Chapter 34
The shop bell jingled lightly as the door to The Cozy Mug shut behind them. It was vacant inside, not a soul to be found now that the morning rush had subsided.
Which, apparently, was exactly what Brent had been hoping for. Without missing a beat, he ripped his fly open wide.
Graham clutched his chest, enthralled. “Not even waiting ’til we get upstairs, huh?”
“Oh, we’re not going upstairs.” A cocky grin curled on Brent’s face.
Suddenly, Graham felt his stomach plummet like a freefalling piano. “Say what?” He did a double take. Surely, he must have misheard Brent.
But as he was about to find out, such was not the case.
“On your knees, slut.” Brent shoved Graham down to the floor.
Eye-level with Brent’s briefs, Graham registered his heart start to race. This had to be some sort of prank, right? Brent couldn’t actually be attempting what it seemed like he was.
Right?
Graham swallowed a nervous gulp. “Brent, what are you doing?”
The question drew an amused chuckle. “You did say you didn’t want things getting too sweet, didn’t you? Well, in that case, I thought it best to show you my…spicier side.” Grabbing the back of Graham’s head, he shoved his scandalized partner against his crotch.
The manly scent of Brent’s dick through that thin layer of cotton drove Graham wild instantly. Fuck, had he missed that cock.
Still, he restrained himself. “I don’t know, Brent. I didn’t exactly mean—”
“Do it, slut. Put that dirty mouth of yours to work.” Brent ground Graham’s face against his crotch—which was, Graham noticed, slowly becoming firmer.
Inhaling Brent’s musk, Graham felt the adrenaline coursing into his veins. Sure, he didn’t mind taking orders, and sure, he enjoyed getting adventurous sometimes, but it had always been in the privacy of the bedroom. Literally. Like lights off, shades drawn, and door emphatically locked.
He felt his senses reel. Blow Brent here? Right in the middle of The Cozy Mug? And in broad daylight, no less? Granted, the shop was empty, but what if someone came in? It was still business hours, after all. The scandal alone could ruin him.
To think that it was Coco his boss back in LA had worried might cause a to-do. If anyone happened to see Graham down on his knees spreading this kind of holiday cheer, where literally anyone could walk in on them at any moment, he’d surely find himself in a crisis not even he could contain.
It would make Coco’s party antics look like hopscotch.
He could practically see the headlines now.
Naughty List Alert: Shameless Flack Skips Town for Salacious Holiday Romp in America’s Christmas Capital
Ho-Ho-Hoe! Disgraced Spin Doctor Caught Trading Public Relations for Pubic Relations
Yule Log Spotted—Apparently, A-List Clients Aren’t All This Celebrity Handler Knows How to Handle
God, it would be a publicity nightmare.
But could it be worth the risk? After all, how was he supposed to turn Brent down like this? Clearly, it was the hot cocoa heartthrob in charge now. And he’d made his wishes explicitly clear.
Emphasis on explicitly.
Graham swallowed the lump forming inside his throat. Where had this part of Brent come from? Was it actually possible that such a picture-perfect, take-me-home-to-mom Hallmark hunk could be hiding a secret wild side? A wild side that took charge, that gave orders, that dominated without question?
The revelation turned Graham rather hard himself.
Even if this meant taking a risk, wasn’t this what he’d wanted?
A hot holiday hookup without the complications of romance?
Because while the idea of blowing Brent in broad daylight—and at his workplace, no less—was definitely exhilarating, romantic it most certainly was not.
But maybe, come to think of it, a kinky, deviant exploit was just the palate cleanser he needed to get his taste for Brent out of his mouth.
In a manner of speaking.
Whatever doubt might have lingered in Graham’s mind quickly evaporated into oblivion at the words Brent uttered next. “I’m going to make you my filthy, little bitch, Graham.”
A wave of tingles rushed across Graham’s skin. Well, that settled it. “Yes, sir.” Before proceeding, though, he paused a beat, tentative. “Shouldn’t we at least, uh, lock the door?” Not that he wanted to kill the mood, of course, but it felt like a fair enough request.
The nervous look on Graham’s face as he spoke drew a playful chuckle from Brent. “What’s the matter? Afraid of getting caught blowing the hot cocoa guy?”
Graham rolled his eyes, unamused. As a matter of fact, yes, that was exactly what he was afraid of. It was the least Brent could do to grant him such a small concession.
He pasted on what he hoped passed as a convincingly casual smile. “I don’t exactly think this is the kind of customer service you want your patrons walking in on, right?”
Brent, however, just shrugged the matter off. “We’ll be fine. No one ever comes in this time of day.”
Graham literally felt the anxiety shooting up into his throat. Brent couldn’t honestly be serious.
Judging by the assurance in his eyes, though, Brent appeared to be serious indeed.
“Trust me, we’ve got the place to ourselves.” He arched an eyebrow, roguish. “Now, come on, slut. Show me what you got…unless, that is, you don’t think you can handle this hunk of man meat?” He cupped his junk through his underwear and gave it a shake.
Eyeing the sight hungrily, Graham chewed at his lower lip. God, did he want that dick again. But giving Brent a blowjob out in the middle of his quaint, little hot cocoa shop where quite literally anyone could walk in on them?
He turned inward, contemplating. The more he thought about it, it did sound kind of hot, he had to admit. Never, not even in the seedy back alleys of West Hollywood, had he done something as scandalous as the act he was about to commit in his wholesome, quaint hometown.
“All right, stud. But go lean up against the bar. With what I’ve got in store for you, you’ll need something to support yourself against.”
The promise drew a fiendish smirk. “OK, hot stuff. But the way you talk a big game, I sure hope you can deliver.”
Standing to his feet, Graham shoved Brent toward the cocoa bar. “Don’t you worry. That cock will be in excellent hands.” He quirked a devilish smile. “Among other body parts, I suppose.”
With a smirk, Brent positioned himself against the edge of the bar. “You filthy whore.”
* * *
Kneeling at Brent’s feet, Graham inhaled a centering breath. For all the confidence he’d just projected, the way he felt inside was anything but. You can do this, Graham, he pep-talked himself.
The this in question, though, was not simply giving Brent a blowjob.
That he knew he could do all day. What worried him was whether he could keep his emotions out of it.
Sure, they’d agreed they were just two horny dudes, conveniently both here in this small, out-of-the-way hamlet where fruitcake still referred to a holiday baked good.
But now that he was facing the moment, well, head-on as it were, he quickly found his assuredness weakening.
You’ll be fine, Graham, he insisted to himself. It’s just a dick, isn’t it?
He sized up the rod before him currently stretching the cotton of Brent’s briefs to its limit. Sure, he could tell himself whatever he wanted, but that didn’t change what he knew to be true. This was most certainly not just some dick.
He would know, too. Back in LA, he’d practically made a sport out of swallowing cocks. And it had earned him quite the accolades, if he did say so himself.
But this dick—Brent’s dick—was not just another pole to swallow. This dick was the dick.
His mind conjured an image of Brent’s perfect hard-on from the memory of their last encounter. Rigid, girthy, and made to be worshipped. It was almost unfair that a guy as perfect as Brent could also have such a perfect specimen.
A perfect specimen that he, for one, did not intend to pass up.
He eyed the precum already leaking through the cotton currently fighting for its life to keep Brent’s fat cockhead contained.
What have you got to worry about? he comforted himself.
Brent was the one, wasn’t he, who’d gotten caught up in emotions last time?
Now that he’d come to his senses and agreed this was simply a no-strings holiday fling, there was no reason at all not to indulge in a little festive merrymaking.
And if getting a sloppy blowjob while pretending like they might get caught in the act was what did it for Brent, then what harm could there be in granting him such a simple holiday wish?
He ran his fingers gently over Brent’s firm hard-on, feeling it twitch desperately under that thin cotton barrier.
There was just one thing. If Brent thought he was in control here, then that cocoa homo was sorely mistaken.
Sure, Graham would play along that he was taking Brent’s orders, but he’d done this enough to know how this really went down.
The partner doing the work, the one who controlled the pleasure—they were always the one in charge.
Sure, the dominant one could act like they held onto the reins, but in the time-honored tradition that all submissives shared, Graham relished the confidence of knowing this man would be putty in his hands.
And a rock-hard sausage in his mouth.
He yanked Brent’s briefs to his feet without hesitation.