Bound by Lies (11 page)

What does it matter if there are no patrons whispering about Cry Baby Braydy and snickering behind their drinks, when Jenner has taken advantage of him in a way no bully ever could? For years, he thought he was better than that, that when it was just him, alone, he would never choose cruelty and selfish pleasure over the well-being of someone smaller than him and much less able to defend himself. What Jenner did to Brayden was so much worse than tripping him in a hallway or calling him names for the amusement of the crowd. He violated a sacred trust.

Mid-way through the night, he runs into Max in the hallway.

She confronts him with, “What’s going on with you? You’re acting really squirrely, and—”

“Fuck off,” he snaps, regretting it instantly. Too prideful to apologize, Jenner also feels like it’s partially Max’s fault that he went to Manse in the first place, looking to get laid at her suggestion.

“Jenner,” she starts, taken aback.

Rolling his eyes at it all, he storms away and goes back to work.

The busier his hands are—pouring drinks, collecting money, restocking—the more the shame dulls. He gets lost in it, and soon the end of the shift is nigh. They lock up at one in the morning. In a semblance of apology for earlier he sends Max home rather than expecting her to clean up at all. Quietly but diligently, he and Brayden perfunctorily clean up the bar. Jenner tells Brayden he can take off but Brayden only shrugs and keeps going, muttering something about wanting to feel like he’s earned his good tips. Jenner can feel Brayden keeping an eye on him but is thankful that he doesn’t pry.

Once things are in order, Jenner goes to help Art finish in the kitchen and locks up the night’s earnings in the safe. It’s almost two when Jenner groans with weariness and shuffles into the break room to get his wallet and keys and head upstairs to bed.

“You look tired,” Brayden observes.

Jenner starts with shock, having thought he was alone. Turning, he finds Brayden sitting on the bench across from the lockers.

“Brayd. Christ, you scared me. I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

With a half-smile, Brayden says, “Yeah, I was on my way. Just started thinking about stuff and, I don’t know. Guess I’m not in a huge rush to get back to that old room in my Nana’s house. Need some time to unwind after work, you know? It’s hard to do when you have to be quiet as a mouse or risk waking people up.”

Undoing the clasp to the chain around his neck, on which is strung the key to his locker, Jenner says, “Mm. I can imagine. I know what it’s like to crave privacy, your own space.”

He gets the key and uses it to open his locker. In a swift movement, he twists his dirty, sweaty, black work-shirt up over his head.

“Look, I’m sorry if I was short with you at all earlier. It’s just been one of those days. It wasn’t…”

The words trail off. Brayden has suddenly gotten to his feet, facing Jenner, frowning and tensed with fear, his chest rising and falling visibly as his breath quickens.

“…personal,” Jenner finishes lamely. “What?”

Brayden’s eyes are locked to the tattoo above Jenner’s heart.

A single word.

A woman’s name.

Bette

Jenner follows the stare. Understanding blooms like a flower finding the sun.

“Fuck.”

“
It was you
.”

It’s said softly, those three little words of accusation, but they cut Jenner deeply. The stricken paleness of Brayden’s suntanned face tells Jenner everything. His expression, his hurt, is a perfect reflection of all of the boys like Patrick, who have become trapped in Jenner’s conscience. Just one more person Jenner has wounded by not being honest and standing up for what he knows is right. He should have made Brayden’s feelings the priority over his own and pulled Brayden aside privately to confess. His failure to show Brayden even that much respect just tells Jenner that he is, at heart, exactly the kind of person he has always secretly despised. He is cruel, and selfish, and hurtful. Brayden’s green eyes dart side-to-side, his gaze skittering around once freeing itself from the tattoo, seeking the exit, an answer. In that moment, Jenner knows he has become Brayden’s tormentor. He’s not Brayden’s boss, he’s just the guy trying to make Brayden look the fool, knocking him down a few pegs and reminding him that he’s not as strong as he hoped he was.

“I can explain,” Jenner hears himself saying, wondering if it’s true, if there’s anything at all he can say to explain himself.

His mouth working, at first, Brayden makes no sound. He blinks, dazed, looking lightheaded, upset and overwhelmed. “No,” he manages.

Brayden bolts for the room’s one exit.

Jenner is ready for him, though. His training kicks in and he easily catches Brayden by the forearm when he tries to get past. In a terrible echo of the previous night, Jenner gets hold of Brayden’s other arm as well and twists them up behind his back, putting any doubt that might linger to rest.

Brayden moans. The sound shakes Jenner to the soul.

But, unlike the previous night, Jenner is free of the hood and all is silent. There’s no noise to hide behind. Every breath can be heard. Every gasp and whisper. Jenner’s lips move against the irresistible soft cascade of sun-kissed hair by Brayden’s ear and Brayden is barely fighting him, but Jenner can feel him trembling.

“
Please
,” Jenner begs.

Brayden’s skin pebbles under Jenner’s palms. Though he tugs at his trapped arms, Brayden finds he is held tight. Eyes closed, barely breathing, he hisses, “You. You
knew
?”

“Of course I knew.”

“You knew
the whole time
?!”

Sensing Brayden giving in to the raw, scraping madness of terror, Jenner hushes to him, “I’m not going to hurt you.” Looping his right arm around Brayden’s chest, Jenner holds him in a tender embrace and gently drags his thumb over the jackrabbiting of Brayden’s racing heart. “I would never hurt you. I promise that you can trust me.”

There’s no verbal answer but Jenner is strengthened when Brayden is able to take one shaky breath, then another. He’s calming down.

“Come upstairs with me and we can talk about this in private. We don’t have privacy here. Max and Art have keys. They could come back if I don’t return home soon. That’s important to you too, right? Being discreet?”

Brayden makes a small, hurt sound low in his throat. His eyes are still squeezed tightly shut.

“I can be very discreet,” Jenner promises, knowing Brayden will likely have bruises on his arms in the morning and trying not to become perversely aroused at the idea. “You’re safe with me. If I was going to take advantage of you, I’d have done it already.”

The realization of this sinks in, slow and deep. In that moment, as Brayden debates his choices, Jenner senses the distinct power shift between them, no longer simply employer and employee, or strangers meeting anonymously as Master and slave for one night of indulgence. Physically and financially, Brayden is trapped. Jenner feels the power that he has over Brayden. It thrums under his palms with the beating of Brayden’s heart. Little Brayden is fully cognizant that the man towering over him is stronger, quicker, and could do literally anything he wanted. There is nothing that could be done to stop it. There are no beseeching words Brayden could speak or actions he could take to get him out of this if Jenner didn’t want to let him go.

Jenner Parrish feels the precise moment when Brayden Clare becomes truly afraid of him.

There is no verbal agreement. Jenner gathers his things and Brayden, shell-shocked, follows him upstairs. They exit the bar and the door leading to the apartment is right there. Jenner unlocks the bolt and flips the switch for the overhead light. They climb the steps in silence and Jenner leads the way inside, flipping light switches as they go.

“I thought you lived with Max and Art,” Brayden says with a hollow, emotionless tone, hovering by the exit.

“Yeah. I do. But I inherited this place along with the bar and I’ve been trying, unsuccessfully, to rent it. Lately, I’ve liked using it to be alone.”

He drops his keys and wallet in the kitchen and returns to Brayden who retreats a few steps as Jenner gets too close. Determined, and now with first-hand experience with techniques that successfully calm Brayden down when he’s looking skittish, Jenner advances, backing him up to the wall. Each step ratchets up the tension in Brayden’s body, increases the volume of the desperate energy he gives off. When they are chest-to-chest with Jenner bearing down on him, Brayden seems on the verge of tears.

Calmly, slowly, Jenner guides Brayden’s arms up, clasping his hands and holding them tightly to the wall. Fitting a knee between his thighs, Jenner draws it up snug to Brayden’s crotch. His blush deepens but each subsequent breath becomes more even. Brayden stares at Jenner’s chest.

“Who’s Bette? A girlfriend?”

Jenner chuckles. “I’m queer. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

Brayden’s lips pucker slightly. “Oh.”

“Bette is my mother’s name. And just like almost everyone else in my life, she thinks I’m straight.”

For a long moment, neither of them say anything. Brayden trembles restlessly under Jenner’s hold, refusing to look him in the eye. Jenner imagines that he’s reliving it, the things they did in that room, only now inserting Jenner Parrish as his counterpart. Jenner gives him time.

“I didn’t tell anyone I was going to Manse last night,” Brayden whispers.

“Neither did I. It just happened. I saw you and I—”

Jenner stops himself abruptly, before he can let on more than he wants to.

“What? And you what?”

“And I,” he sighs, “didn’t want anyone else touching you.”

Then he
knows
Brayden is reliving it. He exhales sharply and bucks, fighting hard against Jenner’s grip, which only tightens, his knee grinding up into Brayden’s testicles, drawing a hard grunt.

“Should I let you go? We can sit down and talk about this.”

The particular phrasing of Jenner’s words pierces the fog clouding Brayden’s mind. For the first time since they walked into the apartment, he looks up at Jenner’s face. Brayden shrinks back at the hunger revealed in Jenner’s dark blue eyes, but perseveres. “I need this job,” he confesses like a damned man.

“Fuck the job,” Jenner scoffs. “This isn’t about the damned job. I’m not firing you and I won’t use this as any sort of leverage against you. This is strictly personal. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now. Should I let you go?”

It all catches up with Brayden, visibly overwhelming him. He sucks in a rough breath and holds it, blinking back tears.

Concerned, desperate to help and somehow make things better, but not sure how, Jenner lets him go but stays where he is. “Hey. Better or worse? Braydy, better or worse?”

“Worse,” he chokes.

Jenner takes a backward step.

“Worse!”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay.”

Suspecting that seeing someone so much larger than himself looming over him, big as life, might be part of Brayden’s problem, Jenner turns Brayden to face the wall. Holding both of Brayden’s wrists in one hand, Jenner traps them over his captive’s head, against the wall, as if stringing him up by them and letting him hang there.

“B-better,” Brayden murmurs.

Jenner reaches around and palms Brayden through his jeans. Closing his hand, grabbing hold, he rolls the flesh. It jumps and thickens with interest.

“Better?”

Releasing his handful for only a second, Jenner pops the fly of Brayden’s jeans and slips his hand inside Brayden’s boxers instead.

“
Jenner
,” Brayden gasps, his voice breaking on the first syllable.

They’re skin to skin, with no glove between them this time. Fondling Brayden’s cock, gently coaxing him harder, Jenner rasps, “Better or worse?”

Brayden moans.

When Brayden is fully erect, his dick straining up into the air and throbbing, Jenner lets go of it. Keeping his left hand locked securely around Brayden’s wrists, Jenner begins to slide Brayden’s pants and underwear lower on his hips, past the curve of his ass.

“You know I got off on watching you. That’s what I wanted. That was my fantasy. And it came true. I came so fucking hard last night, seeing you ride my hand. I licked your come from the glove after you left.”

“
Jesus
.”

“You tasted
so good
.”

Brayden shudders and writhes, becoming restless again now that his genitals and ass have been carefully exposed and, for what purpose, he doesn’t yet know. Jenner stills him by bracing a knee between his legs, pinning the clothing puddled around mid-thigh to the wall and thereby further restraining Brayden. Once Brayden feels his range of movement restricted he calms again. Jenner makes mental note of it. Clearly, Brayden responds well to high protocol when trying to cope with stress. It was the same at Manse, when he asked for the restraints.

“How long have you been a slave? Who trained you?”

Brayden shakes his head, grunts, “No one.”

Softly, soothingly, Jenner says, “I’ve been a Master for five years, and I trained at Manse, under a man named David, but I’ve never taken a slave of my own for more than a single night, because I hadn’t found the right one. This’ll be our second night together, slave. That means something to me. Now, my job is to take care of you and make you as comfortable as possible. You respond well to restraints. That’s good. I want all of your focus on me right now. Nothing else. No one else. Can you do that for me?”