CHAPTER ONE

I'm elbows-deep in invoices when a shadow falls across my desk.

"Will, I'm really trying to rush on these invoices," I say without looking up to look my boss in the eye. "The bride for the wedding Memorial Day weekend called and upped her headcount… again… and despite the fact that this event is in two weeks, she said that cost was no issue even though I noted that it'd be a rush charge to get extra furniture and linens. The things these crazy women do for their 'perfect wedding,' I swear, they're nuts."

I push a hair off of my forehead as I continue to look down at the numbers the look jumbled due to the endless hours of checking and cross-checking every cost.

"Have you heard from the Robinsons?" I continue, turning to my computer. "They were supposed to call and confirm for the twenty-eighth of June. And we should probably figure out when we're doing the summer gallery show next year even though we're still trying to work out things for this summer. I already have a bride who wants to use us for her reception in—"

A hand grasps me firmly by the chin and tilts my face up. Suddenly I'm staring into a pair of intoxicating honeyed eyes, and my breath hitches in my throat.

"Have you forgotten about something?" a deep, familiar voice taunts as I can feel myself practically turning into goo.

Even after all this time – months, really – the sight of Blaine Anderson still makes my stomach do summersaults. He's looking particularly sexy right now with his broad frame accentuated with the fine cut of his navy sport coat, his hair curling slightly atop his head and his lips set in the perfect smile that manages to seem sweet and sexy all at once. But if he's here, that can only mean one thing.

"Shit!" I say, pulling out of his grip. I scrabble around on the desk, looking for my cell, but I already know what the time will say. When I do find the phone, buried beneath a file of class registration forms, the screen reads 6:53PM.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

"I swear, the last time I glanced at the time it was three o'clock." I dart around the desk, looking frantically for my wallet and keys. If I hurry, if I leave my hair as-is and don't think too much about how my shirt might not be immaculately pressed—

Blaine catches me as I try to sweep past him and draws me toward him. The motion pulls me off balance, and I fall against his chest, my hands clutching at the smooth lapels of his jacket and my nose brushing the crook of his neck. I freeze, and he loops his arms around my waist and holds me there. He smells faintly of soap and, beneath that, his own intoxicating scent. I take a deep breath, breathing him in. It's been too long since I've seen him, too long since he's held me like this in his arms.

Okay, it's only been three weeks. Three weeks since Blaine chased me through the maze on his former estate. Three weeks since I've had him in front of me, close enough to touch. Three weeks since his fingers skimmed across my bare skin, as they're dancing over my neck right now. Those three weeks might as well have been a billion years.

"You forgot? Should I be worried?" he asks.

I roll my eyes. But of course, screw-up that I am, I lose track of time on the day of our first real date. "I'm so sorry," I say. "I swear, I—"

He silences me with his lips. His mouth is gentle at first, hesitant, like he's uncertain how I'll respond after our time apart. Like he's forgotten how natural, how right our bodies feel against each other. But the minute his lips touch mine, my entire body comes alive. Goose bumps ripple across my flesh, chasing the waves of heat that rush just beneath the surface of my skin. I let out a small moan, and whatever doubts Blaine had seem to disappear.

He yanks me against his body, crushing me to his hard chest. His mouth moves hungrily, desperately, against my own, and mine meets his with equal passion. I revel in the taste of him, eager to drink it all in.

Damn, I missed this.

He's backing me up against my desk now, and I don't protest when he pushes me down on top of it. Something falls to the floor beside us. My files? The invoices? Honestly, I don't care. One of Blaine's hands moves around the small of my back while the other winds behind my neck grazing the wisps of hair at the base of my neck, his fingers gently caressing my neck in a hypnotic way that somehow feels better than when I go to the salon for a trim. Normally I would be irritated that he messed with my hair, but the way in which he's moving against me has me letting go of all my worries. He leans over me, nudging my thighs apart so he can press nearer and rub his half-hard erection next to my rapidly growing one. I can barely contain myself as the slightest pressure of our hips together sends me into a dizzying state where the only things I can process are Blaine's lips and his dick trapped against mine. There's a clatter as something else tumbles off the desk. Something big this time—probably that dinosaur of a three-hole punch we've had since this place opened.

There's no way Will didn't hear that.

I push Blaine off of me and sit up, grabbing him by the tie even as Will's voice floats in from the next room. "Kurt? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine! It's nothing!" I tug Blaine around the desk and shove him down onto the floor. He's too surprised to resist or argue, and I pray that he catches the warning in my glare. I'm just bending to pick up the three-hole punch when Will appears in the doorway.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," I say, waving the beast of a gadget at him. "Just knocked a couple of things off my desk."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Blaine raise his eyebrows in surprise. I give him a small kick, hoping he gets the hint.

Will is looking curiously at me, and I realize suddenly how disheveled I must appear. My hands skim over my shirt, my pants – hoping for no signs of the erection that I had felt just a few moments earlier. And—oh, God—my hair… I look absolutely disheveled and I pray that I don't look like I was just rubbing up against Blaine like a high schooler in the back hallway at the prom.

"It's been a rough day," I say, trying to brush it off, hoping against hope that my face isn't as red as it feels. Crap, are my lips swollen? I think as I rub my fingers against my lips, hoping that they don't look red and bitten, even if I'm 100% sure that they do.

But Will either doesn't notice or chooses not to see. I'm hoping it's the former and he's having one of his oblivious moments where he's deciding not to be my friend but rather my boss. I'll take his obliviousness for now – especially with Blaine shoved under my desk. I slide into the chair behind my desk, sliding far enough out that I'm not crowding Blaine who's hidden beneath, but close enough that I look primed and ready to work behind my solid desk. I've never been more thankful that my desk is as giant and opaque than I am right now.

"That Collins woman again?" he says. "She's been a real trip."

I nod. "Called and changed her numbers again. I—"

Blaine is touching me. His fingers are sliding up my leg—softly, slowly, sending shivers all the way up my thigh even through my pants. I clear my throat and try to shift away from him, but his hand follows. He slowly pulls me toward him in my rolling chair and I hope that my hands grabbing for purchase with the unexpected slide of my chair on my chair go unnoticed by Will.

"I—I redid the invoices and already sent an update to the linens company so hopefully we're all set," I manage, indicating the papers that are still on the floor. I can't manage to try and pick them up at the moment since I'm pretty sure that erection I had sported before is now back in full force. I slump slightly in response, causing my knees to fall to either side of Blaine's face.

Oh god, that probably was a bad choice.

Blaine's hand has slipped beneath the front of my now un-tucked shirt, and it's slowly inching its way around to the front of my pants. His breath is warm against my navel and the heat of his breath against the fabric of my shirt is intoxicating. When I try to gently nudge his face away, he nips at my knee through the fabric and hums against my knee but quickly making his way toward my crotch, the warmth moving toward my now full-fledged erection. I try not to squirm.

"How many do they have coming?" Will asks.

It's hard to remember the number with Blaine's mouth teasing my thigh and his hand now slowly pulling at my zipper. "Two hundred and twelve, I think?"

Will whistles. "A big one."

"We need it." I grip the desk, trying to keep my face blank. Blaine's ever-climbing hand finished unzipping the zipper of my pants while nudging his head further into my lap. In spite of the situation, my body reacts instinctively to the touch. Heat pools in my lower belly, a contrast to the panicked lump in my throat. I'm having trouble breathing normally, and my face and neck feel warmer with every passing second. I swear, if Will finds out about us like this, Blaine's going to get it. And by "it" I don't mean the prize he's currently seeking between my legs. It's not that Will is my father, but he certainly would frown on Blaine getting me off underneath my desk where I also prepare lesson plans for children's art programs.

I shift again, and this time I feel my knee connect with Blaine's cheek. He sucks in a breath, and I cough to cover up the sound.

Will's frowning. Great, he must have heard.

But no—he's shaking his head. "Didn't you have dinner plans with a friend?"

"Yes. Yes I do." I smile. "I was just about to change."

Will's smiling again. "Good. You've been working too much these past few weeks."

"I could say the same of you."

It's true, but if I'm being honest, Will looks the best he has in months. When the Brooklyn Center for the Arts was on the brink of closing, he was a mess. I've never seen him look so old, so tired, so haggard. But now he might be a decade younger. He's smiling more—laughing, even—and, as cheesy as it sounds, the sparkle is back in his eyes. We're not completely out of danger yet, but we're moving steadily in the right direction, and that positive energy has been enough to make Will excited about this place again.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," he says. "You have fun tonight."

"Will do."

No sooner has he turned away than Blaine grabs my hand and yanks me down beside him—or, more accurately, on top of him. I'm thankful that my desk has a wall that obscured Blaine from view, but I'm also thankful that it's a glorified table with some wood on the front of it. I would have really hurt myself if it was a standard desk – especially since I'm taller than Blaine and two men will barely fit under here in the first place. I squirm as he wraps his arms around me, holding me hostage.

"That was an interesting welcome," he murmurs against my hair. "First you forget about our date—"

"I didn't forget," I insist. "I just got caught up in—"

"And then you hide me from your boss like we're in high school and got caught making out in the locker room or something." His arms tighten around my waist. "Are you embarrassed by me?"

"No! Of course not! I just haven't told Will, or anyone really, about you yet. He's not—I mean, I don't think he hates you or anything. He certainly doesn't have any control over my decisions, but he is a bit overinvolved in my…" I try to wriggle out of his grasp, but instead he flips me over so that I'm beneath him. His face looms over mine, but I don't get a chance to read his expression before he dips his head and nuzzles my neck.

"You mean he won't exactly be happy to know you're dating the guy who almost brought this place down around your ears," he murmurs before attacking my throat with his mouth.

I barely manage a nod, far too distracted by the way his tongue is warming my flesh between his teeth's nips and I can already feel myself coming undone just from his mouth on my neck. But he's right; when I had agreed to the date, I had told him to meet me outside. I'm not ashamed of Blaine – goodness knows he's a little out of my league in traditional circles that value his wealth and upbringing – but I know Will wouldn't take too kindly to the guy who nearly bankrupted us parading around the place with his tongue down my throat. Plus that would require me to tell him about how Blaine and I met in the first place, and that's not a conversation I really want to invite into my life right now.

"Plus," I manage after a minute, "he's going to wonder how it came about, and I never exactly told him the truth about that weekend." Ah, yes—those three days I spent trapped in the Anderson mansion playing cat-and-mouse with Blaine, letting him tease me and taunt me and give me the most intense and gratifying sex I've ever had in my life. Even now I shiver at the memory.

But it's not exactly something you tell your boss. Especially when the sex god in question is the person responsible for the near-ruin of his nonprofit arts center. And that's exactly what makes our current position on the floor of my office especially compromising.

But Blaine has noticed my body's reaction, and he's not about to let this opportunity slip out of his fingers.

"What, you don't want your boss to know what dirty, dirty things you've done?" he whispers against my throat. He grabs my pants and begins to taunt at my cock, which is now slipping through the hole that the zipper has opened up though still covered in my underwear.

"Blaine!" I rasp, batting at his hands. "Not here."

He ignores me. His fingers slide down my pants and tease at my cock that's he's pulling from my black boxer briefs. I can feel his fingers brushing closer with the sensitive skin and it's setting my whole body on fire.

"Blaine…" This time it doesn't sound like much of a warning. God, when did I lose complete control over my body?

His hand slips beneath the thin fabric of my underwear and skims across my cock. I writhe against him, but my attempts to get away only backfire, judging by the bulge I feel in his pants. He unbuttons the pants (I'm thankful that I didn't wear a belt today) and starts to pull my them and my underwear down my legs. If I don't do anything quickly, he's going to have me right here on the floor of my office. It's already bad enough that I'm completely unclothed from the waist down, but if he has me while still wearing his clothes with only his dick exposed, it'll take our sex lives to a whole new level of heated.

Not that my body seems to mind the idea. I'm trembling, aching for that touch I've missed these past weeks. When he slips his fingers between my legs and pushes the way back toward my ass and lightly teases my hole, I just about lose it.

"What about dinner?" I ask him frantically.

"Screw dinner."

"I still have to change."

"Go naked."

"If you think I'm going to have sex with you while Will's in the next room…"

"That just makes it more… stimulating, doesn't it?" His adept fingers brush again against my hole and I can't help but clench in response and wish to almighty God that I had stored lube somewhere in my office. It's totally impractical aside from this moment right now.

Part of me wants to just give in, to surrender myself to the pent up sexual energy that's consumed me since the last time we saw each other. But fortunately, the rational part of my mind hasn't completely jumped ship just yet.

"Martin's expecting us," I remind him.

At the mention of his family's former chef, Blaine sighs. His explorations of my body cease, his fingers retract, and his grip loosens on my waist.

"Martin was always quite the cockblock," he growls. But he moves his fingers across my clothed cock a final time, and amusement flashes in his eyes when I let out a soft whimper.

"Tonight," he promises, "you'll be begging me for it. And I'm going to fuck you until you can't even remember your own name, let alone annoying little things like dinner plans."

His words send a thrill through my core, but I can't let him see how much they affect me or we'll never get out of here. I wiggle once more beneath him, and he sighs and rolls off of me. I give him a playful hit as I sit up. If we're going to be on time for our reservation, I don't have much time to change and freshen up.

"Just stay down there for a minute," I say, glancing around once more for my bag and pulling up my pants and underwear. "I'm going to run to the bathroom and change."

He pushes himself up on his elbows, grinning. "Or you could just close the door and change in here. I promise I'll behave."

"I don't believe that for a minute. Besides, you're not supposed to see me naked before the first date."

His eyes darken. "I think we're already past that barrier."

"You know what I mean."

He chuckles, but his eyes continue to burn into mine. "It won't stop me from trying to get your clothes off."

If we didn't have a reservation—and if Will weren't right next door—I would just give into his teasing. But we aren't locked away in his mansion, shut off from the rest of the world. We're in the Brooklyn Center, and we have a very important reservation.

"Martin will be disappointed if we're late," I remind him again.

"Fine. I'll behave. But you better hurry, or I'll ravish you anyway. And I don't care who in this place knows it."

I find my bag behind the door and grab it, not bothering to respond. I don't want to give him any encouragement. Even the feeling of his gaze on me makes prickles dance across my skin, and I know it wouldn't take much to break my resistance completely.

God, it's just too easy for him, isn't it?

I race down the hallway and lock myself in the bathroom. It takes me only about a minute to slip out of my work clothes – a somewhat boring button-up with looser fitting khakis and pull on the tight black pants and fitted silvery blue shirt I brought along. It's sexy and suggestive without being too obvious—perfect for a first date.

It feels so strange, preparing for an actual date with Blaine. I mean, my primary acquaintance with this man stems from those passionate, erotic days I spent with him on his former estate. That whole weekend still feels like a very strange but vivid sexual dream—I mean, we played hide and go seek, for God's sake—and I can't quite reconcile that experience with my normal everyday life.

I put on my shoes next, and then I adjust my hair a bit while reaching in my bag for a dab of cologne to fully refresh for the date. I'm suddenly nervous, and an anxious lump settles in my belly as I shake my waves of hair out around my shoulders. What will Blaine think of me, now that the erotic fairy tale is over? When I'm not a desperate prisoner, and he no longer has the world at his feet? When we're just two ordinary people eating dinner?

I force myself to take a deep breath as I give myself a final once-over in the mirror.

Everything's going to be fine, I tell myself. I'm going to have an amazing time tonight.

I grab my things from the floor and hurry back to my office.

Blaine is no longer hiding behind the desk.

"What are you doing?" I say, looking nervously down the hall. "What if Will walked by?"

He's standing at my wall, looking at my pictures. At the end of every instructional cycle, we take photos of each of the art classes. I've taught more than a few classes during my time here, and I keep every picture.

"I didn't realize you worked with the kids," Blaine says, still staring at the images.

"I do a little bit of everything around here. At a place as small as this, you learn to wear more than a few hats."

He nods, frowning a little. I wonder what he's thinking—whether he's remembering his own part in the Brooklyn Center's troubles. But not his part—his father's part. It's not Blaine's fault that he inherited financial troubles.

I walk over and place my hand gently on his arm. The touch seems to bring him back to the present, and the clouds disappear from his expression. He turns to me, and he opens his mouth to speak, but then his eyes widen slightly. His gaze drifts down my body.

"You," he says, grabbing my hand and bringing it to his lips, "are absolutely breathtaking."

I'm blushing again. I try to tug my hand away, but he holds it tight. He flicks his tongue across the tips of my fingers, and heat rushes to my cock.

"I thought of your punishment," he says.

"Punishment?"

"For forgetting our date." He holds out his hand. "Your underwear, please."

I raise my eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"I think it's a suitable request, considering the emotional distress you put me through."

"Yeah, you seem very distressed," I tease. But I don't object when he reaches out and pulls down my zipper and tugging my pants down for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.

"Go on, then," he says.

I cast a quick glance back at the door before grabbing my pants and underwear and pushing them down. Blaine gives my bareness an appreciative glance before I quickly step out of the pants and remove the underwear from their place before handing them to Blaine. Despite me sensing Blaine's leer, I swiftly pull my pants up and shift uncomfortably as I zip them closed while avoiding my sensitive cock.

At least I had the foresight to wear a sexy pair of underwear. They're black and tight, and Blaine seems all too pleased when I hand them over.

"Don't worry," he says, his voice low and husky. "I'll take good care of them for you."

"I'm glad I'm wearing pants or else I could have a Britney moment," I joke. I'm worried about how I'll be able to adjust any… uprisings… without the support of my tight underwear but I'm hoping that bringing humor to the situation will quell the arousal that's lurking beneath the surface.

He looks as if he's about to devour me whole. "Then I'll just have to take care of that for you, won't I?"

He slips the underwear into his pocket, and I cover my crotch as I shift my dick around so it doesn't rub directly against the zipper. I'm already experiencing the effect he desired, but I can't let things get out of hand.

"Dinner," I remind him.

"Of course."

I lead him to the door, taking care to glance around for Will before slipping out into the hallway. I feel extra scandalous without any underwear, but I can't let that distract me. We need to get out of here unnoticed.

We're almost to the front door—almost free—when I hear a small gasp to my left. Morgan, one of our new teachers, stands at the door to her classroom, gaping at us.

Well, gaping at Blaine, more accurately. He has that effect sometimes.

Morgan blinks, then squints. I imagine she's trying to figure out how and why she recognizes the gorgeous man standing in our lobby. She wasn't here last year to meet Blaine the one time he visited the Center with his father, but she's probably seen his face on the tabloids more than a couple of times.

But as much as I'd love to indulge her curiosity, Will's sure to spot us if we linger here too long.

"We're late for dinner," I tell her. "But I'll talk to you in the morning?"

Morgan's eyes flick to me, and she nods. The promise of an explanation tomorrow seems to satisfy her for the moment. I make another dash for the door with Blaine in tow, but I pause at the threshold, glancing back.

"Do me a favor and keep this from Will?"

Her eyes widen in surprise, but she breaks into a smile. "I get it," she says, winking. "Your secret's safe. You two have fun." Her voice rises suggestively on the last word, and I feel myself blushing once more as Blaine and I escape outside.

"Can she keep a secret?" Blaine asks, slipping a hand onto my lower back and guiding me across the parking lot. "Or should I expect a murder attempt by your boss in the middle of the night?"

"He won't murder you."

"Ah, good."

"He's more of the torturing type."

He grins in response, but I detect a hint of worry behind his amusement.

"I'll tell people about us soon," I promise. "I just need to figure out how to raise the topic." But that's not the only thing I have to figure out. Even if I can come up with a reasonable explanation for my current association with Blaine, what exactly do I call this thing between us? I know that we're attracted to each other, and I believe there's a deeper emotional connection here. But how deep? We're not even technically "exclusive"—right?

Look at me. We're not even to the car and I'm already over-analyzing things.

Thus begins the Madness of Kurt Hummel.

Still, I put on a smile. I'm on a date with Blaine Anderson. I need to stop worrying and enjoy myself.

He stops in front of a silver sedan.

"Your chariot, my prince." He eyes the car sidelong. "This is where I wish I'd found a way to keep the Lamborghini."

I laugh. "You've seen the death trap that I drive. This looks like pure luxury." I should tell him that it doesn't matter what he drives—that he could carry me to the restaurant on the handlebars of a bicycle, for all I care—but that sentiment sounds way too sappy. So I bite my lip and let him guide me into the passenger's seat.

I cross my hands in my lap as he walks around to the driver's side. My nerves have returned in full force. Back on his estate, I felt wild and wicked and seductive. In that strange, secluded mansion, I discovered a passionate, confidently-sexual side of myself that I never even knew existed. Now? I feel like a freaking high schooler on his first grown-up date—uncertain and awkward and terrified.

Please, don't let me vomit in his car…

He flashes me another one of his killer smiles as he slides into his seat. It sets off an entire circus of butterflies in my stomach. He puts his keys into the ignition, but he doesn't start the car. Instead, he leans over and takes me by the chin, pulling my lips to his.

I lean into his kiss, sinking into the sensations sweeping through me. This I can handle. This fire, this physical passion. I open my mouth beneath his, let his breath mingle with mine. His hand skims lightly over my chest, teasing my nipples to hard points beneath the thin fabric before shifting his hand to my shoulders and pulling me closer to him.

I want to forget dinner. Forget the awkward formality of a real "date." I want to slip out of this outfit and let him fuck me right here in this car. I shouldn't have stopped him before. I should have let him take me, because I know that as soon as we're joined I'll forget all these silly worries and remember that this, right now, is perfect.

But Martin is expecting us.

This time Blaine is the one who pulls away first, but I can tell by the lazy curl of his lips and the dark gleam in his eyes that he wants to give into the same urges I do.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," he says. "I promise I'll be a perfect gentleman at the restaurant."

I nod and sit back against my seat.

It's just a date, I tell myself. I'm just nervous. I bet if I told him, he'd think it was cute.

But somewhere, deep down, I know this isn't just a date, at least not for me. And that's the part that's terrifying.