Heartsville 04 - Clique (Jayden Brooks) (5 page)

As though he’d been waiting for a sign, he fisted my hair, clutched my shirt, and tumbled himself backwards—tugging me along in his wake. He grunted as we landed in a sprawl on the couch with me plastered to his chest. This development thrilled my dick, which was trapped between our bodies. Not one to waste an opportunity, I crashed my mouth to his, biting and sucking in a frenzy of need, doing my absolute best to devour him.

Brandon didn’t let a little thing like me being on top stop him from seizing control. The tips of his fingers were just shy of painful as he tightened his grip on my hip, urging me into a slow grind. The friction of his jeans dragging against my bare cock was almost enough to push me over. I refused to let that happen.

“Ungh.” I shot up. My cock hanging out, I straddled his lean hips and shoved his shirt up, revealing a perfect six-pack and a delicious happy trail I was determined to follow. “Show me,” I growled. I didn’t trust myself to get his zipper down without maiming my soon-to-be new best friend. The real not-so-little Brandon.

Like with everything else, Brandon moved at his own pace: Too. Fucking. Slow. I canted my hips, grinding myself not so gently into his balls. “Giddyup.”

He snorted, and I swear to God, he actually spread his thighs—giving me more access to do potential damage. Oh, and he moved slower. Fine!

The teasing glint in Brandon’s gaze turned molten when I reached into my shorts, cupped my balls, and carefully lifted them out. With my junk on full display, I squeezed my flesh tight enough to hiss at the sting. “I’m so close.”

He unbuttoned his jeans and reached for the zipper.

I canted my hips again, deliberately dragging my heavy sack across his jeans. “Don’t you want to come with me?” I swirled my finger in the pool of precum welling at the tip of my cock, spreading it around the crown; then, with our gazes locked, I licked my finger clean.

The sound he made, a cross between a moan and a growl, had my heart stuttering and my ass clenching. His body went rigid, and his hands trembled as he quickly shoved his boxers out of the way. His cock was beautiful. I couldn’t tear my gaze away, and my hips took on a life of their own, shuttling and thrusting—practically begging for a source of friction. I wanted him in me. My mouth. My ass. Fuck. “Ungh. Ungh.”

I collapsed forward, lining up our flesh. God, he was so hot. The feeling of his silky cock against my own was sublime. He sank his hand down into my jeans, gripping my ass and controlling my erratic thrusts. I kept my chin tucked to my chest, watching our dicks grind together between our bellies. There were a number of sounds perfectly in place in this setting: my whimpers, his groans, our bodies shifting on the leather couch.

A new voice did not fit.

“Your mother is out of control, Brandon. I hope you’re satisfied.”

Brandon’s body jerked hard. The back of the couch was facing the front door, so we were shielded from immediate view. His arms became thick bands crushing me to his chest and stilling my instinct to pop up to look. But maybe it was to keep me from moving and exposing our rapidly shrinking dicks. I couldn’t breathe, and even if I could, there were no words to adequately express my horror.

Brandon had no such qualms. He snorted. “Not quite, but I was well on my way, Dad.”

“Oh god. Whyyyyy?” I wheezed.

I heard footsteps coming closer. “What are you… oh.”

He can’t see me. He can’t see me.

A throat cleared. “Well, this is a surprise. Who’s your friend?”

He can totally see me. Oh God, shoot me now.

“Can you give us a few minutes, Dad?”

“Sure. I figure you have about thirty seconds until your mother walks through that door. I’ll try to buy you some time.”

Oh hell da’fuq no! I rolled off Brandon, crashed to the floor, and hid my bits in a frantic scramble to save myself from further humiliation. My wild gaze shot around the space, seeking an alternate escape. I rolled to my knees, ready to launch myself in the direction of what I hoped was the kitchen, when a muscular arm wrapped around my waist and lifted me to my feet. I struggled against the hold.

He pressed against my back and nuzzled my neck. “Shh. Calm down. This’ll be fun.”

“Fun?” I rasped and shot him a scowl over my shoulder.

Bickering filtered through the open from door. “What? Special friend? What does that even mean, Walter?”

“It means they were fooling around on the couch.”

“So? That doesn’t mean he’s special.”

“Now, Karen.”

My stomach knotted with each click of her heels signaling her approach. When she came into view, she wore the same suspicious expression I’d come to recognize on her son’s face. In fact, I could see most of Brandon’s features and coloring were inherited from his mom. His dad’s genetic influence seemed limited to height and build. They made an attractive family.

“Adam, these are my parents, Karen and Walter.”

“Hello.” I gulped and shoved my hands behind by back. I’m twenty-eight. And up until that moment, I’d never had the awkward meet-the-parents experience. So I had no frame of reference for appropriate responses. But there was no way in hell I was shaking their hands. I wished longingly for the little bottle of “Maybe You Touched Your Genitals” hand sanitizer my sister had gifted me as a prank.

“It’s nice to meet you, Adam.” Brandon’s dad wore an interested if slightly concerned expression as he stepped in my direction. I jerked back, pushing against Brandon’s chest. He gave my hip what he probably considered a reassuring squeeze. It failed.

How the hell was I supposed to decline a handshake?

With a nervous laugh, I turned and asked Brandon, “Where’s your bathroom?”

His brow furrowed as he searched my expression. My long-suffering sigh probably came across as rude, but this situation had catapulted me well beyond my repertoire of politeness. “I need to wash my hands.” I hoped my tone conveyed the implied
duh
.

The damn man smirked and gestured to a hallway I hadn’t noticed. “First door on your left.”

Did nothing faze him?

Whatever. I decided to wash my hands, compose myself, and see about climbing out the window. Or was that too dramatic?

Then I heard his mother ask, “Is he an escort?”

“Mom!”

Hahaha! Well, there you have it. I will forever cherish Brandon’s appalled admonishment. Now, if you expect me to be offended here, you’re destined for disappointment. Karen’s question lacked any judgment that I could detect. Besides, I saw nothing wrong with two consenting adults helping each other out.

I took my time in the bathroom. The first order of business was righting all the wrongs happening in my jeans. It wasn’t like I’d had time to properly tuck and redress, so the waist of my underwear was still crammed under my balls. And my ass was being assaulted by my underwear, compliments of Brandon’s explorations.

When I could delay no longer, I cracked the door open and listened. Yes, I eavesdropped. I think we’ve already established my periodic bouts of rudeness. It’s a newer development, but I’m embracing it.

The first thing I heard was Brandon’s mom. She was using what I call the “let’s be reasonable” voice. “He’s very handsome, and I’m sure he’s a nice boy.”
Oh brother, here it comes.

“Stop. I love you guys. You’re jumping to the wrong conclusions, and since I did the same thing at first, I can’t blame you. Having said that, I’m not going to stand here and discuss all the ways you’re wrong and take a chance of hurting a really sweet guy. So when he returns, I’m asking you to be polite and say good night.”

Oh. I’m not gonna lie, I stood in that hallway on the verge of tears with a trembling hand covering my mouth.

I heard a sniffle, then his mother spoke. “So, he’s special.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Well, it seems your father was right.”

“Did you hear that, Brandon? The apocalypse is upon us.”

Six

I rolled out of bed, bleary-eyed, grumbly, and in no way prepared to face the world at large. I needed coffee first. Scratching my chest and stomach, I shuffled barefoot to the kitchen in search of my life fuel.

Mentally reviewing my schedule for the day only made me more irritable. I’d been working out of town the last few days, and I was buried in edits for the rest of the week. If only my darn schedule would lighten up, I’d be able to make plans with Brandon.

If not for the flurry of texts ranging from sweet to smoldering, I’d have been tempted to chuck the gig and return to Heartsville. One particular locker-room selfie was enough to keep me in a perpetual state of arousal. I had become a devout fan of that shot. There may have been tributes involved.

Just thinking about Brandon caused a tingling wave of heat in my belly. I liked it. I liked him. A lot. The dopey smile I wore on my sleep-deprived face vanished, only to be replaced by heartbreak as I cracked open my trusty airtight canister.

No coffee beans.

How could this happen? My life was spiraling out of control. That was the only reasonable explanation for an empty canister of coffee beans. I’m not one of those freakishly cheery morning people. Nope, I’m more the type who will eat your face off if you try to talk to me before I’ve been properly dosed with coffee.

As a public service, and in an effort to remain on the right side of the law, I don’t interact with the public without my java fix. I considered curling up on the dirty floor and waiting for Mark to find me. I’d send him vague but haunting texts heralding my descent into madness.

While I pondered ways to torment myself and annoy Mark, inspiration struck.

Salvation was within reach. I had a Keurig and a selection of pods in the studio downstairs. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t touch the things, but desperate times called for stale coffee. Yes, I’m a bona fide coffee snob. But it was either tap the pod stash or chew the grounds from yesterday. Not happening. I hoped.

My nipples shot to diamond-like hardness in the early morning chill, but I soldiered on. The cold was no match for my determination and need. Stumbling down the back stairway, I entered the darkened rear of the studio and began flipping on the lights unconcernedly. No time to navigate props and equipment in the dark—I was a man on a mission. At the mini coffee station, I blindly selected a pod and in moments had a hot cup of overly sweet cappuccino.

Ugh, maybe after a second pod I could cope with humankind enough for a run to the store. Or to the café. Or maybe I could send an SOS to Mark. He’d take pity on my poor caffeine-impoverished soul.

In my haste to exit the apartment, I’d left my phone upstairs, so I sat at my desk, woke my iMac, and pulled up the messenger. My mood immediately improved as I sat at my drafting-style desk. It had been a gift, an olive branch of sorts, from my father. It sat situated to provide the perfect vantage point of the studio and the portrait of my aunt Olivia.

She was the reason Clique existed. The studio had been her baby, her heart and soul. I’m just the lucky fuck she shared it all with. It never failed—whenever I thought about her life and the legacy she left behind, I was filled with gratitude and a sense of pride that I hadn’t let her down. Raising my cup, I said in toast, “We’re still quite the team.”

Tap, tap, tap.

Startled, I swung in the direction of the front window, sloshing the mediocre brew onto my hand and sending it dripping down my arm. “Dammit.”

Who in the world would come by at this hour? I glanced at the clock to see it was just after eight in the morning. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the crack of dawn. But still. I wanted to ignore the person tapping. I gave it consideration, even as I reluctantly shuffled closer. A scratching sound drew my gaze lower. As soon as I caught sight of Lulu’s electric blue eyes, I damn near skipped my happy ass to the door and yanked it open. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Brandon’s chuckle did funny things to my chest… and a fair bit lower. “I can see that.” He tipped his head meaningfully. I followed his gaze and looked down at myself—naked but for the bright blue boxers sporting an ape handling a very large banana.

Doh!

I was sorely tempted to gasp and cover myself, or at least puff out my chest and tighten the muscles in my gut. Thankfully I knew better than to even try it. Nothing to do but brazen it out. But that didn’t stop the blush spreading across my chest in unfortunate splotches. “It’s cold out here, come on in.”

I stepped back, let them into the studio, and quickly locked the door. Before I could turn, I found myself pressed against the frigid glass with his warm body covering me from behind. His beard tickled my shoulder as Brandon nuzzled into my neck. “Not that I’m complaining about the view, but maybe you should put on some clothes.”

That sounded like the worst idea. Ever. I decided that maybe he needed some help with ideas. I had loads of them. One particular load I’d be happy to share. I arched my spine, tipping my ass up. All the better to grind back against him. He groaned and started sucking a spot on my neck.