Page 12 of Mr. Naughty List
“I bet you were good at it.”
RJ ignored that as he sat on the couch again, legs spread. Tone casual. “You said you still split the holidays. How’s that work?”
This hookup was rapidly devolving. Aaron hoped he could find a way to get it back toevolving. Hopefully into a red-hot, role-playing spank-fest, but at this point even a quick fuck would do. He scooped faster and waved off the question. “Doesn’t matter.”
“This is a pricey place for a teacher’s salary,” RJ said. “Family money, you said?”
A glance RJ’s way showed he held one hand over his crotch and was absently rubbing the soft fabric of the sofa with the other. “Nosy much?”
RJ smirked but didn’t deny it.
Aaron finished shoveling the litter. “Not family money, no. Well, not anymore. I used what my papaw left to me when he died to buy this place. I figured it was a good investment. Downtown was growing again, and this place was a bargain. It’s tripled in value already.” He couldn’t help but brag a little.
RJ whistled low. “Hot damn. That sounds lucky.”
“It was.”
Papaw’s legacy had covered the entire mortgage and left enough for him to furnish the place. He’d been free and clear of any family financial obligations and able to live on his measly public-school teacher salary. It was one less way he had to answer to anyone else for his life choices. Papaw probably wouldn’t have appreciated Aaron’s life choices, though. He’d died without knowing Aaron was gay—and for good reason. Aaron shrugged off those thoughts and finished up with the litter.
“Nice piece,” RJ observed, nodding toward the antique chest of drawers Aaron used to store his less attractive books. No sense in putting ugly books out on shelves where people could see them.
“It was Papaw’s. Took it from his old place out on the farm. My cousins didn’t want it.”
“I like your apartment,” RJ said with a nod. “Spic and span, just the way I knew it would be. And books. Lots of books.” He eyed the bookshelves lining the opposite wall.
Aaron had cleaned the loft earlier in the day, but Constance had ruined the perfect presentation with her shit. Tying off the baggy, he grimaced. He supposed he had nothing to hide now since his cover of being a fantasy fuck had been blown by his cat.
RJ didn’t seem to notice his frustration, though. He lounged on the sofa with his hand on his crotch, looking around the room with a piercing, judging gaze. Aaron’s stomach flipped over, imagining RJ looking at his naked body like that: judging him, appraising him, and hopefully finding him satisfactory.
But what if he didn’t find him pleasing? What would RJ do then?
Aaron’s gut curled with lust. He had a feeling RJ would have a very good idea of exactly how to handle any situation where Aaron didn’t please him. And Aaron was dying to know what that would feel like. Maybe he should be just a little bit of a tease, a bit of a brat. See if RJ pushed back. If hehandledhim the way Aaron needed to be handled. Or was he just expecting too much now?
Constance meowed and returned to the room without any evidence of shame. She proceeded to sniff the cuffs of RJ’s jeans, checking him out. Aaron grumbled, trash bag in hand.
“She’s pretty,” RJ offered, putting his fingers down to let Constance butt up against them. “Black cats are my favorite.”
Aaron smirked, taking the collected litter out the side door to a small balcony area, putting it in the lidded can where it wouldn’t stink. He’d take the whole thing down to the big dumpster by the church later. When he returned inside, he said, “A punk rocker with a preference for black cats. Try not to be such a big cliché, RJ.” He sprayed air freshener around liberally.
“Mr. Danvers,” RJ smirked. “C’mere, and I’ll show you how big my cliché is.”
Yes. Let’s get back on track.Aaron bit down on his bottom lip and chuckled, shoving the air freshener back into the cleaning closet.
Aaron’s gut fluttered, and he stared at RJ, who raised a challenging brow at him. He was tempted to get down on the floor and crawl right up into RJ’s lap, but… “Let me wash my hands first.”
“Always so prissy,” RJ said, squeezing himself. “Luckily, I’ve always liked that about you.”
Running his hands under hot water in the kitchen sink and lathering up, Aaron’s mind tripped on itself. “Prissy?” He’d never considered himself especially feminine. He didn’t think he read as overtly “gay” even, but that was because his mother had strictly forbidden any behaviors that could be seen that way.
As a teen, he’d worked hard to reduce his so-called lisp, and to prevent his swiveling hips and fluttering hands from outing him before he was ready. Some days, when he really thought about it, the amount of effort he’d put into training himself out of his natural behaviors pissed him off. He could have done something so much more interesting with all that energy and stress. What would it be like to be free and loved for who you were born to be?
But, on other days, like at parent-teacher meetings, when he was seated across from a big, burly football dad, he was glad of his mother’s training. Most of the time. Hell, he wasn’t sure how he felt. He just knew that when he’d started working as a teacher the last thing he’d wanted was to be read as queer, so he’d worked extra hard to stifle it. Now, acting masc just came naturally. Or so he’d thought.
“You always…” Aaron cleared his throat again, trying to keep the squeak out of his voice. “You found me prissy?”
“Yeah. Uptight, fussy,” RJ clarified with a hot grin. “You kept your things on your deskjust so.” He groaned like that was incredibly sexy. “And you always dressed like a magazine had decided to feature you in a best-dressed teacher spread.” He smiled again. “You know the type, Mr. Danvers. Youarethe type.”
“I’m not—” He wanted to deny it, but even as the words left his mouth, he found himself carefully folding the kitchen towel he’d wiped his hands on and placing it on the counter top like RJ had said—“just so.” Aaron stifled the rest of the denial and instead said, “You like that type?”