Hey, it’s not that far-fetched.” A guy had to defend himself, right? But it was worth looking like a tool. He lost the stiff set to his shoulders, and his eyes shined with good-natured humor.

Without being told, I knew I was being offered a rare glimpse into the real Brandon. More than his looks drew me to him. Sure, I’m a visual creature—hello, photographer here. I find beauty where most people wouldn’t. To some extent, the same applied to Brandon. His good looks were all up in your face, so they were hard to miss. His standoffish nature would deter most from venturing closer and seeking more of a connection with him.

“Tell me, if given the same information, how many people would draw the same conclusion?”

Rolling my eyes, I admitted, “Okay, fine. I’m prone to imagining the fantastical. It’s part of my charm. You’ll see.” I preened exaggeratedly.

He snorted and shrugged out of his jacket, leaving him in an orange-and-cream plaid, long-sleeved button-down shirt. The first few buttons were left unfastened and gave me a distracting peek at a few wisps of chest hair.

I had to concentrate. I wanted to get back to his hesitation to tell me about being a dog walker. “Why was that hard to tell me?”

Again he stalled by taking a long drink. Eventually, he sighed. “Ego, probably. I spent a lot of years impressed as hell with what I did.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “My self-worth was tied to my career success.” He paused.

“But what’s wrong with being a dog walker?”

“Absolutely nothing.” He groaned. “I told you, I’d sound like an ass.” His voice changed, softened, and somewhat hesitantly, he admitted, “I enjoy what I do now. But you’re the first guy I’ve told since I stepped down from my position as head of cyber security at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange.”

“Oh.”

It fit the Brandon I first encountered. Whether he did it consciously or not, he certainly emitted a distinct “back-off” vibe. His sparing use of words, his assessing deep blue eyes, and the way he seemed to do everything with an economy of movement, fairly screamed predator. It was hot as fuck. I was more than willing for him to unleash the beast on my ass. Literally. Not many of the twinks who’d crossed my path were interested in taking the reins. Besides, I wasn’t inclined to suffer through an unskilled top. No thank you. I wanted a determined lover, one with hands strong enough to hold me in place while he rode me into exhaustion.

I shuddered as an electrical current of arousal sang through my body. The way Brandon’s eyes darkened was enough for me to realize my expression must have broadcasted my thoughts. Would it be bad form to climb on the table and wave my ass in air? Or is that something only cats can get away with? How about if I promised to purr? No? Fairness is lacking in this world.

Wading through the flood of surging hormones, I asked, “What made you leave?”

“Life.” He reached across the table, halted my napkin-tearing endeavor, and nodded in the direction of the restrooms. I followed his gesture and caught sight of young Milo trailing behind his boss Will. “He certainly knows what he wants.”

“He does indeed.” The only question was whether Will was receptive.

With a squeeze of my wrist, he asked, “How do you feel about taking off?”

Trying not to appear too eager, I glanced down at our barely touched drinks and replied, “Sure, what’d you have in mind?” I quickly stood and adjusted my jeans. So much for not appearing too eager.

“Let’s go for a walk.” He grinned as he grabbed my hand and led me through the crowd, nodding and waving as we exited Three Sheets.

We’d only been in the pub a short time, so it was still early when we began walking along one of the many paths along the river.

We slipped into a comfortable conversation where he asked questions and I answered.

“So, you see this thing I’m doing….” I trailed off deliberately.

His head cocked to the side. “What thing?”

“The whole answering-questions thing. And you’ll note my replies aren’t evasive or vague.”

He pulled me to a stop. “What are you getting at?”

Great, his entire expression had closed up, flexing jaw and flattened lips.

I snorted. I wasn’t trying to be subtle. “Is that a serious question?” When he didn’t reply, I sighed. Maybe this was going to turn out to be a bust. “I want to get to know you, but you’re making it difficult.” I released his hand. “Why are you so secretive?”

“Not secretive. Private. There’s a difference,” he replied in a curt tone.

I nodded. What else was there to say? I glanced around, immediately recognizing where we were in relation to my studio.

Brandon groaned. “Hold on. That came out harsh.” He scratched his beard and looked skyward for a moment before refocusing on me. With an earnest face, he took hold of my hand again and laced our fingers together. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Maybe I’m too trusting, too optimistic, too much of a romantic—but I couldn’t ignore the hopeful expression on his handsome face.

Five

Standing in the center of the room, my gaze naturally darted to where Brandon stood, shoulder resting against the archway that led to another room. I slowly shrugged out of my jacket and laid it across the back of the leather armchair closest to me.

Whatever I had expected, Brandon leading me to his home—a little brick cottage on the edge of the forest preserve—hadn’t even crossed my mind. He flipped the lights the moment we crossed the threshold, revealing a cozy living area with a thick area rug, deep seated leather sofa, and warm accents throughout the room.

With a wave of his arm, he announced, “My home.”

I almost felt like a kid let loose in a toy store. I understood what he was telling me. This room, his home—I was being given access to Brandon. It blew me away that his way of sharing would also be the one I would most appreciate: a visual tale.

And I knew just where to begin.

The mantle over the fireplace was cluttered with picture frames and two oversized mason jars filled with an odd assortment of items. I went for a closer look. With a quick glance in his direction, I asked about the photos.

“My parents. And me.”

Prying information from him was like pulling teeth. I gave him my best get-on-with-it eyebrow. My mother would be so proud.

Chuckling, he came and stood at my side. “Let’s see. After my parents retired, they began traveling a few times a year. Instead of buying me a cheap souvenir, a new framed photo appears after each trip.”

I laughed. “Are you seriously expecting me to overlook the Brandon-on-a-stick in these pictures?” Reaching out, I tapped the little Brandon face in the closest frame. “Spill.”

He gave a deep groan that I’d love to hear under different circumstances. “It began as a way of goading me to make changes. To see there was life beyond my career goals. I had months of accrued vacation time, but I still refused spend a week in Spain with them. They kept pestering me about having a life outside of work. When I ignored their arguments… this.” With a fond smile, he gestured to the array of vacation shots featuring his parents and Brandon-on-a-stick. “As you can see, my parents have a twisted sense of humor.”

Nodding in appreciation, I mused, “Little Brandon sure does get around.”

Brandon’s bark of laughter was followed by his forehead landing on my shoulder as he shook helplessly behind me.

The array of images featured easily recognizable tourist hot spots. The stoic expression on Little Brandon was absolute genius. Leaning closer, I noted, “That’s quite a grip your mom has.”

Chin resting on my shoulder, his breath tickled my ear as he spoke, “She’s hanging off the side of a giant rock. She wasn’t going to risk dropping her only child.”

A litany of naughty quips ran though my head, but by some miracle I managed to keep them contained. It was a safe bet that mom jokes would only be a roadblock along the path to naked fun times.

Clearing my throat, I considered the contents of the nearest mason jar. It held tokens, a yoyo, thimbles, a Pez dispenser, a magnifying glass, and a decent number of pressed pennies—all completely random. But the jars were deliberately placed. “Is there some significance to this collection?”

I’m glad I glanced his way and caught the way his expression lit up.

“Have you heard of geocaching?” When I shook my head, he led me to the couch and explained with childlike excitement: “It’s basically treasure hunting. People hide caches containing little odds and ends and log the coordinates online. Then you can search for it using your phone’s GPS.” For once someone was rambling and it wasn’t me. I loved it. I relaxed back against the couch, getting comfortable, content to listen to his husky voice.

In the time he’d been home, he’d become an avid member of the online geocaching community. “It’s a great way to keep active and visit places you’d never know existed. You might like it.” He had sat beside me with his leg pulled up, knee and thigh in the space between us. But as he spoke, there was a gradual lean in happening. The anticipation grew. On my end, at least. I’m not entirely convinced the lean in was a practiced move. Besides, I prefer to believe he was drawn by my animal magnetism.

His face was no more than six inches away. “Would you come with me?”

I was nodding before he finished the sentence. Of course I would. In fact, I was on board with coming with him right then. But I held back. Don’t ask me why. With a manly squeak, I asked, “Could I bring a camera?”
Say yes, say yes! Pretty please.
I’d be able to take hundreds of pictures of him. And his ass. And his hands. Gah, and his eyes. I could do an intimate study of each of his features.

Ugh. There I sat next to him in the flesh, and I was getting a boner at the prospect of capturing him digitally. I’m such a tech geek. But what photographer wouldn’t get worked up over the promise of unfettered access to the object of their desire?

He gave me a heated look. “Yes, you can bring your camera.”

I had more questions—tons of them. But there was a swift re-sorting of priorities happening, and my questions had fallen away in favor of other, more pressing needs. With a light tug on his shirt, I drew him closer. His curious gaze broke from mine and sank to my mouth. I let my eyes fall closed and inhaled his natural musky scent, combined with the lingering pumpkin ale on his breath.

My pulse kicked when his lips gently grazed mine. Eager for more, I opened to him, following his lead, and kept it light and sweet. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced. No hands, just lips and the tender sweep of tongues our only point of contact. I wanted to savor each sensation, I really did. But my body was chanting a chorus of “gimme more.”

I pressed into his kiss, silently begging, and tried to capture his mouth. But he eased back, grazing his lips over my jaw before moving lower to nuzzle and lave my neck with his tongue. As he left a trail of heated licks and wet nips, his beard brushed along my skin. I wanted to grab his head and demand he drag his beard across every inch of my naked body. But since I still wore all my clothes, I opted to keep that on the list of things to do later. Mostly I wanted him to do me. Faster. Harder.
Now.

Unfortunately, Brandon seemed determined to inch along at a pace destined to drive me to insanity. My poor man-bits were suffering, strangled as they were at a wrong angle in my jeans. So while I refused to make an actual grab for control, that didn’t mean I had a problem easing the ache. With just a flick of my thumb and a tug at the zipper, I reached in my shorts, and pulled my cock free.

Nothing in my sexual history compared to the exquisite torture of jerking off while Brandon dropped delicate kisses on my lips. His scent, the tight fist wrapped around my cock, and the echo of my own breath escaping in harsh pants drove me to the brink in moments. I didn’t care. I was going to come and it was going to be spectacular. On the tail of a strangled groan, I whined, “Fuuuck.”