I’d heard rumours about Marshall Wise.
I’d heard he was gay, out and proud since high school. I’d also heard he had a huge cock and he had skills that kept men begging for more.
I wasn’t surprised by this. I’d seen him in high school in the change rooms in nothing but briefs or tight shorts. Even when we were teenagers, he’d been packing. I could only imagine it got better now that we were grown men.
And he’d certainly filled out nicely.
He was a solid build. Shorter than my six two by a few inches, but he was broader than me. Muscular. He clearly worked out or worked hard.
And the rumours about his cock?
All true.
At least nine inches long, thick enough that I could barely get my fingers around it.
Or my lips.
I didn’t know what made me do it.
Well, I did . . .
I’d heard those rumours too.
That he liked to fight and fuck, and it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d had his dick out in the bathroom at a pub.
Given the grapevine had claimed he was hung like a horse, I wanted to see for myself. I’d also heard he never did the same guy twice. An aversion to commitment or something. Which was perfect for me. Just what I wanted.
Needed.
It’d been far too long since I’d tasted dick.
Months since I’d left Melbourne. Months since I’d taken over as a managing director of the Sydney office under the watchful eye of my father.
I’d been too busy and too closeted to go looking for a gay fix. And so when I had the chance, I was going to take it.
It didn’t hurt that Marshall Wise looked at me as if he wanted to kill me.
I found it incredibly provocative.
Arousing.
And he’d always looked at me as if he hated me.
Maybe he did.
He’d certainly tried to take my head off on the rugby field every chance he got.
God help me, I loved it every time.
So why did I push him into the bathroom stall? Because the guys on my team wanted to punch his head in, and if they’d found him alone in the men’s room, it would’ve been an unfair fight and a bloodbath. And we’d have all been kicked out of the pub and got our sponsors offside before the season had even begun.
Why did I care if he got his head smacked in?
I was still asking myself that.
Guilt, probably.
Not that I regretted what I’d done. Not one bit. Given the opportunity, I’d do it again. Hell, with that cock and his burning hate for me, I’d let him do whatever he wanted.
In the last few days, I’d jerked off twice to fantasies of his fat cock inside me.
“Valentine.” Dad’s voice startled me out of some very filthy thoughts. “Did you hear what I said?”
Thank god we were in my office alone and not in a full board meeting. “Sorry, I was thinking . . .”
“About?”
I lied. “This merger.”
“And?”
“And I think we’re ready.”
He smiled at me in a way that made me uneasy. “Good. I expect the report on my desk by Friday.”
Acquisitions were something we did a lot of. Where smaller companies were absorbed into Tye Corp, allowing us to achieve asset and economic efficiency, mitigate weaknesses, and diversify risks. It also allowed us to obtain qualified staff who required little to no industry training.
Of course, not everyone saw it like that.
The cold reality of business was sometimes a bitter pill to swallow. Especially those who’d had to swallow such bitter pills before.
I walked into Kaplan Constructions at 9:00 am sharp the following Monday morning with my legal and finance team, just in time to catch the tail end of what I could only assume was the current CEO notifying his staff of his intent to sell the company.
Well, intent to sell was incorrect. To notify them that his company had been sold.
There was loud muffled shouting, then the office door almost being sheared from its hinges as someone ripped it open.
Marshall Wise stormed out only to stop cold when he saw me. His chest heaving, murder in his eyes. He pointed at me. “You! It had to be fucking you.”
Then he started for me, and he probably would have killed me if he’d got to me, but he was stopped by a very large man whom I recognised from Marshall’s rugby team. Taka, I think his name was.
He collected Marshall in much the same way I would assume a handler would manage attempting to put a feral cat in a cage. Marshall fought him the whole way out, but Taka was too strong.
Half my legal and finance team had taken a few steps back, but not me. I did manage to lock eyes with Marshall before he was hauled out the door, and there was nothing but unbridled hatred in his eyes.
I liked it.
I might have smiled at him as he was being dragged out.
Mr Kaplan was now at the door, saying goodbye to his other managers, and with a sigh, he gestured to the room behind him. “Apologies. Please come in.”
His legal and finance teams were waiting for us and pleasantries were exchanged. All fine-print details had been gone over and accepted by both parties, contracts had been signed, and all that remained to be done were mere formalities.
Mr George Kaplan had aged out of the game. His words, not mine. He’d worked hard his entire life to grow his construction company from the ground up—and he’d done it very successfully—but he wanted to sell while he was still young enough to enjoy his spoils.
He was about to retire a very wealthy man, and we were about to collate his business into our ever-growing corporation.
“I take it not everyone is pleased about developments,” I said, nodding to the door, to the fact that Marshall Wise needed to be restrained and removed.
Mr Kaplan sighed as he waved his hand. “Ahh. He’s one of my best. He’s . . . passionate.”
I almost snorted. Passionate. That was one way to say fiery, pig-headed, and unable to contain his emotions.
“He’s not too happy, no.” Mr Kaplan met my gaze. “But he’s signed on as site manager for the Mercer contract. Mercer wasn’t too happy about the change of ownership as it was, but I assured them nothing will change—it’s business as usual. They insisted the current manager and his team stay for the duration of the build. They like him.” He sighed. “But as of close of business this Friday, that’ll be your call.”
Mercer was a massive industrial construction contract and including it was a hefty sweetener to this acquisition deal. If this contract was completed successfully, then we would perhaps secure future industrial developments with them as well.
I wouldn’t risk souring any such lucrative deal. My father would kill me.
“Then we should make sure the site manager is happy to stay,” I said with a smile.
He was going to fucking hate it, and he would absolutely lose his shit. I wanted to witness it.
“Should we call him back?” I suggested. “Or perhaps arrange a meeting with him at a more suitable time?”
Mr Kaplan smirked. “How about we give him a day to calm down?”
I doubted his rage at me would be dissipating any time soon.
“That’s fine,” I said. “Just let me know.”
I was half expecting Marshall to be waiting for me outside his head office. I was half expecting to get charged at, yelled and sworn at, possibly even have punches thrown at me.
I was a little disappointed when it was clear that he was gone.
I was also a little disappointed he didn’t turn up at the pub after rugby training on Thursday night. Not that he normally drank at our local, but he surely knew I’d be there.
I’d hoped he’d want to speak his mind before our meeting around the boardroom table first thing Friday morning.
But no.
He didn’t show.
But he was there before me on Friday, sitting at the oval-shaped boardroom table with his arms crossed. He wore a company polo shirt, long work cargos, and dirty work boots. He was a tradesman, after all, but other team managers were there in dress pants and business shirts.
Perhaps it was a testament to Marshall’s willingness to actually work on-site and not just supervise. Perhaps it was his way of saying he didn’t think enough of me to dress for the occasion. I assumed it was the latter.
Everyone stood when we walked in. Everyone except Marshall. He sat there with his arms folded and his glare aimed right at me.
Good.
Mr Kaplan made introductions, pleasantries were exchanged, and my team gave an extensive rundown of Tye Corp’s business model and mission statement. We explained that for them, Kaplan Constructions would stay exactly as it was—all staff from the office managers to janitors; all workplace agreements would transfer over. They would lose nothing. It was to make a seamless transition. We wanted happy employees, after all.
“Though if anyone would like to resign their employment,” my legal manager added, “they will be able to do so without question, all benefits paid in full.”
My gaze cut to Marshall, and his glare was still burning holes into my skull with laser precision. His jaw ticked and his nostrils flared.
But he stayed silent.
So he was staying.
Loyal to the people who worked with him and under him and to the company depending on him to complete the job.
And just like that, this game we played—where he hated me and I got off on it—entered new ground.
And all I could think about during this very important transition meeting was how I’d been on my knees for him and how much I wanted to suck his dick again.
“Anything to add, Mr Tye,” my legal adviser asked.
I smiled at them all, my gaze landing on Marshall last. “I look forward to working with you all.”
Saturday’s game was against Epping, and we played okay for the first game of the season. All the training and pre-season prep didn’t compare to actual match fitness.
But it felt good to run, to expend energy, to tackle, to get tackled.
By the time we were showered and back at the pub to celebrate our win, I’d shaken off a big week at work and was feeling pretty good.
Lleyton put a beer in front of me. “Holy shit, is that an actual smile?”
“Fuck off.”
He laughed. “Just kidding. It’s good to see.” He knocked his bottle to mine. “It’s been a while.”
I took a swig of my beer. It had been a while. Not since I’d come back from Melbourne. Not that I’d been too happy in Melbourne either, but I was freer to be more myself there, as opposed to here.
Not that I could be openly gay in Melbourne, but at least my father wasn’t there watching everything I did, monitoring my behaviour and reputation. Sure, I’d had one-nighters and a few discreet regulars.
But nothing close to permanent.
Nothing close to fulfilling.
Here in Sydney, I had even less freedom.
Sure, I had a lot of good things. I had money, I had a nice apartment, a nice car. I had a job that challenged me, and despite the fact I worked for my father, I did need to prove myself.
Constantly.
I lived under a radar of expectations—probably more so than anyone else who worked for Tye Corp.
My father hadn’t built an empire by not expecting perfection.
From his children, especially.
“Work okay?” Lleyton asked.
God only knows how long I’d zoned out for.
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “It’s going well. Just closed a big job.”
“Nice.”
I nodded, taking another pull of my beer.
Lleyton was the closest thing I had to a best friend. He was my best friend, even if I probably wasn’t his. He was my only friend, if I was being honest.
I’d known him since we were seniors in high school, all through university, and I told him most things that were going on in my life. Most things. He knew my secret, that I liked men. And he kept my secret. I trusted him.
When I’d come back to Sydney after three years in Melbourne, I’d simply slotted back into groove with him. Rugby, and a few beers. It was all I had time for.
At least that’s what I told myself.
Yet I had needs that weren’t being met, a need for physical release, and I tried to keep a lid on it. Tried to tell myself being alone was fine. And I did like my own company; I had no problem with being alone. I just needed someone to scratch an itch that, for me, wasn’t only physical.
It soothed an emotional itch too.
A secret I’d never told anyone. A few men had been a temporary fix, but to ask for a permanent fix meant disclosing my sexual needs. That meant exposing my vulnerabilities and risking too much.
Not even Lleyton knew.
Because the eldest son, the heir and likely successor to the Tye Corp empire, couldn’t be anything less than perfect.
And gay, as my father would like to remind me, was not perfect.
And being gay wasn’t even my darkest secret.
Lleyton knocked his knee to mine. “Looking for someone?”
Shit. I’d zoned out again. “What?”
“You keep watching that door like you’re waiting for someone to walk through it.”
I scoffed at how ridiculous that was, but then I glanced at the door.
He laughed. “Okay, spill.”
“It’s not like that,” I said, dispelling his innuendo implying that I was waiting for a romantic interest to walk in. Then I sighed. “The company we acquired, the big job I closed?”
“Yeah?”
“It was Kaplan,” I said quietly. “And I’m expecting some retaliatory backlash from one of my new site managers.”
He snorted. “For real? Like they’re gonna track you down on the weekend, follow you here, and do what?”
I shrugged because it did sound ridiculous. “Well, I’m pretty sure he wants to kill me.”
He sputtered. “What the fuck! Who is it? Fire his arse.”
I laughed. “I can’t.” Well, technically I could, but I wouldn’t. “It’s Marshall Wise.”
He stared, mouth open, his bottle halfway to his lips. “You serious?”
I tapped my bottle to his in a cheers fashion and drank. “Yep.”
“The guy that these guys”—he pointed his chin to where half our team sat at the next table— “wanted to kill the other week.”
“Shh, keep your voice down,” I hissed.
“Do you think he’d turn up here? Is that why you keep watching the door?”
“He could,” I said with a shrug. “He knew I’d be here.”
“Yeah, but he wouldn’t . . .”
I drained my beer. “He was pretty pissed. You know the big Samoan guy, Taka?”
Lleyton nodded. “Nice guy.”
“He had to drag Wise out of the office.”
His eyes widened. “Holy shit. What did you do?”
“Smiled at him.”
Lleyton laughed and shook his head. “Then let him come and try his luck. Until then, it’s your shout.”
A few more beers later, Lleyton glanced over my shoulder. “Ah, shit. Don’t look now. But someone’s here to try his luck.”
I turned and, sure enough, half the North Ryde rugby team walked in—we’d heard they’d had a convincing win—and a drunk Marshall Wise was front and centre.
He scanned the bar, found me, and tried to straighten up. His smile died and his eyes hardened. His big mate, Taka, put his arm around him and steered him to the bar.
“Jeez,” Lleyton mumbled. “He really hates you, doesn’t he?”
I smiled, that fire in my chest burning a little warmer. “I’m counting on it.”
“The fuck are you smiling at?” Marshall yelled from the bar. He was glaring at me, fire raging in his eyes. “You wanna fucking go?”
Grinning, I stood up—along with my entire team who now stood behind me—and I put my beer down. “You have no idea how much I want you to try.”
He launched for me, but two of his teammates stopped him and security threw him out. His mates threw him in a cab, and I probably should have been glad no punches were thrown.
But honestly? I was disappointed.
Work on Monday was going to be interesting.
