Page 5 of Lying to the Boss

I roll the condom on and replace my fingers with my dick, easily slipping all the way inside. We both let out a contented sigh when my hips meet his ass, and then I fuck him.

Slow. Deep. Hard. He moans and begs for more. Pleads for me to keep going. He’s singing a different tune now that I’m giving him pleasure, and it’s exactly what I expected from him.

“Boys with smart mouths like their holes filled,” I growl. “Don’t they?”

“Yes,” he cries out. “Harder. Please…”

I oblige, and now I’m getting close, so I find his cock with my hand and stroke him along to my thrusts. His cock throbs, growing harder. His hole pulses around my cock. He’s close. So close, and the thought sends a thrill right through me.

I pull him up against me again, going even deeper and stroking him faster. He claws at my arms, moaning loudly as I pound into him and tell him to come for me.

The second I feel his cum pooling into my hand, I detonate, releasing into the condom. I grind into him until we’re both spent and panting.

He falls onto his side, looking up at me with a smirk. “That was better than I expected.”

“And I’m not even done with you yet,” I say with a grin.

Chapter Two

Tage

My alarm goes off, the blaring sound going right through my head. I groan as I search for it on the bed. It’s tangled up in the sheets somewhere, and the noise is only getting louder. I finally find it and swipe the bar to turn the alarm off, then I get out of bed before I fall back asleep and miss this important interview.

I’ve been in Chicago only a few days, using every bit of my savings to stay here while I look for a job. Yeah, I’m kind of doing things backwards, I know. It’s fine. Everything is going to be fine.

I don’t know what it is about Chicago, but it’s called to me since I was a little kid. I always knew I would end up here; I just expected it to be sooner. Life had different plans for me, though. But I’m here now, and I’m doing whatever I can to make my life work.

I set up as many interviews as I could before getting a hotel room at a monthly rate, which was cheaper than paying for it daily, but also more expensive than rent will be. If finding a job takes more than a month, I might be a little fucked—and not in the good way like I was last night.

I’ve already lined up some apartments to look at, which I’ll do this weekend when my interviews are done. I’m hoping everything will line up perfectly and I’ll get a job in enough time to get the money to put down on the apartment when I get approved for it. It’s a stretch, but it’s all I’ve got. Going home isn’t an option. There’s nothing left for me there, and I’m not going to dwell on it or worry about what I left behind. None of that matters anymore. I’m making a future for myself. Something I will be proud of. Something I’ll work hard for.

I take a quick shower to rinse off the night, unable to ignore the ache or the memories that come with it. But that’s the good thing about hook-ups—they’re memories, and you don’t have to worry about seeing them when you don’t want to.

I brush my teeth, apply deodorant, and run some product through my hair before blow-drying it so it sits just right. I’m letting it grow a little more because I have a rebellious streak that won’t die, not even when my parents aren’t around to get annoyed by it. I dress in a pair of slim-fit black slacks, a white button-up, and an emerald-green tie.

I have enough time to grab a banana and a coffee from the hotel breakfast area. It’s included, so I should get what I can. There’s money in my account, but it won’t last long if I spend it on unnecessary things. Once outside, I hail a cab and give them the address of where I need to go.

Traffic isn’t bad, but I’m not going all that far. It’s possible I could have walked, but it’s getting warmer, and the last thing I want to do is show up with sweat stains in all the wrong places.

We pull up in front of a modern glass and steel building. The windows are tinted blue, reflecting all the other buildings around us, similar to the way water does. I pay for my ride and thank the cab driver as I get out.

I pass through a large revolving door and enter a spacious, two-story lobby. A security guard sits in a cubicle to the right, while there is a long reception desk on the left with a waterfall wall behind it. Ahead, beyond a row of windows, is a showroom of hot tubs and lounge chairs. Mock palm trees and sand. Even a tiki bar is in the far back.

There’s a man in a suit speaking with a group of three people, all of whom are well-dressed. This alone tells me all I need to know about this place. Everyone who comes and goes is made of money. I sigh and turn toward the reception desk.

The woman behind it is young, with a light brown bob and bright red lipstick, dressed in a brown plaid skirt suit. She greets me with a kind smile.

“Hi, I have an interview at nine. My name is Tage Briar.”

“Sure, let me just look that up.” She types on her computer, eyes flicking over the screen. “Yes, I see you right here. I just need to print you a badge so you can use the elevator.”

Ah, technology.

“Please move a step to your right so I can take your photo,” she says with her eyes on her monitor.

I stare at the little camera and wait for her to tell me it’s all set. A moment later, I have my badge with a clip to attach it to my shirt and directions to head to the top floor.

There are a few people on the elevator with me: men with ties and women in heels. It moves quickly, stopping on a few floors for the others to get off before bringing me all the way to the top. The doors open to another reception area, this one smaller. There’s a man at the desk. Around my age, dressed similarly, but with dark curly hair and those large glasses that are in style again, but still remind me of Jeffrey Dahmer.