Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Travis
After a long fucking night of cursing him, I finally have him alone in my office.
His hair’s … gone. Didn’t realize how pissed I’d be about that. And the reason I’m pissed isn’t just because I won’t be able to maneuver him like a puppet when his bratty mouth is around my cock—that day is fucking coming—but a deeper, darker reason.
He’s fucking mine, goddammit.
Shorter hair hasn’t taken away from his beauty either. If anything, the haircut makes his pretty eyes pop.
“I didn’t authorize a haircut,” I say, pushing my luck.
“Yeah, well you don’t make decisions like that.”
Right. Apparently, Hunter does. “What happened to my wine?”
“Don’t you mean our wine, honey? Thought you wouldn’t mind donating it to dinner tonight.”
Cocky little shit.
I barely hear my chair scraping across the floor. I’m up and out of my seat, caging him in against the back of the door. I run a hand over the plaid he’s wearing, hardly able to believe he’s here, which is fucking ridiculous. During the off-season, he’s always here. Close to me. In my space.
“I missed you,” I admit, already forgetting about the bottle of wine.
He’s right. If I’d known he wanted it, I would have given it to him.
I’m not supposed to be touching him, or telling him how much I pined for him all damn night, but we opened Pandora’s box, and all the unhinged desire I have for him refuses to remain dormant any longer.
It wants. It burns.
His hand drifts to my shirt, toying with the buttons like he’s not sure if he wants to undo them or just feel them under his fingers. There’s hesitation in him tonight—what happened at Hunter’s, pretty boy?—but it’s paired with undeniable reverence, grateful to be here.
Here with me.
He looks up, fluttering his pretty lashes. That’s all he has to fucking do, and I’ll bend the knee for him. I secure a knuckle under his chin and claim the softness of his lip with my thumb.
“I-I wasn’t gone for very long.” He swallows.
Fuck, I want to kiss him so badly.
“Something you wanna talk about?”
“Hunter’s just … intense.”
As a dad, I get Hunter. I’d be worried about Dirk if I were him, too. Not that Dirk’s doing anything to warrant Hunter’s level of helicopter parenting, but it’s just what parents—and brother-dads—do.
“What did he say?”
Dirk huffs. “Lots of shit, but now I’ve kinda sorta gotta bring a date by the house.”
Red clouds my vision. “Unless I’m the date—”
“You’re not. I mean, yeah, I was talking about you, but I tried things on with Hunter for size. Told him I was dating someone ten years older. He was pissed. Wants to meet him, now.”
“I’m not ten years older; I’m twenty years older.”
“Exactly. You were right, Trav. Happy now? You were fucking right. It’s just hard. My heart doesn’t fucking understand ‘age gap’.”
Neither does mine.
“My cock doesn’t either. It wants you. Wants you so bad,” he breathes.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to want you and not be able to do anything about it?” I murmur.
“D-Do something about it,” he stutters.
I can’t give in like I want to, like I’m craving, but I pull him into my arms, aware that someone could walk in on us like this. He locked the door when he came in here, right? I think he did. He rests his head against my chest, and we take a sigh together, our breathing in sync.
We got here in less than a week because of him. He did the one thing—the only thing—that could get me even thinking about going through with us being more than just the thing we didn’t talk about.
He doesn’t just feel like mine anymore; he is. That small shift exploded in my head and resulted in the place we’ve come to—me holding him in my office, even though my entire staff is filled with his friends and my son, just outside the door.
The only thing I don’t like is what tonight did to him. Yeah, we were honestly in a fight, but there was some playfulness to it. I wouldn’t have actually kept him from his brother’s house, but I was trying to wind him up.
Maybe men never grow up, and I’m twenty-four at heart. Does that count?
His hand slides across my face, and my breath hitches. My cock’s very aware that his cock is close by and, despite everything, he’s hard.
“Trav—”
Our foreheads touch, my heart rate kicks up several notches. I tilt my head, about to find his lips…
One thing about my son? He doesn’t knock. I never set that boundary. I might need to start.
The door that was not, in fact, locked opens, and we jump away. I pretend I was walking across the room; Dirk whips out his phone.
“Dad? Oh, thank fuck, you’re still here. Don’t worry about the bottle of wine. Stacey’s gonna get me something from the liquor store. Dirk? What’re you doing in here?”
“I’m uh—”
“Going over scheduling. He’s in charge of the server schedule while I’m gone,” I say.
“Thank fuck. I was gonna ask about that. Better you than me,” he chirps. “Okay. I’m off. Love you, Dad.”
He encircles me for a quick hug. Dirk is next to get a hug from him, and as upset as he might be, he’s always got a hug for my son. I smile on the inside about him being there for my son, but my hands clench on the outside. Dash gets to hug him, and I don’t.
Yeah, I’m jealous of my son.
Dirk blinks at me when Dash is gone. “You lied to him,” he accuses in a voice a lot lighter than before. He might be amused.
“That’s what this would require, Dirk,” I say, phrasing it as if we’re still a hypothetical, as if now that I’ve got him in my clutches, I’m ever letting him go.
“I think you learned that tonight when you were with your brother.” I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to be out.
We have to want this enough to keep it from everyone.
He licks his lips. I want to resume what we were about to do before my son barged in, but I’m not going near him now. Dirk must feel the same way, actively keeping his distance.
“It’s like wanting something you’re not allowed to touch,” he says. “You’re the only person I’ve ever…” He wipes his eyes.
That gets me moving in his direction, but he’s the one to hold up a hand this time.
“No,” he says. “I can’t let you touch me tonight or I’ll …” He doesn’t finish that sentence. “Look, tomorrow’s my day off. I won’t be in.”
I nod.
“And Trav? Teach your fucking son to knock, eh?”
I chuckle at his back as he leaves. Sometimes Dirk’s an old soul, and other times just a young man in his twenties.