Jake was twenty-eight. He'd done well for himself, working as PA to the Sales Manager at NationBank's Head Office in Bournemouth.
Just over six feet tall, he had a lean, athletic build thanks to regular running. He'd never enjoyed lifting weights. Smartly dressed, good-looking and with short dark hair, he attracted attention without even trying.
Jake was openly gay to those closest to him. To everyone else, it was anyone's guess. Bournemouth's gay scene had pretty much disappeared thanks to Grindr.
This was his eighth year with the bank. Starting as a Customer Service Manager, he'd steadily worked his way through the departments. It was now his second year working for Dylan.
Jake's desk sat just outside Dylan's office, to the left of the imposing double oak doors. The office itself was everything you'd expect from a senior executive's space: glass walls, expensive furniture and enough presence to make anyone nervous. Those doors could mean a grilling, a meeting or a pay rise.
Next to Jake sat Rachel Hunt. Her desk mirrored his, while her boss, Angela Cummings-Cary, occupied the equally impressive office opposite as Managing Director.
Both offices were almost identical. Large executive desks with dual monitors, shelves packed with business books, dark leather Chesterfield sofas, and ergonomic chairs that probably cost more than most people's monthly wages. Everything about the place screamed success. It was classy, although that wasn't surprising for an American investment bank.
Jake and Rachel, both single and in their late twenties, met up at least once a week. They rented apartments close to each other and had their own circles of friends, but they still found time for dinners, film nights and the occasional slightly messy Friday evening.
Angela was pleasant enough with Rachel and Dylan, but everyone else gave her a wide berth.
Jake certainly did.
Dylan, on the other hand, was a completely different story.
He stood six foot four, with thick ginger hair that always looked perfectly styled, striking green eyes and the build of someone who clearly spent time in the gym. He played squash, rugby and wore beautifully tailored suits that clung to broad shoulders and powerful legs.
Jake had never seen anyone fill out a suit quite like Dylan.
His arse was, in Jake's opinion, perfection—firm, muscular and somehow even better in tailored trousers. Add a flat stomach, confident smile and amazing chin, and Dylan ticked every single box.
Well... almost.
He was married.
And he had children.
That should have been enough.
It wasn't.
Jake had also convinced himself that Dylan was generously endowed, although he only ever allowed himself the quickest of glances before forcing his eyes elsewhere.
Usually after reminding himself to close his mouth.
Rachel knew Jake's secret.
Nobody else did.
One evening, over pizza and a couple of beers, he'd confessed the truth.
"I've got the biggest crush on Dylan."
Rachel hadn't laughed.
She'd smiled sympathetically.
"Don't waste your time."
Jake knew she was right.
That didn't stop Dylan becoming the subject of almost every sexual fantasy Jake had entertained over the previous two years.
Sometimes he wondered whether Dylan knew.
Sometimes he was convinced he did.
There were little smiles.
The occasional wink.
The lingering conversations.
Maybe Jake was imagining it.
Maybe Dylan enjoyed harmless flirting.
Either way, Jake's sex life was fairly uneventful despite being hit on often enough.
Dylan remained the man he thought about almost every night as he wanked and came.
