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Mr. Gage threw me a bone, alright. He threw me a boner, led my hand straight to it in that bathroom stall, and he commanded me to make hand-love to it.
And it took everything in me not to just sink to my knees right there in that stall and wrap my lips around whatever he was packing.
“Coffee pop?” offers the redhead Jimmy, producing a lollipop from thin air. I suppress a grimace and shake my head no. He slaps it right into his mouth with a shrug.
His lips around the lollipop definitely don’t make me think of the “lollipop” I felt in Mr. Gage’s underwear. And when Jimmy starts to less-than-decently suck on that lollipop like he’s trying to make it come coffee bean babies down his throat, I don’t think of the sound of Mr. Gage’s cock spanking my tongue.
Oh, great. I’m thinking about spanking now.
“So?” prompts Elijah, pulling my attention back to him.
I sigh. “His methods are pretty straightforward. He’s …” I clear my throat. “He can be aggressive when it comes to … handling his clients.” I picture him slamming me against the bathroom wall. Aggressively. “He … acts fast.” Ben’s face darts at mine, an animal latching onto his prey, consuming me. “He acts … intelligently …”
I don’t have an image of Ben for that last one.
Because what he did was stupid. And what he said to me, even stupider. Really, how in twenty gay hells could he possibly believe that a guy like me planned some great seduction of the one and only Benjamin Gage? If I was that cunning, I would have ten CEOs wrapped around my fingers by now and a mansion in the Fijis.
At least, I think I might. If I was a master flirt, maybe. Which I’m not. I’m as flirty as a spatula.
And there’s nothing sexy about a spatula.
If Benjamin was smart, he would have apologized for all the weirdness, acknowledged how we both made a mistake in not knowing who the other one was Friday night, and then shook hands and agreed to be professional.
Instead, he chewed me up like salt water taffy and spat me into a bin of gay sugar. That’s all I am now. I’m sugarcoated in longing, frustration, and a desperate, mounting need to get off.
I hate you, Benjamin Gage.
Now everything is complicated, and I don’t know what to do. This was the dream opportunity that thousands of other students would have killed for, and my chance got ruined before it even started. The boss man himself, who I’d anticipated meeting and impressing for months, turns out to be nothing but a controlling man who wants to use me like a piece of meat.
That last sentence shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does.
I’m just his piece of meat.
My face flushes with my inner humiliation.
“Well, I think he’s going to need some help with this client,” chimes in the bearded, blond Brandon sitting next to Jimmy. “I stayed after a bit to poke Mr. Gage’s brilliant brain. Really, you have to wonder if a man like that was just born with his talent, or if he developed it meticulously over time and experience …”
“Oh, God,” groans Ashlee, the green-eyed intern with the curly dark hair and silky russet skin. “If your nose was any farther up the boss’s butt, you’d smell his last three ex-boyfriends.”
Jimmy spits out his coffee pop and Elijah spurts out his drink, guffawing so loudly that we draw the (annoyed) attention of two nearby tables, who I’m sure were busy discussing the intricacies of green tea and its political influence on western civilization.
Brandon narrows his eyes at Ashlee. “Go ahead, make your little jokes. You’re just jealous that I was first to get picked to sit in on a conference room meeting.”
“Taylor over here was picked, too. I don’t see him gloating,” she returns with a challenging lift of her eyebrows.
I lick my lips. “I-It’s Trevor.”
She eyes me, her green irises flashing. “Oh, I’m sorry. Shit. This whole time I thought your name was Taylor.” I smile and give her a shrug. “You and Elijah are good friends? He was telling me.”
“Yeah, childhood friends,” I confirm, looking back and forth between the pair of them. Elijah watches as she speaks, a weird little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Ashlee sucks in her bottom lip as her legs squeeze together, like they can’t decide whether to cross or not.
I’m pretty sure what I’m witnessing is a straight world mating ritual, but I leave it alone because I’m suddenly thinking about a strange mating ritual of my own: the one where Ben thought it was a good idea to plunge into a bathroom stall with me and make quick work of my mouth after accusing me of being a scheming ho, more or less. God, if he was anyone else in the world, I would have welcomed the opportunity to drop before him and pull that big cock of his free.
