Chapter 11
The next thing Graham knew, a grid of Brent’s photos had overtaken his screen.
The shots were a varied mix. Some showed him hiking through the forest (He was an outdoorsman?
Swoon.), others depicted outings with friends (And he had a seemingly sane social life?
Double swoon.), but by and large, the lion’s share of his content featured scenes from The Cozy Mug.
A pang of guilt hit Graham in the gut. Had he put his foot in his mouth earlier or what.
Was it a little silly, an entire business devoted to hot cocoa? Yes. Was it also on some level admittedly endearing, though? Also, yes.
It was clear by the photos the love Brent had for his shop. Maybe Graham shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss it, he thought to himself. After all, if someone as cute as Brent Danvers was this into hot cocoa, then clearly there had to be something to it.
He scrolled through the photos, becoming increasingly less aware of time and space.
God, was Brent dreamy. Those eyes, that smile, those cheekbones.
A sensation began to stir then below his belt.
What the…? Uh-oh.
He clicked his phone screen off.
Uh-uh, not a chance, no way. This had gone too far already. The last thing he needed was for things to get more out of hand.
Or rather, more in-hand, so to speak.
He shook the thought away. Don’t you dare, Graham. Just focus on something else, and you’ll calm down in no time.
The question was, what?
He racked his brain for a distraction. Come on, Graham. You could think about…
Fuck, this was harder than he’d expected.
In more ways than one.
He unlocked his phone again. Instantly, his heart fluttered at the sight of Brent’s dreamy, carved-by-the-gods face…
And neck…
And shoulders…
And chest…
And arms…
And…fuck.
Graham’s free hand had found its way to his crotch.
Silent, he listened for signs of anyone stirring upstairs. But all that met his ears was the stillness of the night.
An unsure breath escaped him. This really didn’t feel like something he ought to do.
But damn it, he was going to do it anyway.
He unzipped his pants slowly. His hardness bulged out from his fly.
God, Brent. Look what you do to me.
Gently, he massaged his manhood through his briefs, all the while, his eyes locked on the photos of Brent scrolling across his screen.
How had nature produced a man this beautiful?
His deep, sensitive eyes that Graham could have sworn didn’t merely see him, but somehow saw into him.
His firm, strong hands that, judging by his tree-trimming skills, he clearly knew how to use.
His tempting, kissable mouth that Graham would have killed just to taste.
He lowered the waistband of his briefs, slowly revealing the tufts of pubic hair above his shaft. His cock was practically begging to be freed, begging to be released.
Brent Danvers, I’ll never forgive you for this.
The next thing he knew, he was watching his rigid member spring out from confinement as he pulled his underwear the rest of the way down.
Jesus, said a voice inside his head, you haven’t been this hard in ages.
And for that he knew there was just one person to blame.
Or thank, he supposed, depending on how one viewed the matter.
And at least for now, he was feeling thankful indeed.
He admired the view of his equipment. Generally speaking, he considered himself of average attractiveness. His cock, however, was a notable exception. There was nothing average about walking around with an eight-inch pipe—and thick from head to hilt—swinging between your legs.
At the very least, it certainly never disappointed the guys he brought home.
Warm waves of pleasure began to roll across his body as he stroked himself lightly to Brent’s face on the screen. The whole world around faded slowly into the distance.
Yearning began to take over his system. Yearning for Brent’s body. Yearning for Brent’s sex.
Yearning for Brent’s love.
The pace of his strokes increased. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but an innate instinct. An uncontrollable urge for more.
For Brent.
He swiped through more of his pictures. The shots may have been entirely innocent, but the thoughts they inspired were indeed anything but. How a feed of casual, everyday photos of someone could drive Graham so incredibly wild, he frankly was at a loss to understand.
All he knew was that, when it came to Brent Danvers, Graham didn’t think he could ever get enough.
His breathing became labored as his speed increased again.
He really shouldn’t be doing this down here, he thought to himself.
After all, imagine what would happen if someone found him.
Not only would he die of embarrassment at being caught quite literally with his pants down, but perhaps even worse, the secret of his crush on the local eligible bachelor would be out—not to mention along with it, himself.
But here in this moment—this moment of just him, his manhood, and his fantasies of Brent—he was willing to take the risk.
Again, his body told him to speed up even more. Obedient, he complied, giving in to the desires that had taken over his willpower.
A photo of Brent at a wine tasting.
A photo of Brent cooking dinner.
A photo of Brent planting his garden.
Was there anything this guy couldn’t make sexy? As if it wasn’t enough that Brent was an Adonis. His whole life had to be adorable, too?
And what Graham wouldn’t have given to be a part of it.
He thought of what their life together could be. Just the two of them, in love, without a care in the world.
Man, that sounded nice.
His stroking sped up further, until he didn’t think he could possibly pump any faster. A sweat broke out across his body.
Fuck, if only Brent could be his. If only he could be Brent’s. Nothing in the world would have made him happier.
All of a sudden, a tingle began stirring in his groin. A tingle that grew into a swell. A swell that grew into a pulse. A pulse that grew into a tidal wave.
“Fuuuck!” he exhaled as a sonic boom of pleasure rocked his body and a thick, creamy load launched from his cock, splattering like a Jackson Pollock across himself.
Holy shit, Graham. That was, like, the most intense cumshot I think you’ve ever had.
The afterglow, however, was not destined to stick around. As the euphoria faded, Graham quickly found it replaced with another emotion.
Dread.
Crushing on Brent was a recipe for disaster.
Not only was there no universe imaginable in which things between them could work out, but perhaps more importantly, falling for the local eye candy pulled his attention away from what really mattered, a.k.a.
the entire reason he’d become stuck in this backwater in the first place.
He shook off the fog from his head. “Come on, Graham. You’re too smart to be pulling this shit.
” He retrieved a spare blanket from inside a nearby ottoman.
“Do you really want to throw away the opportunity you’ve been working toward your whole career just for some old schoolboy crush?
” Blanketing himself, he hunkered down into his makeshift bed for the night.
What he needed was to refocus. Refocus and reset.
He nestled his head into the couch pillows.
“Just a few short days from now,” he reassured himself, “and you’ll be hightailing it out of here, Graham.
It won’t be long, and you’ll be free of Brent and his distractions for good.
” He exhaled a sigh. “All you have to do is just stay calm, stay focused, and stay away from that troublemaker.”
He clicked off his phone screen and was fast asleep in minutes.