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Chapter Four

“I got you something,” Zach said, setting a small, colorful box on the table between them.

It had taken all of two days before he’d caved and called Carson. They’d sent a few cautious texts the first day, but by the afternoon of the second day the content of Carson’s messages had escalated drastically and Zach hadn’t been able to help himself. That night had ended in a video chat, both of them with their cocks in their hands and cum drying on their stomachs. Now they were on their first actual “date” just a few nights later, eating Thai food in a tiny little restaurant only a handful of easy blocks from Zach’s place.

He watched Carson’s brows draw together in confusion as he reached for the box. It was exceptionally light, and wrapped—mostly because he enjoyed watching the way Carson’s long fingers moved—with shiny, multi-colored striped paper, adorned with a large pile of curled ribbon. Carson peeled the ribbon off and stuck it to his chest like a badge before siding a finger into a seam to lift the tape. Zach leaned back in his chair, elbow on the armrest, and curled his hand over his face. His thumb rested under his chin, his index finger on his cheek, and he chewed on the tip of his middle finger in an attempt to keep himself from laughing at what the box held.

Carson finally freed the box, lifted the lid, and pulled out the tissue paper on top. He barked out a laugh, startling the people at the table next to them, before he could control himself. Zach grinned, chest shaking slightly from contained laughter, as Carson swayed in his chair, one hand clapped over his mouth to muffle his laughs as tears began to glisten at the corner of the storm-grey eyes.

“You’re such a jerk,” he gasped finally, trying to gather himself, dabbing at the corners of his eyes. Sitting back, he pulled the rubber duck from the box. It held a barbell at the end of one wing, was wiping its face with one end of the towel around its neck, and a sweatband around its head.

“But I’m your jerk,” he answered before his brain could slap a filter on his mouth, and the smile Carson gave him at that statement did things to his stomach that Zach steadfastly ignored.

Zach, of course, had known all about the duck solution, but he’d let Carson explain it to him anyway. He could have told him that he worked in programming as well, but he enjoyed the sound of Carson’s voice, and the easy conversation had been nice. His anonymity with Carson was something he cherished. So many people, once they knew who he was, treated him differently. They’d suck up to him, wanting his money. Or they’d fawn over him, like he was a damned rock star or celebrity. But it always ended up with them tripping all over themselves to do or provide anything he wanted, as if he wasn’t completely capable of doing it himself.

Zach cleared his throat.

“I have a confession,” he began, pausing as the server came over to clear plates and ask if they wanted dessert.

“They say confession is good for the soul,” Carson teased.

Zach fidgeted in his seat. He needed to admit at least some of his situation to Carson. Because somehow this man had become extremely important to him in an extremely short amount of time, and he deserved to know some version of the truth sooner than later. But the nervousness he felt was something new.

“I’d like it very much if you came home with me tonight. And I … wanted to warn you.”

“Do you have a kinky sex dungeon?” Carson whispered, eyes wide. “Because that would be awesome.”

Zach laughed, a quick exhale of breath, and relaxed marginally.

“No, nothing like that.”

“Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping.” Carson winked as he plucked the last dumpling from his plate and dragged the chopsticks from his mouth suggestively, and fuck if that didn’t make it difficult to focus. He shifted again, this time not from nervousness but because of the arousal he was fighting.

“But I do have a lot of money.”

“I kind of got that impression already, babe.”

Zach chewed his bottom lip, warmed by the endearment, but unable to let the conversation stop there. Carson needed to understand the scope of what he was trying to tell him. At least this way, if there was going to be an awkward scene, it would be in public, not at home. Not where he’d have to feel ashamed for everything he’d worked so hard to have.

“Like, a lot, a lot. Like, I just recently bought an actual, historic brownstone. On the Upper West Side. Outright. No mortgage.”

“Oh.” Carson blinked a few times, but never broke eye contact. “Okay,” he said with a deep breath. “Well, it’s a nice neighborhood. I’ve been looking at some apartments there. I’m in short-term now, haven’t been able to get anything permanent yet. It’s not for lack of money. I make more than enough, but I just started the job and every place seems to want a longer work history. But I can see why you’d want to buy there.”

Zach exhaled heavily.

“It doesn’t bother you?” He didn’t like the feeling of fear that clawed at his heart when he thought of losing Carson already. The younger man had brought a ray of light into Zach’s life that he hadn’t realized was missing.

Carson shrugged and lifted his glass. “Am I jealous? Yeah, a bit, ‘cuz I’d love to have that kind of money someday. But I’m only twenty-eight. I’ve got time. And I don’t need your money. I’ve got enough of my own.” He leaned in across the table, eyes glinting mischievously. “I only need your cock in my ass. And I’m willing to bet a few zeroes in the bank ain’tgonna change the way you fuck me. Daddy.” He sat back with a wink, looking quite pleased with himself.

Zach struggled to control his breathing. Please, God, let me be doing the right thing. Let me be able to trust him, he thought as he studied Carson’s face.

“Kid, you are in so much trouble,” he said softly.

Carson raised an eyebrow.

“Promise?”

Zach pulled his wallet out and threw a hundred-dollar bill on the table as he stood and pulled on his coat.