Page 7 of My Dear Mr. Corporate

He went silent and I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or to be grateful for his honesty.

“Answer the question, Tate.”

“Alright, fine!” he growled at me in his usual surly way. “I do want to have sex with you. Nothing new. I like having you beneath me. Everything seems fucking perfect with the world when I’m inside you like that. But, no, I don’t expect you to sleep with me just because I handed you a credit card. I think of you more highly than that.” He paused, and I thought he was finished, but then he added. “It would be nice though to have you again, especially since we did that check-up together last week. I want you. Bareback.”

Despite scowling at him my cock stirred to life at his words. “That’s it. Please take back this card.”

“What do you want me to do? Lie?” Tate asked, easing to a pause at the stop light. “I am being honest with you about how I feel. It’s not strange I want to sleep with you. You already know that. Why is it suddenly an issue because I gave you a means to be independent?”

Except it was a false sense of independence. If I weren’t paying the bill on the credit card, then I was far from independent. I would be just as dependent on Tate as I had been on Keith. My whole goal was not to repeat that story.

“You won’t take back the credit card, will you?” I asked him.

“Nope. I can’t use it with your name on it.”

I bristled. “How did you get my name on it anyway? Don’t you need my signature for things like this?”

“I have my ways.”

Right. Because he was wealthy, he was able to circumvent some rules apparently.

“I’m not going to use it,” I told him firmly.

“Great. As I said, it’s your decision. I’ll stay out of it.”

Prolonging the conversation was unlikely to change Tate’s mind. Or mine. With a heavy sigh, I slipped the credit card into the satchel where it would remain untouched. Ignoring him, I flipped open a small notepad where I had made some jottings about the company I would be interviewing with. Ingram Smart Technology Solutions was a technology and consulting firm looking for administrative support given their recent expansion in San Diego. I felt things shifting for the better when I had been called about the interview. Once I had this job I could feel less like I took too much from my relationship with Tate while giving him so little in return.

Half an hour later, Tate pulled in front of the office building and plucked the notepad from my hand. “Relax,” he told me. “We’ve been through this. Didn’t I walk you through the scenarios last night?”

Oh yes, he had and while he had played the difficult boss to impress, I had felt the urge to impress him in a different way. Tate playing a frowning boss was hot as hell. I had wanted to wipe the frown from his face and while I knew exactly what to do to get rid of it, I was bound by my own no-sex rule.

“Yes, you did.” I smiled gratefully at him and wondered if we ended up together for our lifetime, if this would always be the roles between us. I was a worrier. Tate was calmer and settled me effortlessly.

“Good. Now go ace that interview.”

His confidence in me was refreshing and I couldn’t resist leaning sideways towards him. He understood my body language well and leaned into me to meet me halfway. Our lips found each other’s, and I rested a hand on his muscled shoulder that his jacket could not hide. He deepened the kiss and I allowed him because we were out in the open, and he could not drag me off to bed where I would be too weak to say no.

“Fuck, I wish I had you at home,” he mumbled against my lips. “You’re a tease, Bryan Cummings. Why don’t you kiss me like this when we are home alone?”

I meant to apologize to him, but without warning he parted my jacket and ran his hands up my chest. He found my nipples and clenched them with the right amount of pressure— hard enough for a little hurt to mingle with the pleasure.

Before I could chastise him— or encourage him, a horn honked from somewhere behind us. Tate released my nipples but not without giving them an extra twist.

“You should go,” he motioned toward the entrance of the building, “before that idiot behind us gets out of his car. I hardly want to face him with a hard on.”

I didn’t bother to point out we were in the wrong. I got out of the car and gave Tate a light wave. My throat still felt too constricted for me to say goodbye. With shaky legs and uncomfortably tight pants which were not this close-fitting this morning when I stepped into them, I climbed the wide steps and entered the building.

At the front desk, I introduced myself and stated my purpose before being given a visitor’s pass and told to take a seat until it was time. By my watch, I had fifteen minutes to spare before the interview would begin. I initially planned to go over some of the information I had stored in my head, preparing for the inquisition that was to come, but instead, I was consumed with thoughts of Tate. I would condition my mind to think of a specific question Tate had asked me last night before I remembered his lips pressed against mine. How much longer would I be able to keep up our relationship without indulging in the sexual fantasies I had of him?

No sex seemed to have heightened my awareness of Tate’s sexuality and I found odd things he did every day turned me on. I groaned in dismay. This was hardly the time to ruminate on Tate and sex.

“Mr. Cummings, please come this way.”

Jerked from my thoughts, I tried not to flush to show how far I had been when the receptionist at the front desk called me. I followed her across the wide expanse of free floor space and rounded a corner. She stopped at a door and knocked.

“Mr. Ingram is inside waiting for you,” she stated and pushed the door open before she left.

I entered the office, uncomfortable at doing so since she hadn’t introduced me. I didn’t want to intrude on the man, but she had stated he was waiting for me.

---