Jensen had simply never fit into society or the places created to meet the needs of the average person. But if Jensen could be in charge of the design, he could rectify that. He could create places that felt safe and just right. Just enough lighting. Just enough sound. Just soft enough for him to soothe his edges that always felt raw after going out into a world that was too bright and loud and hard.
But he hadn’t been allowed to do that. Not since his first assignment. For years, he’d been creating places that made his skin crawl, even with his attempts at injecting soul into the soulless, and went against the reason he’d studied so hard. And suddenly, he was angry about it. A living, breathing ball of heat ignited in his chest, and he was so fuckingangry.
He had dreams. He had motivations and goals, and he was accomplishing nothing that mattered to him. Every hoop his boss had requested he jump through, he had. Jensen had worked tirelessly on projects he didn’t care about. He had won awards for his work, been highlighted in publications for his designs. All of which made his firm, and his boss, look good. He’d even flown to a different state to give a speech to hundreds of people, and for what? His boss had never delivered on his promise to give Jensen the opportunities he wanted so badly. He’d never once put his love of art nouveau on paper for his firm. And yet he continued to do whatever was asked of him with nothing of consequence in return.
And for what? Why was he putting his dreams on hold? For a vague promise he was getting a different kind of project after he suffered through this conference? Why did everyone else get what they wanted, in a world that was made for them? And how long was Jensen going to keep playing other people’s games?
“I want to create homes that feel magical.” Jensen was surprised when he heard his own voice. Surprised but not regretful. Screw the right answer this time. Maybe if he said the truth instead, Larsson would shoo him away and he’d be done with this night. “I want to design places that have character and are inspired by nature. I want form that follows function, and where concrete is only used to lay foundations or stabilize the core. I want low ceilings and fixtures that look like flowers and beautiful motifs carved into wood. I want to make places where people stay for long periods of time, not just transitory cafés andlawns with ‘no loitering’ signs. I want to deliver a fantasy that will be used for generations regardless of trends.”
Jensen took a deep breath, ignoring how his hands shook, and looked up at Larsson. Surprisingly, a smile lit up his face, paired with an eager glint in his eye.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Larsson pushed his plate to the side of the table. From the briefcase sitting on one of the unused chairs, he grabbed two items. Carefully, he set down a legal-sized brown envelope on the table and, next to it, Jensen’s book. “I have a proposition for you, Mr. Wilmarth. One I think will benefit both of us.”
8
The hour was latewhen the final light flicked off in the bar. Much later than Daniel had hoped, but he could only stare daggers at the people who continued to order drinks until he was able to announce last call. Things did get a bit testy there at the end when Daniel had considered opening his own wallet in exchange for them getting their asses out. He’d ultimately decided that was a terrible idea and swallowed down his impatience. Never before had he wanted to be finished with a shift so desperately, but it was Jensen’s last night, and he needed to see him.
After a solid two minutes of banging on Jensen’s door, Daniel was about to pilfer the hotel’s safe to get the spare key—his patience finally running out. There wasn’t a single thing that would keep him from his goal tonight, his job be damned.
The door creaked open a few inches, revealing a bed-rumpled Jensen, who was rubbing his eye. “Daniel? Is everything all right?”
Instead of answering, Daniel pushed him into the room. Jensen stumbled back as he closed and locked the door. Streetlights crept around the edges of the heavy curtains,illuminating the room just enough for him to see Jensen’s features.
“What’s going on?” Jensen asked.
“No talking.” Daniel moved forward. When he reached Jensen, he pressed his palm against Jensen’s shirt and continued to push him backward. “You didn’t come see me tonight. I didn’t like that,” he said with a teasing tone, trying to keep the truth from his words. Because the truth was embarrassing and pathetic. He hated that Jensen hadn’t been by to see him since the night before. It made him feel discarded. Forgotten about. It hit too close to home and the way his parents had ignored him the moment he turned eighteen. It opened the newly scarred wounds of being ghosted by all his college friends. It reinforced every demon in his head that joyfully reminded him no one really cared about him. That he was replaceable and forgettable and alone in this world.
But that was too heavy of a train of thought for the night. He didn’t want to wallow in his insecurities or the damage his family had done to him. He wanted to feel Jensen’s skin under his fingertips. He wanted to feel the goose bumps erupt as he played with him. He wanted to see Jensen react to him. To know he forced a reaction in the man.
“I was invited to dinner. I couldn’t say no,” Jensen said as his knees hit the bed.
Daniel shook his head and pushed him down on the blankets. The old springs squeaked as his back bounced on the mattress. With the next heartbeat, Daniel was climbing on, his thighs straddling Jensen’s waist. He ran his hands up his chest, hoping to meet skin. Then down his arms to his wrists.
“You wear a long-sleeve shirt to bed?” Daniel asked, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.
“I like to be covered up. I think having your collarbone showing looks slutty.”
“Heaven forbid anyone suspects you of being a floozy in your own bed.”
Jensen glared at him, a look that lost all venom when paired with his mussed hair.
“Do you think I look slutty?” Daniel ran a finger along his own skin above his shirt’s drooping neckline.
His hand was pushed away by Jensen as he took over, his fingertips brushing along Daniel’s exposed skin. “Yes, and I like it a lot.”
Heat flared in Daniel’s stomach. “Is that what you want? For me to be your slut?”
It was Jensen’s turn to shake his head. He stared at his fingers as he caressed them up Daniel’s neck to stroke his earlobe. Daniel could have purred at the reverent ministrations. “I want so much more than that.”
Daniel leaned down, using one hand to hold himself up and the other to play with the elastic in Jensen’s pajama pants. “What do you want?” he asked, just inches from Jensen’s mouth.
Jensen’s gaze flicked between Daniel’s lips and eyes until he seemed to steel himself. “I want to kiss you.”
Daniel hummed in agreeance and slid his hand up to rest on Jensen’s bare stomach.
“I want to taste your tongue while I take off your clothes. Then I want to flip you over and spread those perky cheeks and push our shared spit into your tight hole. I’m going to eat you out until you’re leaking. I can’t wait to feel you pulsing around my tongue when I finally wrap a hand around you and let you come. Then I’m going to use your sweet cum as lube as I push into you. I’ll take it slow at first while you’re still sensitive, but once you’re hard again, I’m going to rearrange your guts.”
Daniel’s mouth had dropped open at some point. He had certainly not expected that level of dirty talk from Jensen. Really, he’d expected blushing admissions of holding hands andgentle kisses as they fucked missionary. But he could get on board with Jensen’s plans. It wouldn’t be a hardship at all.
