Owen laughed. “I’d prefer if I wasn’t compared to a pickle.”
“Oh no.” Jason pulled all of him out, so hard, so heavy. “You’re a right cucumber.”
“Jason.” Hearty laughter—
Cut short by Jason flicking his tongue against that glistening head.
“You’re impossible.”
Jason lapped more of the saltiness from him and then sucked him into his mouth with a moan. He looked up innocently. Well, as innocently as one could while gorging on cock.
It was a good thing the kitchen island was behind Owen, because with the next inch Jason took, his knees buckled. “God. I will talk with you, though.”
Jason came off reluctantly. “Not now.”
“After.”
“I have to help set up the party. Then there’s the party.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
Jason took more of Owen into his mouth, right until he hit the back of his throat.
Owen gasped. “We’ll go to the beach. We’ll talk.”
Sand, sea, stray wallabies along the shoreline. The candid picture of Owen’s family, laughing. Owen’s special spot.
Was that where he broke up with all his lovers and fake boyfriends?
He made a garbled sound, and it wasn’t from choking on Owen’s mounting eagerness.
“God your mouth is amazing. Oh, Christ. I’m way too close.”
Jason clamped his hands on Owen’s thighs, steadying him as he drew off, lips swollen and delightfully salty. “Not yet, please?”
A cocked eyebrow above dark sparkles in his eye.
“I need to practice something before I meet Angus tonight.”
“Angus?” he said sharply.
Jason didn’t mind the sudden glare he was receiving. It made his belly hop. He squeezed Owen at his base, feeling the pulse under his skin and the silkiness surrounding all that primal potential. His voice got husky. “Could you try bucking like a bull while I ride you?”
Chapter Sixteen
In the middle of a padded, fenced area sat a massive steel-welded bull, covered in fake fur, with a model horned head. As well as Jason had clung onto Owen’s bucking frame, there was no question: he’d be no match for Angus.
Eyes like the devil bored into him, a challenge that Jason was very happy not to accept.
The bar heaved with energy. Drinks had been circulating the Stag Crew for the last hour, music pulsed, and cheers rang through the space every time someone got bucked off Angus.
Pete had not yet relaxed, and when he finished taking yet another call, Jason swiped his phone. “It’s your night to go wild.”
Pete laughed and shoved a stressed hand through his nicely waxed ginger quiff. “That was about our rehearsal dinner. Our booking’s been cancelled due to a fire. Now instead of doing it the night before the wedding, we’ll have to hold it at Trinity tomorrow.”
Jason hailed the bartender for a beer—Pete’s earlier pick—and slid it over.
“Thanks, man.” He took a large gulp. “Never get married. I mean, do, but . . . last minute weddings are a pain in the arse. Not the fun kind.”
“Tomorrow isn’t so bad. It gives you more time to concentrate on the big day. Plus no nasty hangovers.”
“Silver linings, Carl. That’s why you’re my best man.” Pete looked at him, grin dropping to something softer. Serious. “It wasn’t . . . we weren’t . . . but I love you as a friend.”
A beautiful sentiment, but he wasn’t sure he’d want Carl to have heard it.
Pete bumped his shoulder. “Your boyfriend’s here. Jesus, I still can’t get over that. Gimme my phone. I’ll make the rounds. Oh, and Carl?”
“Yeah?”
Waggling brows. “Show Angus what you’ve got.”
A wan smile. “I’m sure you’ll all be very surprised.”
Laughter tickled his nape, and Jason sank back against a firm chest and arms that immediately steadied him at his hips. “You’re here.”
Owen kissed him under the ear, eliciting a delightful shiver. He smelled like he’d come straight from a shower, lavender and bergamot. Crisp, damp hair combed over his cheek.
Pete paused in his retreat to gape and shake his head, and Jason happily added to the show, spinning around to capture Owen’s mouth.
“Good evening so far?”
Jason murmured, “Just got better.” He ushered Owen to a booth that had just freed up, but instead of slinging himself opposite, he slid onto the same bench and pressed their thighs together, craving contact. He wanted to make the most of every minute before the damn beach and their ‘talk’ tomorrow.
“Are you growling?” Owen was watching him, amused.
Jason fiddled with the empty metal napkin stand. “Yes. Uh, because of the serious lack of napkins. Pete paid good money to hire this place. It’s making me grumpy.”
“You want napkins?”
Jason looked at him. “I want . . . napkins.”
Leaning towards him, “You could always ask for them.”
Ask.
Jason’s breath hitched. His heart started making a ruckus.
He swallowed, but it didn’t settle. He stood abruptly, so hard he banged his thigh and pain lanced through his leg. Even so, it was the triple-quavers in his chest that held his attention.
Owen raised a brow, but his silent What’s going on? was cut off by a gruff yell.