Brave Boy (Perfect Boys Book 2)

by K. M. Neuhold

  “Since when is that your drink?” he asks, eyeing me curiously.

  “It’s not for me.”

  He sighs, and I bristle a little. Doesn’t the man have his hands full with his own boy without worrying about who I’m interested in?

  “He’s really sweet and innocent as hell,” he reminds me as if we haven’t had this conversation a dozen times since he brought Em into the office six months ago to give a presentation on mobile libraries that we all agreed to invest in. “Not to mention, we’re financial backers for this mobile library project, which makes things very murky from an ethical standpoint. You wouldn’t want him to feel pressured into anything.”

  “Does Sterling feel pressured by our financial backing?” I counter.

  “That’s different. We were together before the firm invested in their idea,” he reasons, and I snort. Clearly, I’m not going to argue him out of this idea that he needs to protect Em from my big, bad Daddying.

  “I hear you,” I finally say, just to end the lecture. “It’s just a drink, not a collar or a ring, okay?” I pour myself a bourbon, and Barrett nods.

  It’s a moot point, anyway, considering there’s still an even chance the boy is absolutely terrified of me. And even if he wasn’t, I have no idea if he’s interested in the lifestyle at all. This could all very well be a dead-end crush.

  Chapter 2

  Emerson

  I stumble out of the Uber outside of my apartment building, stuttering a thank you to the driver and then fumbling in my pockets in search of my keys.

  I didn’t plan to drink that dang much, but every time I held my empty glass out to Kiernan, he offered to get me a refill instantly. There was something incredibly heady about the way he jumped to take care of me over and over with little more than a look. I’m sure he was only being polite, but it didn’t stop my stomach from fluttering and my cock from getting excited about the whole thing. Unfortunately, that meant I drank way too much and had to get an Uber home. Not my finest moment.

  Kiernan offered to drive me, but I clammed up and blushed so hard I’m surprised I didn’t faint, and then I shook my head no without thinking. It’s for the best anyway, god knows the ways I would’ve found to embarrass myself if I’d accepted a ride from him.

  I keep one hand on the wall to prevent the hallway from spinning as I make my way up to the second floor.

  I barely had the courage to say more than a few words to Kiernan all night, but for some reason, he still stayed close, always seeming to be watching me. Not in a creepy way…in a very hot, very not creepy way. So basically, I’m drunk and horny and now home all alone.

  Story of my fucking life.

  I clumsily kick off my shoes as soon as I’m inside my apartment, letting the door swing closed behind me. I drop my keys haphazardly and shuffle straight for my bedroom, absently palming my half-hard cock through my jeans. I spent half the night spinning impossible fantasies in my mind starring the giant ginger deity, and now I want to do something about them. Well, I want to do two things about them.

  As soon as I’m in my bedroom, I strip out of my tight jeans, so I’m more comfortable, and then I climb into bed. It takes me a minute to arrange my pillows, so they’re propped up against the headboard. Then I reach over to grab my laptop off my nightstand, my mind already conjuring the words my fingers are itching to type.

  Long before I owned the bookstore, I started another career. A secret career I have to this day…

  I open the doc I’ve been working in and quickly fall right back into the story of a shy, secretly filthy boy being seduced by a Daddy who looks remarkably like a Viking. People always say to write what you know, after all.

  My fingers fly over the keys, setting the scene with the two main characters being thrown together at a party for a mutual friend. That’s where the similarities to real life leave off and my own fantasies take over.

  The boy in the story decided to be very naughty before the party and put in his favorite remote-controlled vibrating butt plug. The only problem is, he’s lost the remote and is now desperately trying to find it before someone else does. Oh, you sweet boy, you are in for a ride. I imagine myself and Kiernan in place of the characters, and I grin wickedly as the Daddy stumbles on the remote and starts to work out what it is.

  “No, no, no. It has to be here somewhere,” Paul mutters frantically, doing his best to retrace his steps through the house. He’s sure he had it when he arrived. He’d stood on the front porch and fingered the remote in his pocket, getting hard at the thought of no one knowing his dirty little secret. That’s the last time he can remember having it though.

  He clenches around the plug, feeling an odd sort of comfort from the fullness of it. It’s seated against his prostate, the perfect size to vibrate right against his bundle of nerves if he presses the button. In fact, every step he takes has the toy rubbing against him, keeping him horny all night long.

  Paul shuffles down the hallway to the bathroom, hoping the remote fell out of his pocket when he used it earlier. But the bathroom is bare. He sighs in frustration, leaning against the sink and closing his eyes. He doesn’t even hear the creek of the door open until Leif’s large form is filling the doorway.

  Paul peeks one eye open and finds the tall, broad, mouth-watering man with something in his hand.

  “Missing something, sweetheart?” he asks with a wicked smirk, pressing the button. The toy vibrates to life inside Paul, sending a jolt through his body.

  “Ooh,” he moans, clutching the sink tighter, his cock jerking and his whole body heating all at once.

  “You know, you should really be more careful where you leave these types of things.” Leif presses the button again, ramping up the vibration until Paul is panting and fighting back desperate moans, shamelessly canting his hips and biting into his bottom lip.

  I groan at my own words on the screen, pulling one hand off the keyboard to shove it into my own underwear, sighing at the relief of wrapping my fingers around my aching cock. My nipples are hard, rubbing against the soft fabric of my T-shirt, my skin hot and my hole fluttering jealously at not being filled like the boy in the story.

  As my eyelids drift closed, I let myself pretend for a second that Kiernan really was looking at me with lust tonight. That he would happily corner me in a bathroom and force me to orgasm over and over until my underwear is absolutely soaked with cum, and I’m begging him to take pity on my over-sensitive prostate and achingly empty balls.

  My cock jerks in my fist, and I shove my laptop aside, spreading my legs and stroking myself faster. My breath speeds up, too, my body thrumming and my balls tightening from the impossible fantasy I’ve lost myself in.

  I gasp and moan, thrusting into the tunnel of my hand as I picture Kiernan’s eyes clouded with lust, a large bulge in the front of his own pants as he cranks up the vibrations again until I fall to my knees in front of him and come one last time, sobbing and breathless and utterly spent.

  I cry out, my cock pulsing in my grip as cum spills over my knuckles and makes my underwear wet and sticky. I stroke myself until my cock starts to soften, and then I slip out of my underwear, using them to mop up the rest of my cum before tossing them aside.

  I wish I could say I feel better after coming my brains out, but I feel strangely empty and more than a little lonely.

  Not in the mood to write anymore, I reach over and close my laptop. Then I pull my body pillow to my chest and cuddle it tight, closing my eyes and pretending it’s the Daddy I’ve spent years dreaming of. He never had a face before, just a strong, gentle, perfect man who would love me. He has a face now, but I doubt it will ever be anything more than a fantasy.

  Kiernan

  My footsteps echo eerily through my empty house as I walk down the hall, loosening the buttons on my shirt as I make my way toward my bedroom. When I bought this house ten years ago, I imagined extravagant kink parties with beautiful boys, adorable puppies, blushing subs, and every manner of adoring Dom filling the
multitude of rooms and spilling out onto the pool deck out back. That dream has come to fruition more times than I can count, ghosts of parties past still imprinted in my memory.

  In the last year, I’ve grown a bit tired of the parties. In fact, in the last twelve months, I’ve held only one.

  I reach my bedroom and sit down on the foot of my custom-made bed, twenty-five percent larger than a California King and just about the most comfortable thing in existence. I pull off one shoe, then the other, and then finish unbuttoning my shirt so I can shrug it off.

  I might have bought the place with a dream of filling it with fun and friends, but the only thing I can think of now when I look around my empty rooms is how much I want a boy of my own to share my home and my life. I want what Barrett has with Sterling. I want it so badly that my chest literally aches with it when I let myself think about it too hard.

  Once I’ve stripped down to my boxers, I pick up my phone and frown at the lack of notifications. Not that I was expecting any, not rationally anyway. But when Sterling put a drunk and sloppy Emerson into an Uber, I itched to demand the boy text me to let me know he got home safe. Of course, I didn’t do that because it’s not my place. Hell, he looked absolutely petrified when I offered to give him a ride myself, which is a big enough sign that I should back off and get over this crush.

  With a sigh, I climb into bed. It’s late, and it’s been a long damn day, but my brain isn’t quite ready to sleep yet. I prop one arm under my head and pull up my M4M app out of habit, navigating right to the kinky section and scrolling absently for boys in my area.

  I’ve never had any trouble finding partners. Right now, there are dozens of boys active online, advertising that they’re looking for a spanking or a quick and dirty fuck. I could message any of them, and no doubt have company in minutes flat. I’m good-looking and, apparently, red hair is in at the moment. And even if I wasn’t a fox, my money is more than enough to draw boys in like bees to honey. But no amount of good looks or zeros in my bank account has gotten me the right boy yet.

  I scroll for a few more minutes, not truly looking, just going through the motions of a decade-long habit before closing the app and tossing my phone aside.

  I’m too restless to sleep and not in the mood to find a hookup or jerk off… Another drink might do the trick; I only had one at the party. But considering my father was an alcoholic, I try not to get into the habit of letting alcohol solve any of my problems.

  With an irritated grunt, I throw back my covers and climb back out of bed. There’s only one solution tonight. Well, two solutions, but calling Sterling and demanding to know where Emerson lives so I can drive over there and make sure he got home safe isn’t an option, at least not a rational one.

  I get out of bed and strip my underwear off, tossing them into the pile with the rest of my discarded clothes. One of the things I loved the most about this house when I bought it was that the master bedroom has a door that leads to the pool out back.

  It’s a warm night, the smell of the pool and summer air filling my lungs as I step outside. My house is far enough outside the city that there’s a beautiful array of stars overhead and plenty of privacy.

  I clearly have a one-track mind tonight because even as I approach the pool, getting ready to dive into the lukewarm water, I imagine Emerson wet and naked, splashing in the pool and beckoning me to join him for a swim.

  How have I developed such an obsession with a boy I hardly know? Am I truly shallow enough that his adorable T-shirts and sinful lips are enough to inspire such single-minded thoughts of him?

  I dive into the water, the slight chill of it enough to clear some of my thoughts. I quickly lose track of how many laps I swim, back and forth, until my muscles are aching and the restlessness is starting to ease out of me. I’m also graced with enough clarity to see that the only true solution to this little obsession of mine is to get to know Emerson better. Either it will cure me of the fantasy I’m holding of him, or I’ll get the chance to woo him. I would consider either outcome a win at this point.

  With a plan in place and my energy spent, I get out of the pool and grab a towel to dry off. This time, when I fall into bed, sleep pulls me under. Of course, even then, I have dreams of the boy I’m not sure I’ll ever have.

  Chapter 3

  Emerson

  I shuffle through my morning routine, guzzling down coffee and helping customers with a tired smile on my face. I’ve been up way too late the past few nights in a row, writing and thinking about a certain ginger man I really shouldn’t be thinking about.

  I yawn and shoot the woman I’m ringing up an apologetic smile before bagging her books and handing her the receipt.

  “T-thanks for coming to Unicorn B-b-b-books.” She’s barely out the door before another yawn stretches my jaw.

  “Late night?” Sterling asks, waggling his eyebrows at me. When we first met, he was so shy; now he assumes every sleepless night is the fun kind. That Daddy of his has corrupted him, I swear. And by the smile on his face, I’m pretty sure he likes it.

  “Yes, b-but not for any fun reason.” Unless you count writing a five-thousand-word sex scene and then riding my dildo until I passed out at three in the morning to be fun. It wasn’t not fun, but it definitely would’ve been more if I hadn’t been all alone.

  “Bummer.” He returns to shelving the new stock of books we just got in.

  The bell over the door jingles and I paste on a fresh smile and turn to greet the new customer.

  “W-w-welcome to Uni—” The words dry up on my lips when my brain registers who just walked through the door. Kiernan is taking in the store with an appraising eye while all six and a half feet of solid muscle and wild red hair fills my doorway.

  “Emerson,” he purrs my name in a way that heats me up from head to toe, making me all the more flustered and unable to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Nice place.” He grins, giving the small store another quick once-over and then striding toward the counter.

  Shit, shit, shit. My face is burning hot, my stomach twisting itself in knots as I try not to hyperventilate. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why this man, in particular, makes me so nervous. I’m never great around hot men, but I can usually get out enough words and keep myself from having a full-on meltdown long enough to get them into bed.

  Maybe it’s because he’s the first Daddy I’ve knowingly interacted with. I don’t just want to get words out; I want them to be the right words.

  “I was hoping you could help me. I’ve joined an online book club, and it’s my turn to choose the book for us to read, and I’m blanking on everything other than kinky, gay erotica.” He lowers his voice on the last few words, adding enough weight to them that they feel like they’re reaching out and effortlessly stroking my cock to life.

  I shift closer to the register, hoping the counter will hide the bulge forming in the front of my jeans.

  “W-w-wwww…” The first word gets stuck, and my skin starts to prickle with anxiety, making it that much harder to try again. I lick my lips and swallow around my dry throat. “G-genre?”

  I hate myself for having to resort to grunting a one-word question, but it’s far less embarrassing than stumbling and stuttering my way through anything more complete.

  “That’s where I’m struggling. So far, the picks have been rather… Well, I’ll just say it, depressing. I want something a little more fun but with enough meat that we can have a good discussion about it.”

  I know just the book for him. It came out a few weeks ago, and I’ve already read it half a dozen times. I want to gush about it, to tell him why it’s my new favorite book, about how the protagonist, who’s desperately trying to find meaning in his life as a twenty-two-year-old gay man with no direction and no plans, ends up accidentally driving the getaway car for a bank robbery, stumbles onto a tour with a rock band, and then finds himself the unwitting leader of a cult, among other zany adventures that ultimately teach him about life and love
and himself.

  I don’t say any of that because I don’t trust myself to get any of it out. Instead, I nod and come around the counter, making a beeline for the shelf where I have copies of Confessions of a F*ck-Up and hand one to him. Kiernan flips the book open to read the description and then peruses the first couple of pages. I watch him shamelessly, my heart fluttering wildly at the amused grin that forms on his lips from the very first sentence.

  “This seems perfect. Thank you.” He shuts the book and leans against the shelf, looking me up and down brazenly before tucking the book under his arm and straightening up.

  I’m still working on getting my tongue to cooperate as I head back to the register to check him out. I cast a quick glance around, wondering where Sterling disappeared to.

  “I meant to ask you at Barrett’s party the other night,” Kiernan says, pulling out his wallet and handing me his credit card to run. “I’d love to take you for coffee sometime.”

  Coffee? He wants to take me for coffee? I will my mouth to form the word yes but end up stumbling over the “e” sound as it drags across my lips and gets stuck.

  To Kiernan’s credit, he stands patiently, not frowning or making irritated noises like some people have done in the past. He simply stands and waits. I lick my lips and try again, but I’m too nervous, my whole body feeling hot and cold all at once.

  I huff in frustration and shake my head sharply. He seems to misinterpret that as my answer to his offer for a date. He frowns just a fraction before putting on a good-natured smile and straightening up. “If you ever change your mind…” He takes his credit card back and hands me a business card instead.

  I take it with a shaky hand, hating my mouth and my brain for screwing me out of this date. He grabs the book, and I curl my fingers tight around the business card so I don’t accidentally lose it. I watch as he leaves, and only then does my tongue manage to unknot itself.