Masked Love - An MM Halloween Fake Date with the Boss by Courtney W. Dixon

Author:Courtney W. Dixon [Dixon, Courtney W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-09-20T00:00:00+00:00

Now I was at home. Good drinks, good music, and a gorgeous man next to me tapping his fingers on my knee to the beat of the music, making my stomach twist and turn—a feeling I hadn’t felt in years. And while the band was fantastic, I couldn’t take my eyes off Greyson.

He had peeled off his mustache at some point, and his jacket was slung over the chair with his shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing surprisingly strong forearms. I’d always been a sucker for forearms, along with my obvious love of asses, and Greyson had a fantastic ass, at least from what I’d observed when he wasn’t looking.

How had things developed so quickly between us? One minute, he was my assistant, and the next, I wanted to take him home and turn him into a blissed-out wreck. Then, have him wake up curled around me the following day.

He must have noticed me staring at him like a creep because he turned to face me and smiled. “What?”

I leaned in close as my stomach knotted. I was a confident man, and I knew what I wanted, but this was a touchy part. Regardless, I wanted to be upfront, so I leaned in close to hear me over the music. “I want to take you home.”

His face deflated, but he quickly smiled at me and nodded. What did that mean? Did he not want to? Shit. Was I being too forward or presumptuous? We didn’t have to have sex, but god, did I want to. Regardless, I could wait.

“I mean… you don’t have to. I just thought the night was going great, and I wasn’t ready to take you home yet.”

His eyes widened. “Oh… Oh! I thought you wanted to take me home, home, and I wasn’t ready to do that yet.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve been clearer. No, Greyson, I want you to come back to my place.”

“Yes, please.”

My smile was crooked as I tugged him up by his hand and threaded our fingers together. He quickly gathered his things, and we rushed out of there with a quick wave goodbye to Ty.

“I only live a few blocks away.”

“Wait, you live right in the heart of the French Quarter?”

“I do. I saved every penny I earned from Nomadology to buy the place a couple of years ago.”

We quickly walked the five blocks it took to get to my place, dodging in and out of the rowdy and drunk crowd in silence, lost in arousing thoughts about all the things I wanted to do to him, and to feel him wrapped around me. Or, hell, I could wrap around him. I didn’t care as long as I got to have him.

We approached my old home, which was built in the late 1800s, but had been refurbished ten years ago. It cost me a pretty penny, but it was totally worth it. The house had been restored to its original splendor and was over five thousand square feet. The outside had been painted white with black shutters and a black wrought-iron railing around the second-story balcony.

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