Bound by Lies (10 page)

Brayden is breathing so heavily and rapidly that Jenner becomes slightly afraid he’s going to hyperventilate.

“Stop means stop. Okay?”

“Y-yeah.”

The only light in the room is a faint flickering amber glow from a single wall sconce. It leaves them in almost full darkness with their back to the tiny bulbs. Shadows move at the periphery of his vision, as they’re watched, observed by either the staff or other guests. He’s not sure which but doesn’t really care.

Wrapping a fist around the bound wrists, Jenner draws Brayden upright so that he’s kneeling. His chest presses flush to Brayden’s back and he can feel every breath, every tremor, and every glistening drop of sweat that trickles downward. His own heart racing, blood boiling hot, swelling his cock full and heavy, making his testicles throb, he inhales the scent of Brayden’s fear and arousal. Its tang tickles his nose and Jenner growls with need. Hearing the sound as well as feeling it, Brayden shudders and twists but he can’t get away.

Jenner finally allows himself to touch. He cups a hand over Brayden’s navel, rubbing over the taut skin, feeling the hard planes of muscle, the gentle ripples of his abdomen. Exhaling sharply, Brayden lets his head fall back and to the side, offering his neck, his back arching gracefully. He’s starting to become erect and must know his hooded companion can tell by the way his kilt hangs.

Jenner’s hand, encased in butter-smooth black leather, rubs hard down over Brayden’s right thigh, over the coarse texture of the kilt until it meets the soft downy hair covering Brayden’s skin, just above his knee. Pushing up and under the garment, caressing back up the thigh, Jenner expects to find the barrier of underwear and when he doesn’t, he moans thickly.

Still as a statue, Brayden swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as Jenner’s gloved hand begins to fondle his cock and balls. He gasps helplessly, then hisses, “
Fuck
.”

Nuzzling into the soft silk of Brayden’s hair, getting high off of the light citrusy scent of his shampoo, Jenner runs an opened hand up the underside of Brayden’s shaft, letting the weight of it fit in his palm. His own cock jumps and presses demandingly at the inside of his pants as Brayden whimpers and again tries to twist away. Forcing his bound hands uncomfortably higher up his back, Jenner keeps his captive still. Pivoting his free hand, he closes his fingers around the fullness of Brayden’s sac.

“Oh fuck,” Brayden hisses, bucking once and rotating his hips. Jenner grabs hold and tugs, pulling the sensitive organs away from Brayden’s body, then squeezing. Mouth falling open around a groan, Brayden writhes in Jenner’s arms, getting harder, getting off on the discomfort.

It’s better than Jenner’s imagination hinted it could be—the sweet, scared, wanton sounds coming from the alluring creature in his arms, the very stark proof of Brayden’s desire which Jenner takes tightly in hand and begins to stroke—it’s heady and more intoxicating than the richest wine. He drinks it up, doing everything in his power to control his animal lust which demands that he
take
and
fuck
and
violate
. He needs to tread lightly, proceed carefully.

“Want you. Want you so fucking bad,” he growls. Slowly, unhurriedly, he manipulates Brayden’s cock, fingering over it lightly, tracing the vein pulsing under the silky skin of the shaft, over the bulbous crown, through the slick of precome weeping from the slit. Rubbing a single digit through the divot under the head, he triggers the small bundle of nerves there. Brayden ruts against his hand, seeking friction. “You like that?”

Brayden moans.

Jenner links his thumb and index finger in a ring around Brayden’s dick, curling the rest of his gloved fingers around the shaft. He makes the grip tight enough to provide friction but remains motionless, forcing Brayden to do the work.

After one thrust, Jenner rewards his new slave by squeezing tighter when Brayden draws his hips back before loosening up again.

“Bend over.” He punctuates the command by forcing Brayden’s hands up, making him fold forward simply to take the pressure off of his shoulder joints. “That’s it. Good. Just like that.”

Jenner keeps him in place by holding firmly to Brayden’s bound arms. His captive thrusts again and again, riding the leather encasing Jenner’s hand. The movements are stilted, shaky and nervous but with the force of need for release behind them. Face and neck flushed a hot, dark pink, Brayden gasps and does as his body demands. His thrusts become smoother and quicken to a steady, sharp pace. He fucks Jenner’s fingers and moans low in his throat.

For only a half-second, the hand, Brayden’s fucktoy is temporarily gone. The back of the kilt gets flipped up. Moaning thunderously, Jenner watches Brayden’s bared ass flex and clench with each thrust of his hips once the vessel of the gloved hand returns to reclaim his straining dick. Because both of his Master’s hands are busy, for the moment at least, and he’s only able to grope Brayden’s backside with his eyes, Brayden relaxes. The tension eases slightly from his form, and he ruts and rocks against the hand circling his dick.

The sight of Brayden’s firm buttocks clenching and dimpling with each of his rocks forward, the way his back arches so beautifully when he draws back, snaps something holding feeble control over Jenner’s actions. He presses his clothed groin flush to the curve of Brayden’s ass, letting him feel the hardness of his Master’s cock, the interest instilled. It’s both reward and threat. As Brayden gets closer and closer to orgasm, Jenner starts to rub off against his bound, helpless, beautiful slave’s backside, driving pointed, needy thrusts against it.

Brayden gasps, panting, chasing release. He fucks Jenner’s fist with abandon. Twitching and shuddering, his body convulses as he climaxes. He gapes, mouth working soundlessly as he unloads, coating the bed under him, and Jenner’s glove, with his seed.

Every muscle is loose and pliable, easily moved, as Jenner braces Brayden’s shoulders against the bed, grabbing him firmly by the hips and dry-humping his nicely presented ass.

Jenner growls and grunts, driven wild with primal need. He rides the crease, hands wrapping the sides of Brayden’s cheeks and, with a sharp cry, comes in his pants.

The room spins. Emptied and sated in more ways than one, Jenner’s hands act of their own accord, untying Brayden’s wrists and freeing him. He hasn’t yet found his tongue when Brayden struggles upright and climbs off the bed.

“Wait,” Jenner gasps. “Wait, um…”

He turns to Brayden, and doesn’t know what to say to keep him there, how to draw this out or hold on to it.

Brayden spares his Master one last look, both of them sweaty and breathless. His gaze drifts quickly from Jenner’s masked face to his bare chest—specifically to where make-up had previously covered a small tattoo, a name written in script.

“Um. Thanks,” Brayden mutters, smoothing down his kilt, fixing his mask, knocked askew.

“Wait! Please!” Jenner calls.

But Brayden passes through the doorway, now empty.

Jenner watches him slip away, into the hall, his heart breaking all over again at the dull certainty that he’s just experienced what he craves so profoundly for the first and the last time.

That night, Jenner goes to the apartment above the bar to sleep, rather than going home and risk facing Max or Art, not with what a mess he is in every possible sense of the word. He gets there exactly twenty-three minutes after Brayden had bolted from the room at Manse. As soon as he’s through the door and stripped of the come- and sweat-drenched clothing, he climbs into the shower and jerks off to the memory of what happened. He knows he has to savor it while he can. What they’ve done that night will either remain his private source of psychological torture—a solitary oasis of happiness in the endless, parched desert that is his quest for love and meaning—or it will go spectacularly wrong and obliterate without prejudice every glimmer of fragile hope.

Either way, he’s fucked. Violence or a more subtle breed of mental torment—pick your poison, we’ve got every flavor in stock.

After the shower, he subsists in a daze, as if the experience leached him of every last ounce of energy and interest in anything but existing. Confused as to how Brayden managed to elude their gaydar, Jenner can’t even begin to process the motives and reasons behind what transpired at Manse. He almost tries to convince himself that he was with a stranger, anyone else other than sweet, sunny Brayden who seems to brighten the most when being charmed by an attractive woman. It would be much simpler that way, if Jenner had been mistaken and it wasn’t Brayden at all—almost a blessing. He wouldn’t have to live with the fact that he has to work with the man every day and be slapped with the chore of having to rub shoulders with him without letting on that anything odd has transpired. He should be happy to have had the chance to indulge the fantasy, but instead he’s miserable—more so than he’s ever been before.

The most likely explanation for what happened is that Brayden was looking to get off, just like Jenner was. Maybe he was curious and happened upon Manse’s website. So he came, and went. It had nothing to do with Jenner or attraction, it was filling a need. Jenner knows what that’s like. Almost every encounter he’s had at Manse has been much of the same.

It was indulgence without any strings attached. Once, it would have been enough, but not now, not after all of the time Jenner has spent thinking and dreaming about Brayden. As much as Jenner might try to fool others, he can’t fool himself. He wants more, to be with Brayden again, but the only way that could happen is if he confessed what he’s done, lying to Brayden about not recognizing him, taking advantage of him rather than being honest. And that’s the best way to ensure Brayden will never want to see Jenner again.

Starting the next day, Saturday, Jenner doesn’t talk to Max or Art, his best friends in the world, let alone any other more casual acquaintances. He draws into himself and shuts off. Silently he cleans the bar, works on payroll in the back office and brushes off all attempts at conversation.

At three in the afternoon, Brayden comes in to work and Jenner locks himself in the office for a mini panic attack. He’s only begun to recover when there’s a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” he asks shortly without opening the door.

“It’s me,” Max calls. “Are the paychecks ready? I just wanted to lock mine up before starting my shift.”

Jenner sighs and tries to rouse himself. He unlocks the door and opens it, eyes downcast. “Yeah, just gimme a sec to get it.”

Reaching for the small pile of envelopes, he sees in his peripheral vision as Max slips in that just behind her is Brayden.

The blood drains from Jenner’s face and for a moment he feels like he’s going to puke up the salad he had for lunch.

“Hey, Jenner,” Brayden says lightly, with a warm smile. Obscene memories overlay reality, perverting it. Visions of Brayden on his knees, exposed and wanton, distort the pleasant, composed version of the man standing before him.

A guilty, creeping tickle starts in Jenner’s gut and he wishes for the Earth to open up and swallow him whole. He knows he should talk to Brayden about what’s happened, but he can’t. He won’t risk losing Brayden entirely, even if it means having to lie to him every day for the foreseeable future. Feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet, Jenner lets the self-recriminations and self-hatred wash over him as he keeps his eyes trained on his desk, rifles through the paychecks, and murmurs, “Hey.”

“Enjoy your night off?” Max asks obliviously. Jenner hadn’t told her what his plans were; just that he was going out.

He shoots her a deadly glare to warn her off and doesn’t respond otherwise.

Standing at the wrong angle to catch Jenner’s expression, Brayden chimes in, “You went out?”

After a pause, he relents. “Yeah. I did.”

“Oh yeah? Where to? I’m still kind of trying to figure out the best places to go after hours. My Nana’s not really the best source of—”

Jenner interrupts with a clipped, “I’d really rather not talk about it. Okay?”

“Oh,” Brayden says, finally catching on to Jenner’s mood. “Sorry.”

“It’s… it’s fine,” Jenner sighs. “Here.”

He hands them their paychecks.

Truly concerned, Max whispers, “Parrish, are you okay?”

He ignores this. “Can you two give the front another once-over to make sure we’re good to go? I need Art in the back to ramp up for dinner. I’ll be out to give a hand when I-I—”

Jenner stutters to a full stop at that, realizing what he’s just said. A blush rises on his face and neck. The cold hard pit of dread grows larger in his gut because he never blushes. It’s a sure sign of his guilt-riddled conscience. He tries to finish his sentence just to get them out of his office. “Give me a couple of minutes, all right?”

Brayden nods, frowning like he’s trying to read between the words. It only stokes Jenner’s alarm. Brayden says cautiously, “Yeah. Sure thing, boss.”

Max stares at Jenner’s uncharacteristic blush and his look of horror, and lingers.

“Please,” Jenner growls.

“Yeah, okay,” she says, finally, relenting.

When they’re both on the other side of the door again, Jenner closes it firmly and turns the lock.

It’s the longest night of Jenner Parrish’s life. It lasts for eons rather than hours. Stuck tending bar right beside Brayden while Max waits tables and Art churns out food with the help of Jackson, one of their college-age part-timers, he just tries to last out the night. He and Brayden exchange words only to keep the drinks stocked and flowing. Thankfully, whereas Jenner’s mood is in the toilet, Brayden is more chipper than anyone has ever seen him thus far. He charms ladies and gentlemen alike, his air of pleasant joy infecting everyone around him. Making a ton of cash in tips, he keeps everyone laughing and having a good time. He flips bottles to the
oohs
and
ahhs
of the crowd. He does shots with a bachelorette party that spends many hundreds of dollars at Parrish Pub that night that they might not have otherwise had Brayden’s good looks and bright laughter not kept them there longer than they planned. None of the guys from the old high school crowd show up, giving Brayden even more reason to not hold back, letting his personality shine. In a distant sort of way, Jenner knows it should make him happy that he probably had some part in Brayden’s good mood, but all it does is make him feel like a liar and a predator.