Jason’s elbows folded, forearms bracing against the bedspread. Owen looped his arms under his, pinning his hands in place as he quickened his pace. Being restrained like that . . . surrounded . . .
Lips at the crook of his neck, wet tongue running a horizontal line across the base. Jason felt the echo of that collar at his throat.
Possessed . . .
Jason panted, shuddered with each exhilarating smack into him.
This. This had been a fantasy. Something that got him off wanking in the shower, the thought of being pinned down and taken. It’d been something he tried to explain to Caroline, to others, but it’d never been realised, and Owen—
Owen took him like he knew exactly what Jason wanted.
All that crazy perception.
If they were face to face, he’d kiss him right now. But, no . . . keep drilling him into the mattress. The fleeting grazes of his cock over the sheets, perfect.
Another bite to his neck.
His balls tightened. “Owen . . .” A gasped warning.
“I got you” soft at his ear. Owen fucked him harder, with fierce energy. The bed rocked and butted against the wall, and Jason was a symphony of pounding pleasure—
Violin, viola, cello, double bass, flute.
Owen shifted; air cooled Jason’s back. His wrists were ghosted cuffs of pressure.
Oboe. Clarinet. Bassoon.
A tight, squeezing hold at his nape. A seeping cock.
Horn. Trumpet. Trombone.
A groaning gasp.
Tuba! Harp! Celesta!
It burst out of him, wave after thunderous wave.
Piano.
Owen came a few thrusts later with a deeply sinful grunt that made Jason smile. They collapsed into his sticky pool of come, Owen still inside and sprawled atop him, panting. “God, Jason. That was something else.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“How are you feeling?”
“Can we do it again?”
“Probably not for a few hours.” Light nips at his ear. “Let’s be realistic. Tomorrow.”
At his forlorn sigh, Owen laughed and slipped out of him. While he knotted and disposed of his condom, Jason twisted and shoved himself onto the dry side of the bed.
“Maybe next time without? I mean, I tested . . . I’m negative.”
Owen’s gaze snapped to his and held in a way that made his chest flutter again.
“Or whatever,” Jason amended, feeling he’d stepped somewhere . . . dangerous. A little beyond his skillset. “I’ll do anything you like.”
A glance toward the darkened garden; an amused shake of his head. Owen crawled towards him, and Jason instinctively wrapped his arms around Owen’s neck and pulled him close. Their noses bumped, and their kiss tasted of sweat, sex, and lavender.
“Your curiosity will kill something. Me.”
“Your stamina seemed pretty impressive.”
Owen groaned and kissed his forehead, then neatly rolled them off the bed. “Let’s change the top cover.”
“And the pillow slip.” As they fluffed out fresh bedding, Jason added, “I hope we have enough spares. I foresee that happening a fair bit.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jason woke up plastered over Owen’s body, like he had in his childhood bedroom, hard and wriggling against, well . . . this time he let himself wriggle.
When they’d both grunted out a magnificent morning release, Owen laughingly deposited him in the shower. “You certainly are all endless energy.”
Jason grinned under the spray of warm water. “Sagittarius. I told you. Wash my back?”
When they were very, very clean, they dressed and flowed into their usual morning routine. Jason cut up fruit into muesli for them, and Owen made coffee.
They sat perpendicular to one another at the square dining table, a pleasant nearness that came with the serenity of not having to speak. Owen liked to read the news on his phone, and Jason jotted out a shopping list. Wrote CORA? in large letters as a single bullet point. And then skipped to the task Pete had given him: find replacement musicians.
He looked up a few options on his phone and penned a few numbers to try, but none of them sounded like great matches.
He glanced over at Owen, in shorts and a loose, old T-shirt. He wanted to mow the lawns, he’d said.
So glad he had the day off to watch . . .
Musicians.
He thought of the violin and cello he’d spotted in the sunroom before the kiss that—
Focus.
“Owen?”
“Hm?”
“Your dad and your sister . . . would they be good enough to play for Pete’s wedding?”
Owen hesitated, gaze flickering to him. “Yes, they would.”
“Could I ask them?”
Owen set down his phone and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t mind, but . . .”
“But I’ve never met your sister and that would be weird? Yeah, I guess.”
“Not where I was going with that.” A pause. “Would you like to meet her?”
Jason clickity-clicked his pen. He couldn’t lie. He’d been fascinated with everyone else in Owen’s family, and he’d like to satisfy his curiosity about Alex’s mum. Owen’s older sister, who played cello. Hannah. “Could I?”
“I wanted to drop in before work today.”
“Back to work?”
“Late shift this week. Two to twelve.”