by Tessa Bailey
It wasn’t, though. He needed to remember he was the one taking the lead.
The reminder that he was in charge, combined with Milo’s pleasure literally resting in the palm of his hand, set off a series of detonations inside Renner’s chest. Possessiveness chiefly among them. Which was lunacy. Completely out of character. But there it was. So maybe what came next was his decent half trying to scare Milo off…or maybe it was revealing an important part of himself and hoping Milo stayed. For more?
“You don’t know how you need it done?” Renner gave him a particularly rough stroke, and Milo jerked against him, precome beading on the tip of his cock. Perfect. Christ, too perfect. “There we go. I think we know now, don’t we?”
“Yes,” Milo pushed through stiff lips. “Again.”
“Soon.” Renner used his forehead to wrestle into the crook of Milo’s neck, scraping his teeth all the way up to his ear. “I make the decisions. Do you understand? Boss inside work, boss outside of work. That’s me. Your dick seems to like that idea just fine.”
Chapter Eight
Milo couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Everything was moving so fast. It moved fast with women, too, but he had practice in that arena. None here. None at all.
Oh, he knew Renner was giving him the best goddamn hand job of his life. No lie. The man had a grip like King Kong on a bad day, and everything—everything—was in bright Technicolor because there was a man doing this thing to him. A powerful one. One he’d had filthy thoughts about. The sensations were blunter, more…intense. The stubble from Renner’s chin, the deep gravel of his voice, and yes, the kung-fu grip. All reminders that he was being touched by a man. A man. Something he’d always wanted in some far-back, repressed part of his being, until he’d realized what he was doing. Hiding.
There was no hiding now, though. This was happening, and he was watching it in a mirror, in addition to feeling every incredible pull of his ready-to-pop cock. Curse words bubbled and flowed from his lips, like a filthy poem that made no sense. And maybe he shouldn’t be, but he was depending on Renner to translate. Everything.
Renner wasn’t giving him time to catch up, though. Milo was still back on first base trying to read the coach’s signals, and dude was yelling for him to round home. He wanted to cross home plate. Really fucking bad. He just had to catch up. Catch up.
I make the decisions. Boss inside work, boss outside of work.
And yeah…there it was again. His abdomen heaved out at the memory of those words. The same twining, spiking heat he’d experienced when Renner shoved him up onto the desk. What did it mean about him that he got excited by the prospect of being ordered around? Was he flat-out going to like anything with a man because he’d been anticipating it for so long? Renner wasn’t giving him time to think about it, but pride prevented him from asking for a time-out. Or a slowdown. Wasn’t even sure he wanted to slow down.
“I like that,” he blurted. “I think I like it.”
Renner’s five-o’clock-shadowed chin nudged aside his shirt collar, rubbing, abrading, and the friction sent more heaviness dropping low in Milo’s stomach. “You think you like what?”
“You. Being an asshole.” He trapped a groan in his throat when his balls drew up, up. Jesus, how far could they go? “You know, to a d-degree.” The hand stroking his dick slowed, the clutching digits loosening, and Milo shook his head. “No, no. Keep going. More.”
He watched wariness battle with fevered interest—a lot of it—on Renner’s face. “More?” In a surge, he pushed Milo’s front up against the mirror. “Haven’t had enough yet, have you? Maybe you’re a little too brave for your own good.”
“Shut up,” Milo whispered, starting to shake when Renner picked up the hand job where he’d left off, all rough and firm and God. “I’m trying here.”
“It shouldn’t be a try.” Some of the lust in Renner’s eyes cleared. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so much about trying if it were someone other than me.”
That out-of-character admission from the usually confident Renner quickened the pace of Milo’s pulse. Big-time. He met eyes with Renner in the mirror and got that big roller-coaster drop feeling, half terrified, half excited. There was a voice in the back of his head saying this was what he’d been waiting for. Some kind of sign the guy was human and now that he knew, every interaction they’d had for months was painted in a different light. Now was really not the time to examine the new insight into Renner’s psyche too closely, though, because liquid was dripping from the tip of his cock onto a dressing room floor.
He knew one thing, though. If Renner stopped, this would never happen again.
And despite everything…the idea of this being the last time bothered him. A ton.
“I don’t want someone else right now.”
“Right…now.”
Milo watched his erection slide in and out of Renner’s fist, lubricated now by his precome. A sight he’d never expected, but couldn’t get enough of. God, even the sound of it was brutally hot. “That’s what I said, boss.”
Renner growled against the back of his head. “What do you want?”
“I thought you were the one who decided what to give me,” Milo managed, his teeth starting to chatter. Shit, he wasn’t going to last much longer, but a premonition told him there was more. Something amazing. If he just held on and drew Renner back out of his damn head. “So do it.”
His final word was cut off when Renner shoved him more solidly against the mirror, his knuckles glancing off the surface as he fucked Milo’s brains out with a pumping, demanding hand. “I ought to leave this cock of yours hanging ripe and heavy, shoved back into your jeans, instead of finishing you off. The way you need.” Renner’s lips raked down his neck, his tongue joining the action to roll Milo’s eyes back in his head. “You let me pull your pants down, let me fuck myself up against your pretty-boy ass, and then challenge me? You’re not ready for what I’d like to give you right now. You won’t be ready for a while.”
Milo was torn between arousal beyond belief and being all-around pissed. Who the hell did Renner think he was talking to him like that? Telling him what he was ready for? And why could Milo’s knees barely hold him up after that speech? Before he could open his mouth and let out whatever decided to emerge, he felt one of the fingers of Renner’s free hand…slide down the crease of his ass…then back up.
Every single one of his senses went on red alert, the hair on his arms and neck standing up, his abdomen seizing. He watched in the mirror as Renner stuck that skimming finger into his mouth, drenching it, before dropping it back down to Milo’s backside. This time, it slid between his cheeks, slowly, so slowly, and pressed against the rim of his asshole. And he was already choking on oxygen, because just the idea of having a man…Renner…touch him there, was a fantasy he’d been locked inside of forever.
“Relax.” Renner issued the order in a hard voice that made Milo’s muscles tighten on reflex, but he wanted this. Needed it. So he breathed through his nose and forced his body to release tension. “Good man. Likes having his dick stroked by a rough hand, but knows he needs more, huh? More than what he’s been getting.”
“I do,” Milo panted. “Please.”
His begging ended in a quick intake of breath when Renner’s finger started to massage him with tight, no-nonsense drags. Up and down, in circles, the lubrication from his mouth easing the movements. Fuck. The pressure. It was everywhere. At the bottom of his spine, dead center of his stomach, throbbing in his head. So good. Too good. Milo stared at the mirror through blind eyes, his balls pulling up and getting ready to empty. And when Renner finally pushed his finger inside Milo with a pleased grunt, Milo fell forward, his open mouth pressed against the mirror, fogging it up.
Renner’s teeth snapped against the flesh of Milo’s neck, leaving a sting. “I’ll take care of you on both sides, won’t I? The hard and the sweet.”
Milo slapped his hand against Renner’s reflection in response. He couldn’t manage words
because it was over. Life was over. He reached with a blind hand, snatching his security uniform shirt off the seat, coming into the starchy material with a strangled curse. Shit. Shit. His stomach was heaving so much, the bottom felt like it had dropped out. As if Renner could read his mind, the grip around his cock turned loose and fast, so fast, bringing the need out of him in quick, hot spurts. All the while, the finger that was vying with Renner’s hand job to be the center of Milo’s universe…it tucked deeper and twisted around, making Milo’s body clench involuntarily. But Jesus, that only made the orgasm more brutal. Fuller.
“Stop.” Milo’s balance pitched, his eyes seeking out Renner’s to ground him. “Don’t stop.”
For a brief moment in time, Renner appeared just as stunned as Milo, but he severed the eye contact…way too soon. Pressing his stubbled cheek against Milo’s temple, eyelids dropping to conceal the green, he carefully removed his finger and gave Milo’s ass a gentle slap. The opposite hand ceased its perfect jerks, holding Milo’s satisfied flesh instead, cupping it tightly. Possessively. In a way that almost made Milo hard again. Wow. He liked the expression of ownership far too much.
“Do you always come like the world is on fire?”
“No.” Milo shook his head, jostling the truth free. “Never.”
Renner’s gaze flashed, and Milo pretty much watched him disengage from the moment. Like an off switch had been punched. “Well.” He stopped touching Milo and stepped back. “Now you know what it takes.”
Milo stood with the uniform shirt pressed to his dick as Renner left the room, telling himself feeling abandoned was ridiculous. But unable to stop replaying Renner’s words over and over.
Now you know what it takes.
Yeah. Now he knew the what.
But he really needed to keep his focus on the who.
Travis. Not Renner.
Not Renner.
First and foremost, Renner was his boss, and those rules he’d listed were designed to cross Milo off in three different ways. They didn’t even like each other. Not in the traditional way. They were basically sparring partners. Not to mention, Renner would be leaving soon. So had they slipped up here? Or had Renner decided to show him more about his body than what jeans to shove his legs into? Would that kind of…teaching…be a mistake when Milo seemed to crave Renner’s aggression?
Yeah. Probably a mistake.
Milo closed his eyes and pictured Travis. Laughing, plating food, talking about the previous night’s date. That was more Milo. Fun, easygoing, and light. Not dark, intense, and quick to leave. Taking his eyes off the dressing room door, Milo turned to dress—apparently he wouldn’t be wearing his uniform shirt—resolve heavy in his mind. He had until the weekend with Renner and his eyes would remain open. No more confusion. If they got physical again, it would be about learning about himself. Not what they could be together.
The whole idea was laughable anyway. Impossible.
“Any day now, Bautista,” Renner called, probably checking his watch. “This place is giving me a rash.”
Relieved they were back to business as usual, Milo smiled and kicked off his new jeans. “See if they have any bowling shirts in your size. That’s where we’re headed next.”
A gusty sigh. “Don’t remind me.”
Chapter Nine
Christ. I’m wearing rented shoes.
Renner glanced over at Milo on the bench, and the security guard greeted him with a big, shit-eating grin. But he looked away quickly when the impulse to smile back caught him off guard. Yeah. In the history of Renner, today would probably go down as the weirdest.
First of all, yes, he was currently crisscrossing shoelaces that had been tied upward of a thousand times by sweaty, dirty hands, and he was preparing to play a sport where the entire objective was to knock shit down.
Second, this thing with Milo was totally wrong. For many reasons. After the scene in the dressing room, they had somehow slipped right back into their prior mode of behavior. Without a single hitch. At least on the surface. Which made it feel almost like a relationship. Renner had ample experience with men, and he’d come to expect the awkwardness after hooking up. He would ask about the other’s plans for the rest of the day, also known as a big hint that those plans would not include Renner, and the guy would hit the sidewalk, usually grateful that he hadn’t been forced to make necessary excuses. Since Renner only saw other businessmen who didn’t have time for relationships, nor were they interested in anything beyond sex, this process had become easy. He’d gotten used to it. Perhaps that was why spending time with Milo after he’d jerked him off felt…unnatural.
Not that you could tell by the way they continued to bicker at each other, like a married couple who fight-flirted as a method of foreplay.
Not good.
So the third reason this night was weird? He could have easily told Milo where to stuff his rented shoes and gone back to work, where he belonged. But for some insane reason, he wanted to stay. He was even willing to suffer through a night with Duke and Vaughn, two men who spoke in a language made up of baseball statistics and home improvement hacks.
Yes, he wanted in on bowling night, because ever since Milo had been hired, Renner had been irritable after hours, wondering where the other man ended up. In bed with someone? More than one someones? He’d always pictured women, but now the script had been flipped. Now Renner had this annoying need to make sure Milo went home alone.
In other words, he’d entered an unfamiliar danger zone and didn’t have a map to help himself find the fucking exit. That possessiveness he’d encountered back in the dressing room was needling him in the jugular now. Prickling the back of his neck. Not only was it none of his business who Milo took to bed, but he was well aware Milo wanted a specific man.
If Renner had thought himself over the past, the skeletons that stirred up proved him dead wrong.
“Go ahead,” Milo said, dimples popping into view. “I know you want to complain about the shoes.”
“The child behind the counter gave me the oldest ones on purpose.” Renner stood and rolled his neck. “I can feel myself standing inside several generations of sweat.”
“There you go.” Milo rose and patted him on the shoulder. “Feel better now?”
“No.”
No, he really didn’t. Milo’s hand was still resting on his shoulder, putting those biceps inches from his mouth. Biceps that were way too visible in the red T-shirt Milo had bought and worn out of the store. Why hadn’t Renner handed him the next size up, dammit? The material looked like it had been painted on, leaving not a single muscle ridge to the imagination. Worse, Milo had no idea how hot he looked. There was no awareness or overconfidence in his expression, only amusement. Thank God he hadn’t worn the jeans out of the store, too, or Renner would be in the bowling alley parking lot, giving the younger man another stroke-off.
Milo’s smile had dimmed. “What are you thinking about?”
Your cock. How thick and heavy it felt in my hand. How it jerked and swelled when the come shot out. How you said my name when I pushed my finger where you’ve never had one before.
“I’m thinking we should have bought you two of those jackets.” Renner turned and walked toward the lane where he could hear his brother-in-law Duke’s booming voice. “You never know when you’ll need a backup. And the price was right.”
“I hate that jacket,” Milo muttered. “It looks like it was stolen from a child’s race car costume.”
Renner subdued his smile. “No. It’s clearly a seventies television detective costume.”
Milo tried to knock him off balance with a shoulder. “Why did you let me buy it?”
“I’m kidding.” Milo paused at the top of the carpeted stairs. “It looks fine.”
Why was he lying about something so trivial as a jacket? Did he subconsciously put Milo in an ugly jacket to repel men?
Yeah, he had. Great.
The bowling alley was bursting with the sounds of laughter, pins b
eing scattered, beer pitchers being slammed down. And the ever-present sounds of men insulting each other formed a layer over everything. Basically, it was the Third Shift with bowling balls.
Duke turned in the scorekeeper’s seat, one hand massaging his bad knee. He saw Milo and nodded in greeting, but the action froze when he saw Renner. His brother-in-law recovered fast, however, standing to shake his hand. Whatever differences he’d had with Renner in the past had been eclipsed by Duke’s respect for Samantha, Renner’s stepsister. Not to mention the ability to forgive that Renner both admired and couldn’t stand. It only reminded him he’d been a meddling asshole.
“I see we have a ringer tonight,” Duke rumbled. “Surprised they got you in the shoes.”
“It wasn’t easy,” Milo said, skirting past him down the steps and giving Renner no choice but to follow. “We’ll put up the bumpers for your turn, boss man.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Renner sat in a bucket seat and scanned their immediate area for anyone checking out Milo. “I’m sure I can manage to roll a ball in a straight line.”
“Aw, shit.” Vaughn jumped up from where he’d been lounging in one of the chairs opposite Renner. He slapped Milo on the back and gave a respectful nod in Renner’s direction. “I sense a competitor’s spirit. And a smart man never underestimates beginner’s luck, either. Right, Duke?”
The hulking mechanic rolled his eyes. “Go ahead and tell the story. You won’t shut up until you do.”
Vaughn was already positioning himself, gesturing hands at the ready. “Samantha rolled a two-twenty on her first game a few weeks ago.”
Milo paused in the act of choosing his ball. “Get the hell out of here. Where was I?”
“It was couples’ night. We spared you. You’re welcome.” Vaughn resumed the story. “So, there’s Duke, hovering over the little wife, explaining the basics like she’s twelve. And she’s just smiling away, the way River does when I’m mansplaining—”
“We banned that word,” Duke interjected. “That word is banned.”
