by Tessa Bailey
With women, he’d always let them take the lead. And the women he gravitated toward were usually the type to like it that way. They would push him flat onto his back and ride him until they collapsed, marveling over the fact that he hadn’t climaxed…right before they fell asleep from exhaustion. Which is when he normally rolled out of bed and handled his own shit in the bathroom, aided by flashes of images he hadn’t always understood.
Until now. His chest was still on fire from where Renner’s concrete-slab pectorals had pinned him. And that thing he’d said about being compared to Milo’s daddy…was a little baffling for sure. Not just the actual words, but the way his gut had twisted in a really slow, really awesome way. Rome wasn’t built in a day, though. He had all the time in the world to figure out why certain words and touches called to corresponding parts of him.
Thank God he had Renner to help him out.
Right.
The guy looked about as thrilled to be walking through a strip mall parking lot in New Jersey as a man on his way to the gallows.
“Try to look a little less like you want to die,” Milo suggested, holding the glass door for Renner to pass through. “Just for kicks.”
They were walking into a chain department store that had huge Closeout Sale signs in the window, which probably only accounted for half of Renner’s dramatic sigh. “I highly doubt we’re going to find anything decent in this place.” The store manager they passed sucked her teeth at him, but he just twisted his lips, which probably should have irritated Milo, but he found himself battling a laugh instead. “You know, there’s this thing called online shopping. You should check into it.”
“You only gave me until the weekend,” Milo said automatically. “I want your opinion, so I don’t have time for all that.”
When he glanced over at Renner, the other man was giving him a strange look, but it didn’t last long. “Right, the weekend. Well. Better me than one of your bowling team members.” He plucked a black T-shirt off a rack, scanned it with a bored expression and hung it back up. “How is it that my factory sponsors a bowling team and I wasn’t aware of it?”
“You might want to take it up with accounting.” Milo veered off toward the giant wall of folded blue jeans. “But the cost of shoe rentals might not be the right hill to die on.”
“What are you, my business adviser now, as well as my lifestyle guru?”
The corner of Milo’s mouth kicked up as Renner came to stand beside him at the Wall o’ Jeans, and Milo gave him an elbow in the side. “All these new hats I’m wearing calls for a pay raise, no?”
“Don’t remind me that I’m out shopping with an employee,” Renner muttered. “This specific activity isn’t on the rule list, but it probably falls under the umbrella of rule one.”
Milo reached for a pair of light blue jeans with bright orange stitching—just to fuck with Renner—and got his hand slapped for the effort. Again, he had to tone down his smile. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” The little devil in his stomach prodded him into adding, “About any of it. Even if—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
God, the man was smart. Even if it goes further next time. That was actually what Milo had been about to say. Which was probably the most idiotic idea he’d ever come up with. He’d given a lot of thought to the type of man Renner dated, and Milo was not even on the spectrum. First of all, Renner was rich as sin. Milo knew through Duke that the guy had residences all over the globe. His apartment in Manhattan apparently took up an entire floor of a building in Gramercy. Throw in the way he dressed, how he spoke, his education, his differing interests…and yeah, if Milo didn’t work for Renner, the boss man probably wouldn’t even look twice at him on the street.
He’d said so himself. Milo wasn’t his type.
Milo was trying really hard not to let any of those facts bother him.
Why should they, right? He was going to Boston Saturday to see Travis. Blond, sharp, talented, positive, quick-with-a-joke Travis. Was the personal chef more his speed? He thought so, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he got his act together and tried.
Hence, jeans. Focus on the jeans.
Not the man whose voice had dropped so low back in the office, Milo had left his stomach behind on the floor. I’m healthy as a fucking horse, and unless you want some good, hard confirmation on that, Bautista, I would refrain from comparing me again to your daddy.
There it was again. That long, slow melt beneath his waistband.
“Try these ones,” Renner said, slapping folded denim up against Milo’s chest and catching him off guard. “They’re not a total crime against humanity.”
“That’s quite an endorsement.” Milo threw them over his shoulder and headed toward the changing rooms. “I’ll get started with these while you find me a shirt.”
Renner ran a finger beneath the collar of his shirt. “When did I become the employee?”
“It’s a nice change of pace, isn’t it?”
Milo turned down the dim corridor toward a series of empty dressing rooms before Renner could respond, which only gave him more reason to finally let his smile bloom. Once inside a small room toward the middle of the row, Milo wasted no time shucking his pants, pausing when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. The ridge of his cock tented his boxer briefs, just as hard as it had been since Renner’s office. Making matters worse, his alarm hadn’t gone off that morning, stealing his usual beat-off time. God, he was hot. That had to account for the ever-increasing awareness of his boss.
Listening out for Renner’s approach and hearing nothing, Milo reached into his briefs and gave his cock a rough jerk. How was he going to make it through bowling with this thing? It was going to be mistaken for an extra pin.
Milo forced himself to stop stroking himself and breathed, breathed deeply through his nose. He needed to get the jeans on before Renner showed up and started complaining about Milo wasting his time. When he finally got them on, zipping up was painful, but he managed it, tucking his flesh to the side in way he hoped wasn’t too noticeable.
A brisk knock on the door left no doubt as to who was on the other side. “How are they?”
“Tight. Uncomfortable. I hate them.”
“We have a winner.”
Milo tried to drop into a crouch, but the starch-like material prevented him. “You can’t be serious.” He twisted left and right. “If I’d been wearing these night before last, I’d probably still be running to your rescue.”
“You literally never stop bringing up annoying subjects.” A long-suffering sigh and then the door opened, revealing Renner’s reflection in the dressing room mirror. And yeah, he spied the wood Milo was still sporting, just beneath the hem of his un-tucked security shirt. His eyes flared, just a touch, before he went back to being his usual stoic self. Or maybe not quite as stoic, because his jaw looked bunched enough to shatter.
This can’t be good for his blood pressure.
Don’t say that out loud.
Renner tossed him a shirt. “Try this on with the jeans. Maybe once you see how the whole deal looks together, you won’t mind sacrificing your comfort.”
“Doubtful.” Milo hesitated halfway through unbuttoning his shirt when a realization hit him. This was the first time he’d be somewhat naked in front of a man who was interested in men. At least that he’d known about. And there was something exciting and…terrifying about that. What would Renner think of his appearance?
“What’s wrong?” Renner raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m going to act like a teenage girl at a One Direction concert over some nipples?”
“In this scenario, is Zayn still in the band?”
Renner stared, a muscle leaping in his cheek.
Milo slipped a few more buttons free, trying not to be obvious about gritting his molars. Why was his cock getting harder over his own impending half-nakedness? Was he some kind of narcissist now, or was it the fact that Renner was watching? Watching really closely, truth be told.
Even if he seemed to be pretending otherwise. “You know, the way you’re showing me the ropes like this? It qualifies you for the Mr. Miyagi nickname.”
“Jesus, Bautista. Do I need to take the shirt off for you?”
Their gazes zeroed in on each other in the mirror. “Do you want to?”
Silence passed by, loping and heavy. “Get it off.”
Chapter Seven
What the hell was he doing?
Not waiting outside like a normal, non-creepy-as-shit weirdo. That’s what. He’d handed Milo the shirt to try on and the activity did not require an audience. At least not before the garment was on. Shit, standing there broke so many rules, it wasn’t even funny. Forming this confusing mentorship/friendship with one of his workers was bad enough, but joining him in the dressing room took the cake.
It was just…damn. That hard-on struggling for breath in Milo’s pants couldn’t be for him, could it? Renner could almost feel how bad it had pained the security guard to shove his erect dick into the stiff denim. To feign a casual attitude when he was longing for high-quality porn and some tissues.
Renner was the one who needed to be someplace else, though. Not taking deep, measured breaths while waiting for Milo to remove his shirt the entire damn way. How high on his thick arms did those tattoo sleeves run? Did they continue on to his chest? Forget about the fact that once the shirt came off, he would see the full outline of Milo’s cock. The fleshy ridge around the head, the exact thickness. Thoughts a smart businessman didn’t have about his employees. Hell, thoughts a smart man didn’t have, period. Not about someone unavailable to him in so many ways—and when exactly had that started to matter?
Intending to go back out into the store and wait by the register, Renner began to close the dressing room door. Which of course is when Milo yanked the shirt free of his waistband and let it drop. And oh fuck. Renner couldn’t decide what turned him immobile first. The riot of tattoos covering Bautista from neck to waistband. The muscles that were so prominent, Renner could have counted the cords and veins running through each bulge of bicep, abdominal, and hip. Or it could very well have been the wet spot at the very top of where Milo’s cock had been stuffed into the jeans. Meaning those drops of moisture had made an appearance some time in the last few minutes. Over what?
Yeah, it could have been any combination of those things that kept Renner poised in the doorway, but none was as prominent as Milo’s vigilance. He watched Renner under hooded eyelids in the mirror, running nervous fingers up and down the center of his corrugated stomach. As if he sincerely didn’t know that anyone with a pulse would find him stunningly attractive.
“I guess I should try the shirt on,” Milo said, his voice scratchy.
“Right,” Renner managed. “The shirt.”
He couldn’t keep his attention off the way Milo’s abs dipped and swelled as he pulled the deep red shirt over his head, dropping the material to his waist. By the time he finished the task, he was back to watching Renner in the mirror. Expecting what?
“Well?” Milo turned around, his breath noticeably thinner. “Does this work?”
“Yeah,” Renner said hoarsely, reaching outside the dressing room for the casual jacket he’d hung on the neighboring door. “Try this on with it.”
A wrinkle formed on Milo’s brow. “I don’t know about this one, Miyagi. I feel like I’m crossing the line into trying-too-hard territory.”
“Good,” Renner said with a firm nod. “You’re supposed to try hard.”
“No holes in the jeans.”
“Correct.”
“Jackets you have to take to a dry cleaner.”
“You’ll learn to enjoy having clean clothes waiting on hangers.”
Milo looked skeptical as he faced the mirror once more, tugging on the lapel of the jacket like it was made of poisonous spiders. Renner stepped to the side and observed as well, having no idea how to feel about the effortless transformation. On one hand, holy shit, that had been easy. If the guy walked into a Manhattan club in that outfit, he probably wouldn’t make two steps before he was in the crosshairs of several interested men. His lack of polish actually worked in his favor. It made him fresh, different. Real.
Too real for the costume Renner had dressed him in.
Watching Milo roll his shoulders inside the jacket, fidgeting with the tight shirt beneath, Renner felt suddenly sick. “Take it off.”
“Why?” Milo’s head whipped in his direction. “You don’t like it now?”
“You look great, but you don’t need it. You should dress how you’re comfortable. Okay?” Renner reached for the jacket, trying to peel it down Milo’s arms, but the younger man slipped out of his reach. “Take it off, Bautista.”
“No.” He ran his hands down the front of the red shirt. “You came all the way down here to help me. Maybe I just need to get used to it.”
Renner didn’t really have a logical explanation for needing to extricate Milo from the shitty jacket and too-tight jeans, only knew it had to be done. He’d advised him all wrong. See? He’d known he wasn’t cut out for this. First task and he’d told this man who needed to change absolutely nothing…that he’d look better some other way. “Look, you don’t need to be…improved upon.” When Milo’s back hit the dressing room wall, Renner realized he’d been prowling forward, giving the other man no choice but to back up. But he couldn’t go any farther now. And Renner couldn’t seem to budge or give him any personal space. His hands were curled in the front of his jacket, shoving it off Milo’s arms before he knew his own intentions. “Now hand over the shirt.”
“No.” Milo drew the word out, nostrils flaring. Then his eyes slammed shut, a rough curse punching into the air between them. But not before Renner saw the conflict waging itself. The guy was plastered up against the dressing room wall, sweat beginning to shine on his upper lip and—Renner looked down—yeah, he was still hard in those stupid, not-good-enough jeans. For days. Correction: they were both still hard. For days. “I, uh…” Milo started. “Maybe we should address the elephant…trunk…in the room.”
Renner almost laughed. When was the last time he’d laughed without sarcasm? “Go ahead.” Oh yeah, he was playing with fire, but he stepped closer and their bulges brushed together, coiling his gut like a warm snake. “Address it.”
Incredible. That one touch had Milo baring his teeth, eyes still locked up tight. His behavior was that of a man getting a blow job, and Renner wouldn’t lie, that over-the-top reaction was a powerful thing. It was uncultivated and honest. “Address it. O-kay,” Milo said on a breath. “The way you touched me back in the office. Or…didn’t touch me. Whatever. I wasn’t positive I would like a man coming on to me like that. But I did. I really fucking did.” He reached between their bodies and adjusted himself with a harsh grunt. “I think I’m just anxious for more. I want to feel that way again.”
“With Travis.”
A long pause. “Yeah.”
Had there been a serious hesitation, or was Renner battling too much lust to be objective? His groin was so heavy, the seams of his briefs were digging into the weighed-down flesh. The ridge of his hard cock continued to nudge against Milo’s, drawing little catches of breath that were nothing short of addictive. “Do you want to feel that way again now?” Renner dragged a hand down Milo’s package, massaging it through the denim. “Or do you want to wait?”
“Now,” Milo groaned, his head rolling side to side on the wall. “Oh fuck. Right now. Please.”
Never in his life had Renner gone light-headed over a hookup. Never. But the unabashed begging from Milo flipped a break switch somewhere and caused a flare of wicked electricity. He was unzipping Milo from his jeans using fingers with far less skill than he usually possessed. This was insane. His rules were written in stone. Had they been eroded, or was he turning a blind eye? He didn’t know. Only knew Milo’s big, stiff dick was in his hands and the guy was acting like the world was ending, clawing at the dressing room wall, his thighs vibrating. H
is first experience with a man.
Don’t ruin it. Don’t screw it up for him.
Renner used his free hand to peel Milo off the wall, facing him toward the mirror and standing behind him. A growl escaped as he rested his aching bulge on the crack of Milo’s gorgeous ass. Christ. That thing was high and tight. The kind of cheeks that would slide up and down his belly like a dream.
If he’d thought Milo was sexy in jeans, nothing came close to seeing him in the mirror, having his cock stroked, his mouth open wide in a silent moan. The denim had dropped to his knees, creating a sight Renner wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon. Thighs that hadn’t been developed in a gym, but rather doing an honest man’s work. There was sinew and cut sections of muscle that contracted with every pump of Renner’s fist. His balls were high, just like his ass, swaying front to back as he thrust into the grip Renner continued to tighten.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Milo begged through clenched teeth. With a clumsy hand, he grabbed the red T-shirt and held it up near his throat, giving both of them a better view of his cut-up body. His dick being jacked. “Oh God…the way you’re…”
“Tighter grip than you’re used to, isn’t it?” Renner breathed in his ear. “Have you been beating off the way you think it’s supposed to be done? Or the way you need it to be done?”
“Fuck.” Milo swayed, his free hand shooting out to balance him on the wall. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Renner was actually, actually forgetting himself here. He hadn’t thought that was possible, but the lack of control was happening. Milo was leaning back against his chest, tilting his hips up and fucking into Renner’s fist. The sounds coming from him were unfiltered and perfect. And God, a natural disaster couldn’t have stopped him from dry humping Milo’s ridiculous backside, grunting into his shoulder with every thrust like it was his first time with a man, too.
