Tech Bros (Bay Area Bros #3)

Chapter 1 - Isaac

ISAAC

If my assistant’s pants were any tighter, I’d be able to see his sperm.

As it is, they aren’t hiding anything else.

The outline of his sac is visible. The ridge defining the crown of his cock presses against the crotch fabric.

The seams and high cut of his briefs show so well, I could trace the stitches.

He’s standing on my right, leaning past me across my desk, gesturing at my monitor to the left.

He’s talking, but all I hear are names and dates in a continuous ramble while my fingers twitch, fighting the urge to tug his zipper down and scrape my teeth along the slit of his dick, which might as well be resting on my cheek as aware of it as I am.

Evan sighs. “You’re not listening at all, are you?”

“You know how much I love your…calendars.”

“Thanks so much. It’s over here by the way,” he quips with a tap on my monitor.

“How much spandex is in those pants?” I ask to assure him he has my attention—just not the kind he’s after.

“What if I just told you something critical? Like your brother is stranded on the Golden Gate Bridge?”

“Jake isn’t stranded. He texted me ten minutes ago.”

“Who are we meeting at ten-thirty?” Evan quizzes me.

“How much time do I have until ten-thirty?”

He huffs a laugh. “Would you rather go over your calendar on your own?”

I’m more than happy to show him what I’d rather.

I wrap a hand around the back of Evan’s knee to emphasize that I don’t want him going anywhere. Not until he gives me an explanation for why he wore these pants into the office today. “Whose attention were you looking to get with these?”

“Oh, you know me. Everyone’s,” he says, but I don’t buy it.

“Well, you have mine. Will that do?”

“Funny. It feels like I don’t have it at all.”

I was mostly listening. At ten-thirty, Evan and I are presenting his new workflow concept for Four Points Freight followed by a catered lunch because it’s Brittney’s last day.

“Isaac!” he gasps.

My hand cups his balls, hard. Now that I have them, I rub my palm over them, feeling them heat and tighten through the thin, stretchy fabric.

He sticks his ass out like a good assistant and braces his hands on my desk.

His thighs part to let my hand roam. His delicious rear end is now at eye level, and I take all of it in with a starved, depraved gaze.

Evan came to me with a great résumé, but I won’t lie—his ass made his application rise to the top of equally qualified candidates.

I wasn’t ever expecting to be allowed into it, especially as often as he lets me, but he’s the neediest slut I’ve ever met as evidenced by the outline of the gem-shaped plug in his hole. He’s lubed and ready.

“You think you can peel these off for five minutes? Do I have that long?”

“You have seven,” he says, breathless already.

My good boy. He’ll be the fucking end of me, I swear to God.

I rise behind him, untucking my shirt, unbuckling my belt, and undoing my fly in a series of well-practiced movements while he shimmies his stacked ass out of those salacious blue pants.

It appears in all its glory. The blue gem in his bleached hole has me swiping at my mouth where I’m already salivating excessively. I run my hands along his stark tan line, first at his hips, then at the crease of his thighs.

He opens my desk drawer, and I take a condom from the pile, ripping it open with my teeth. Rolling it on my aching erection is an exercise in torture.

“Take that thing out,” I demand. “Show me you’re ready for me.”

“I’m ready,” he whispers.

The plug is thick, and when he pulls it from his hole, it leaves a perfectly glistening gape, begging to be stuffed. I groan at the sight of it. “Fuck.” He’s too perfect. I’m too obsessed.

I’m inside him too soon.

“Umph. God. Ow,” he whines, dropping the plug. It rolls off the desk and lands on the floor. I hardly care.

The noise he makes when I bottom out is music to my ears.

Covering his mouth, I thrust hard.

He adjusts his stance and arches his back to take me better, and it’s good. He’s so good.

My hips bounce off his round, tight ass as he takes me balls deep over and over again.

My stamina when it comes to fucking Evan is non-existent.

I allow him to believe it’s because I’m always in a rush, but the truth is, I’m plain desperate for him at all times.

Stealing quickies with him in the office is not where I saw this “relationship” headed, but it’s all he’ll give me, and I’m too weak not to take it.

I try to make up for this by slamming into him extra hard.

I want the desk to leave bruises on his hipbones.

I want his ass raw and sore. I want him thinking of me constantly the way I can’t stop thinking of him.

He probably won’t come. He rarely does, and I assume that’s his way of putting me in my place.

I’ve stopped bothering with trying to bring him to climax because that way, it feels like I’m in control of this situation.

Like—fuck—I don’t know. Like I don’t care.

I do care, to be clear. It eats at me because he eats at me.

I slam into him to the rhythm of Why. Am. I. Not. Good. E-nough. For. You?

The answer is probably simple. Because I’m too fucking much.

And yet, here I am, willing to take whatever he gives me.

I orgasm with my entire body, leaving a blast zone that rebounds off the walls of my private office.

My white hot release fills the condom in several rapid-fire bursts.

My knees soften, and I brace my hands on the desk outside Evan’s arms. I drop my head, breathing through the harsh waves of pleasure, my forehead an inch from his upper back.

A bead of sweat falls from the tip of my nose onto his shirt, and I watch as the small drop of liquid seeps into the fabric, barely comprehending the sight as my mind roars.

Lodged inside him, my cock jerks through several aftershocks, each one more insufferable than the last.

“Evan,” I whisper, the sound choked and close to broken.

He doesn’t respond.

“Say something. Don’t make me feel like shit.”

“I assume this means you approved of the plug.”

Relief fills my chest. It was almost the perfect thing for him to say. “The plug is officially approved.”

“Good.”

In as many ways as I need to fuck Evan, I hate it, too. I’m not sure when it started to hurt. When removing myself from his body became an emotional upheaval.

He clears his throat politely, signaling he’s done with me now.

Reaching between us, I hold the condom in place and withdraw, giving him room to stand. He straightens, grabs a few tissues from the box I keep on the corner of the desk for exactly this purpose, and passes them to me over his shoulder.

The best assistant. He really is.

I clean him with the tissues before tending to myself.

“Can I have a second in your bathroom?” he asks.

“Of course.”

Somehow he gets his pants back over his ass and moves around me to my private restroom.

After cleaning myself, I use the tissues to wrap up the full condom before tossing it into the trash.

I grab another tissue to dab at my sweaty face before tucking myself back into my boxer briefs and doing up my pants.

On the desk, I see something that takes me by surprise.

Cum.

Evan’s cum has left two messy stripes across my keyboard, and the sight of it both elates and depresses me. How did I miss that?

I look up, startled, as Evan comes out of the bathroom. He’s holding a tissue to his lip. I frown, and he shows me the spot of blood.

“What happened?”

“Bit my lip, I guess.”

“Jesus.” I approach him, hands reaching to bring him in, see the wound up close, but he only laughs and dodges me, a blush tinting his cheeks.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“Please, can I—”

“What? Kiss it and make it better?” He laughs again as he picks the plug up off the floor. “Really, it’s fine.”

I go for broke. “Come out with me tonight.” If he won’t let me kiss him here, maybe he will if we’re somewhere else. It’s a fantasy I’ve been entertaining for too long now.

“You have a date tonight. If you’d been listening earlier...”

“I don’t care,” I say. “He’s a stranger.

Let me buy you dinner. I feel terrible—about your lip.

” And just in general, I want to say but don’t.

It’s no use, this date with someone I’ve never met.

My cock decided months ago who it wants, and now, after dating at least half of the available men in the Bay Area, the rest of me is hopelessly on board with it.

Evan’s hair has been fucked out of its careful style, and I want to reach out and put it back in order.

The chocolate brown strands fall across his vivid blue eyes, grazing his cheekbones.

He looks gorgeous with his pink cheeks and his bitten lips curved into a smile I can’t get over.

Can’t get out of my head. It’s so…cute. One crooked tooth—his left canine—haunts me.

I could love him. I’ve never thought that about anyone, but I think it all the time about Evan. I go to sleep thinking about it, wake up and get dressed every day thinking about it, and then he shows up in pants like these, and I turn into an animal with one urge—fuck. Fill. Claim.

But he’s not mine. And he’s given me no indication that he wants to be.

No one ever seems to, despite the fact that on paper—I have everything.

I’m a damn catch. I think I’d like me. I might be a little high maintenance, but I feel like I’d be down with that, too.

I’d be a great boyfriend—for the right man. This one in particular.

Like he never even heard me asking him out, Evan says, “It’s ten-thirty. And I need to give you a heads up about one tiny thing before we go into this meeting.”

I do my best to revert into work mode, attempting to straighten my tie. Evidently I fail at it because Evan takes over after gently batting my hands away.

“You know the new CEO of FPF?” he asks.

“Only what I’ve read about him.” Nepo baby. His company’s flailing now that he’s taken over for his recently deceased father. Something Cross. Forest? No. Hunter. Hunter Cross.

“He’s my ex.”

“What?” I blurt.

Evan chokes up on the knot of my tie, giving me a chastising look. “I know, I know. I had the audacity to have a life before you hired me. Crazy.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“I didn’t think he’d be coming to the meeting, and I haven’t spoken with him directly. I’ve been talking to his VP, Glenda.”

“Are you okay with this?”

“I’m totally fine.”

“How did it end?” I ask.

“I ended it after he fucked it up.”

“How long ago?”

“College.”

“Grad or undergrad?”

He smirks. “Nosy. Undergrad. Anyway—if you’d feel more comfortable without me there, I’d get it.”

I shake my head. He’s put together almost the entire presentation on his own.

It would be his first major account. We’ve worked on it together, but only as a mentor/mentee.

If we land Four Points Freight as an account, I’ll be promoting Evan.

He’ll be getting his own team. I want him to have this.

He’s way too good to be my assistant, as much as I’ve enjoyed having him—in every sense of the phrase. “If you’re not worried about it.”

“It was four years ago. And your company speaks for itself.”

Here’s where I want to touch his face and tell him not to undersell himself. I do say the words, but don’t touch him.

He smoothes down my collar and meets my eyes with a smile on his swollen lips. “Thanks,” he says.

“For what?”

“Appreciating my contributions, my calendars. And my pants.”

Unable to help myself, I drop a kiss on his forehead. My lips linger there as he takes a deep breath, not moving away too soon. I inhale the sweet, citrus scent of his hair and the intoxicating scent of what must be his pheromones.

“Isaac,” he whispers.

“Hm?”

“It’s really time to get to work.”