Hard For My Boss

I follow.

We’re walking in silence for some time, which disturbs me worse than the noise of the nightclub. Unlike before, there seems to be no one on this street. Everyone who passes by is quiet or on the other side of the road. Why am I so nervous?

I push myself to say something. “I’m not really the club kind of guy. It was my roommate’s idea. He thinks I’m too uptight … or something.”

What am I saying? Shut up, Trevor!

He chuckles once breathily, then nods. “Yeah, I gathered that much about you.”

I frown at him. “What do you mean?”

“That was the first thing I thought when I saw you across the club. ‘What’s a guy like that doing here?’ I asked myself.”

His question catches me off-guard. “A guy like … me?”

“Yes.” He nods at me, like it’s obvious. “You seem a bit out of your element, kid. You look terrified.”

“I am not terrified,” I reply, terrified.

Just the way his mouth moves when we have this dialogue, I find deeply erotic. To my utter mortification, my cock responds to that observation by flexing—hard—in my already too-tight pants. I literally can’t control myself right now. I’m a teenage boy with sex hormones flooding me, hormones I’ve almost never acted upon, hormones that are totally changing who I am, messing with my head and chasing my heart away.

This scorching man has succeeded in doing precisely what my fantasy version of him promised: he commands me with just a few words, owning me with his charm, and making me forget the bumbling fool that I am.

Mostly. “So you think I’m uptight?”

“No.” He gives it a moment’s thought, his bottom lip pushing up as he thinks. He has one seriously magnificent jaw encased in that epic chin-beard. He constantly exudes strength with every word uttered, with every movement. “I think you’re cautious.”

“Cautious?”

“Yeah.” His forehead wrinkles up as he glances over at me. Piece by piece, I feel all my own strength breaking apart under his gaze. I’m growing weak in the knees, succumbing to him.

Am I making this chase too easy? Have I yet to pick up my proverbial jaw from the proverbial floor?

“I’m not sure I’d call it … cautiousness,” I reply.

“What, then?”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but all I inhale is his spicy cologne, his strong masculine scent, and whatever sexual voodoo he’s deliberately and pointedly emitting in my direction. I’ve never throbbed so hard in my pants and managed to somehow still walk like there’s totally not an enormous boner in my pants. I deserve a freaking reward.

“Well?” he prompts me. “If you’re not cautious or uptight, then what are you? This way.”

We turn a corner. The buildings are starting to look a lot nicer, taller, and fancier. I haven’t been in this part of the city. I do realize it’s only seven blocks in the opposite direction of the office and Elijah’s apartment, but it feels like a whole other world.

“Well, the sad thing is,” I tell him, “I’ve spent pretty much every minute of my life behind a desk studying for classes and living up to my ‘overachiever’ title I so valiantly earned after four years of straight A’s and Honors classes in high school.”

“So you’re a nerd. Congrats. So was I back in school.”

I snort and look away. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Oh really?” I hear the hint of laughter in his voice. “What kind of guy do I look like to you, then?”

The answer comes quick. “Like the popular guy everyone in the school knew and wanted to be around. You worked out six days a week. You were probably captain of some … team. You get what you want, you woo all the girls, and you make the nerds like me feel like we got no business lusting after boys like you.”

My eyes go wide and I stop. Did I really just say all that?

He turns to me, stopping as well. When I look up, I find a firm, stern, smoldering expression on his handsome face. His eyes are burning and dark with need. Did my answer turn him on?

Am I imagining all of this, or is this walking wet muscle dream actually into me?

“Guess you hit the nail right on the head,” he murmurs.

“I … was just channeling my own dumb angst.” I shrug it all off. “I don’t really think that’s who you are. In truth, I don’t have the first idea who you are. Or what you are. Or …” My face flushes. “Or even what your name is.” My jaw drops. Oh my God.

I’m going to his place and I don’t even know his name.

He leans my way, his muscular body eclipsing the light from a nearby streetlamp. “You can call me Ben.”

“Trevor,” I say right back. “My name is Trevor.”