Barton Dwyer owned Dwyer Glass. It was a tiny company, but it was turning a profit, and it was all his. Actually, it was turning such a good profit he really needed to hire an apprentice to help him so he could take on some of the jobs he had to turn down from lack of time, in case his good clients started using other companies. But he was an only child who liked to be alone, had solitary hobbies, and had worked by himself for so long he was wary about adding another person into his daily life. Even little things like would they want the radio on in the truck as they went from job to job or, horror, as they installed glass somewhere. He’d passed work sites with music bellowing out from them, and it made him cringe. The only time he ever turned on his car radio was if he was stuck in traffic and needed to find a better route to wherever he wanted to go. As for listening to music, a few songs on YouTube, and he was over it for another week, or even a month.
So the whole need for a helper was sitting on his to-do list, and he was busy ignoring it. Unfortunately the window he was supposed to bid for was a huge damn thing, and today, someone to hold the end of the damn tape measure would have been very useful. Right then a rather good-looking redheaded man of about his age appeared and handed him a diagram with all the measurements carefully written onto it.
“Quade Carmichael. Here you go.”
Damn. His voice was as sexy as his face. “Barton Dwyer, Dwyer Glass. Why are you giving me this?”
“My grandfather demanded three estimates for the job, and I can’t find three companies to come out and measure and quote. One lot will do it over the Internet though, so I got maintenance to measure the windows for me. You might as well benefit, too.”
“You wanted security glass, right? You realize that stuff”—he pointed to the shards remaining around the hole, currently covered up by plywood—“is not security glass.”
“My point precisely. If it had been, the window might not need repairing.”
The man was as smart as he was good-looking. Barton laughed, hooked his tape measure onto his tool belt, and took out his notepad, pen, and calculator. The window was big and would be a bitch to do alone, but somehow he wanted to do the job instead of taking the sensible option and quoting too high so he didn’t get it. His decision had nothing to do with Mr. Sexy though, of course.
“It’s for both windows. Grandpa agreed to security glass in them both.”
Well damn. He couldn’t possibly do two of them alone. It’d take too long. Unless… He finished his calculations and handed the bid to the redhead. “I can do it on Saturday.”
“I’m pretty busy right now.” And maneuvering that large sheet of heavy security glass will be a bitch of a job alone.
The redhead looked at his estimate and then pulled out his cell phone, typed something in it, and said, “You’re hired. What time Saturday so I can ensure maintenance is here to remove the plywood?”
Barton kept his face still, but he was surprised to have been hired so easily. Companies like this, especially ones where someone else made the decisions, which it sounded as though this man’s grandfather did, often took several days to get back to him. They must have been in a hurry to get the glass repaired. He mentally ran through his costs and checked he hadn’t left something out of his bid, but the figure he’d quoted was correct. “I’ll be here at eight. First job of the day,” he said.
The redhead made a note in his cell phone and nodded. “Great. Thanks.” Then he hurried back inside the building.
After admiring the man’s back view and tight ass, Barton licked his lips, shrugged and walked back to his truck then headed out onto his next job, five miles from there. But thoughts of the redhead swirled in his mind all the rest of the day. The man had been polite and friendly, had a nice voice that sent ripples up his spine, and was well built. Unfortunately he was clearly subservient to his grandfather, yet for some reason Barton found himself liking him. Weird.
Even weirder was the way thoughts of the man’s short red hair, chiseled jaw, and smiling brown eyes came back into his mind again and again as he fitted new windows into a house being remodeled. It was ridiculous. The man meant nothing to him. He’d never see him again. Management types didn’t hang around the office on Saturdays. No, they were on the golf course or taking Junior to soccer. Likely he just needed to get laid. It’d been a while.
“I like the way we think alike,” said Bart, dropping down onto the rug and placing the condoms and lube by the pillows.
Then he looked up at the lights. It was growing dark outside, but the fire burned brightly, and the room was warm. He got back up onto his feet again and walked into the kitchen area until he found the light switches and turned the lights off. Smiling, he made his way back to the rug and said, “That’s more romantic.”
“It’d be even better if we were both naked.”
“Mmm-hmm. Have I mentioned before that I like the way we think alike?” teased Bart. Instead of making a move to get undressed, he spread his legs wide and stood over Quade, just out of reach, his hands on his hips. He stared into Quade’s face, watching Quade’s gaze slide over his body from his face down to his bare toes and then up again, pausing over the growing bulge that was his cock.
Bart’s breath hitched. “Damn, the look on your face is hot.”
“Not as hot as having your cock so close to me but hidden inside those fucking jeans. I thought we were about to get naked?”
“We are. Right now.”
Neither of them moved for a heartbeat, and then Bart reached down to unbuckle his belt while Quade pulled his flannel shirt up over his head and off without undoing any of the buttons at all.
Bart bent down and unzipped Quade’s jeans, smoothing his palm over the soft old fabric encasing a long, thick, and definitely hard ridge. Once again he kept his gaze on Quade and watched his man shiver with lust. The same lust that raced through his own body as he touched Quade’s cock. Unable to wait a moment longer, he tugged the jeans down Quade’s legs and hooked his fingers in the elastic waistband of Quade’s briefs. He was a lot more careful how he pulled them off, not wanting to damage that delicious package.
Then Quade reached up and pulled his own jeans down, and he kicked them off, still keeping his eyes fixed on Quade’s face. Damn, the man was hot. In the firelight, his hair was more brown than red, his eyes dark pools sparkling with desire, and his chiseled jaw a firm line. All that was enhanced by the way he licked his lips as he stared back at Bart. Suddenly Bart couldn’t wait any longer. He kicked his jeans out of the way, pulled off his sweater and shirt together, and dropped to his knees, grabbing the lube.
“That’s enough foreplay. Are you ready to begin?”
“I’ve been ready since the moment you arrived.”
Bart snorted and unscrewed the cap from the lube, placing it carefully on the stone hearth.
Quade rolled onto his hands and knees, wiggling his ass at him. Bart swatted it lightly with one hand as he squeezed lube into his palm one-handed. Then he needed both hands to massage Quade’s enticing rosette, softening and stretching it. Making sure his lover was totally ready for him was a job that Bart both took very seriously and truly enjoyed. Nothing was more carnal than touching a lover just inside his back channel, twisting and turning his fingers, softening and stretching the entryway, and feeling for that little gland that he planned to ping to ensure Quade came to a huge, screaming climax.
Before long, Bart had two fingers deep inside Quade’s back door, and Quade was pushing back on his hand and groaning. Not wanting to stop their play just yet, Bart inched closer to Quade and scraped his fingernails up and down Quade’s back, around over his ribs, then down to his belly.
“Dammit, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll jack myself off.” Quade’s voice was half moan, half plea.
“I suppose so. If you’re quite sure you’re ready.”
“Fucking tease. I’m quite sure it’ll be too late in a minute.”
“We can’t let that happen.” Bart dropped the tube of lube on the hearth and grabbed a condom, rolling it down his own more-than-ready-for-action dick.
Quade was watching him, his head twisted to catch all of Bart’s movements. Bart smiled at him and then gripped Quade’s hips, pulling his lover closer to him until his cock was resting at Quade’s back door. He leaned over Quade’s body and whispered right into Quade’s ear,
“Are you sure you’re ready.”
He felt Quade’s body stiffen underneath him, and without waiting for an answer—which would likely be a string of profanities anyway—he pushed his cock at Quade’s rosette, holding Quade hard against him as he rocked and wiggled his way in.
“About fucking time.”
Bart snorted and then said, “We’re together now.”
“But you still aren’t fucking me.”
“That’s true. I will be soon, though.”
“Soon. That’s what you keep saying.”
Quade’s voice was breathy and higher pitched than normal, and Bart knew he was struggling to keep up their game of complaining at each other. It didn’t matter. They both knew they were doing what they wanted and had been waiting for all week.
Bart wigged his pelvis against Quade’s butt cheeks and then petted his shoulders and back to distract him, reaching around his body to scrape his fingernails over Quade’s ribs and along his lower belly, and then he gripped Quade’s hot cock in his hand. As he pulled his own dick out of Quade’s ass, he tugged on Quade’s cock, then as he pushed his way back inside again, he twisted his hand, adding some friction to his grip on his lover’s shaft.
It was damn difficult to concentrate. Quade’s ass was so hot and tight, so very enticing, he wanted to stay deep inside him forever. Quade’s cock was thick and hard, and Quade’s reaction to Bart’s touch on it was enough to almost make him lose his own control. His heart was pounding hard, and his body pumped in time with Quade’s heartbeat and his own, which had synchronized with the pounding of his cock and the thumping of their pulses moving at the same fevered pace.