2016 Top Ten Gay Romance

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Max closed the bedroom door behind him and turned into Owen’s waiting arms. He turned his face up, eyes closing, and felt the soft brush of lips on his. Owen enclosed him in arms as strong as Max had hoped they would be. He sighed and opened his mouth, encouraging, welcoming. Owen deepened the kiss, though was still quite restrained. No thrusting tongue, but a slow exploration.

After a moment, they broke for air. Max opened his eyes to Owen looking down at him, dark eyes intense but a smile on his face.

“That was exquisite,” Owen said.

Max’s eyebrows shot up. Not a word anyone had ever used for his kissing skills before. Though one he’d certainly use for Owen’s. Owen raised a hand to stroke the side of Max’s face, then moved it around to the back of his head. He fingered the band holding Max’s hair back.

“May I?”

“Please do.”

He pulled gently until the hair was free of the band, then brushed strands of it forward over Max’s shoulders. He combed fingers through it, from scalp to ends.

“I knew it would be like silk,” he said. “I’ve wanted to do this all week. It’s beautiful, Max. Beautiful.”

He leaned in again and this time moved quickly from Max’s lips to plant kisses and licks and a nibble or two on Max’s neck and ears. Max groaned softly at the touch—exquisite. His c**k, already perky, filled completely, and his pants became an agonising cage. Unable to restrain his need, he pressed against Owen, who seemed in no rush, rubbed against him, feeling his hardness through his pants.

“Please,” he moaned out. “I need you, Owen. I need you.”

Owen pulled back, kissed his lips again, holding his face in both hands, a thumb caressing each cheek. Max, more urgent, grasped Owen’s jacket lapels, wanting it off.

“Please,” he begged again.

Owen chuckled, his low, sexy chuckle Max had been dreaming about all week. He stepped back and took off his suit jacket, draped it on a chair. He slid off his tie, silk whispering against silk. Max gulped and followed suit—hah! He stripped off jacket and tie and tossed them at the chair, less careful than Owen, whose suit probably cost ten times as much. Owen started to undo his shirt buttons. Max mirrored his every move. Cuffs first, then collar on down, until they both pulled shirt tails from waistbands. Max got no further, frozen in place at the sight of Owen taking his shirt off, revealing those great big arms, broad, muscular shoulders, and well-defined abs. All tanned gold brown.

“Are you sure you’re not a model moonlighting as a solicitor?” Max said.

“I spend too much time in the gym,” Owen said.

“Oh, I’d say you spend exactly enough time in the gym.”

“I need something to distract me. Fill in my free time.” He stepped up to Max, lifted a hand to cup his face, kissed him, hotter, more urgent than before. “Can you think of anything?”

Max barely managed to keep from wrapping his arms and legs tight around Owen and refusing to let go. He’d never wanted any man as much as he wanted Owen. He was incredible, beautiful. Owen’s big hands were on him, sliding under his shirt, pulling him closer. He let go what was embarrassingly close to a sob of need.

“Shh,” Owen said softly. “Relax. I’m going to…” He trailed off and, to Max’s astonished delight, dropped to his knees. He bent forward, kissed Max’s stomach, flicking his tongue in the naval. Max almost came just from that.

“Please,” he moaned. “I need…”

He couldn’t articulate what he needed, he couldn’t speak coherently any more, as Owen undid the button and zip of Max’s pants and pushed them away enough to release Max’s rock-hard and aching c**k.

Max gasped with relief as it came free. The room was rather cold, and the whisper of chill air tried to shrivel it. But there was no chance, not with Owen so close, warming it with his breath and his lips as he kissed and licked, worshiping it. He reached up and held the base of it, stroked the underside where it throbbed and pulsed.

Max almost lost control. He’d started to stroke Owen’s hair, but the sensation was so intense, he gripped and pulled until Owen spoke softly.

“Easy now.” He raised his free hand to touch one of Max’s. He stroked the back of it. “Ease off there, love.”

“Sorry.” Max let go, going back to stroking. “But I can’t hold on any—ah!”

A cry broke from him as Owen pressed forward and swallowed his c**k deep. The thumb went on stroking as he sucked, caressed, and teased. Max hung onto control by the tiniest of margins, not pulling hair, not thrusting hard at Owen’s face. Owen was in control of himself, though. Skilful and generous, finding the ways Max liked it, the right pressure, until Max didn’t think he’d be able to stay on his feet for much longer. His knees were going to go, he knew it. Owen moved yet closer, taking his hand away, taking Max to the root, the head of the c**k in his throat. Max lost the last vestige of control. He barely knew his name and what day it was. His legs were wet string. He was an exploding ball of fire, coming in pounding waves, the tide surging into Owen, flooding, impossible to hold back.

A last quivering moment, then he was gliding, ebbing, everything going blurry and soft, like flying into a cloud. He folded, but strong arms caught and held him. A soft voice whispered in his ear. There must have been words, but they might as well have been Greek.

He came to his senses a moment later, lying on the bed, in Owen’s arms, obscenely and delightfully dishevelled. Owen was stroking his hair. He smiled when Max opened his eyes, looked into his face so close by.

“I take it that was okay then?”

“Okay?” Max said, voice hoarse. He grinned. “It was amazing.”

“For me, too.” Owen nuzzled into his neck, stroked his chest, fingertips trailing and making the skin roughen into goose bumps. Max turned onto his side, into Owen’s arms. Owen had his shirt off, but pants still on. That would never do.

“Let’s get into bed,” Max suggested. “It’s cold.”

They stripped out of the rest of their clothes and dived under the duvet to snuggle close. Max reached between them for Owen’s c**k. It filled his hand, hot and hard. Owen groaned.

“Yes,” he whispered softly. “Yes, like that.” Max stroked the head of it, ran fingers up and down it. Owen’s eyes were closed and flickering. “That’s good.”

Max pushed Owen to lie on his back and pulled the duvet down so he could see what he was doing. Oh, what a gorgeous c**k, not huge in some porn star fantasy way. Just right, fitting perfectly into Max’s hand. He leaned up on one elbow and went on stroking and watching Owen’s face.

“Is that good?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.” Owen opened his eyes, reached up to touch Max’s face, stroke a thumb across his lips. “Max, please.” A gentle soft touch, but one Max interpreted correctly, along with the unspoken question.

“Do you want me to blow you?”

“I would love it. If you want to.”

As if Max hadn’t wanted it from the moment he’d met Owen. He wasted no more time on words. He only moved down a little, bent to the pleasurable task. He licked a salty bead from the head, then slid his lips slowly down the shaft, learning every bump and vein, running his tongue over them. Owen gasped and said incoherent, encouraging things. One of his big strong hands came to rest on Max’s head. He could have pushed, shoved Max down further onto his c**k, but he only stroked, let Max set the pace.

His unexpected gentleness, through this whole encounter, was a greater thrill than all of Max’s fantasies of him being dominant and taking control. Max had imagined he’d be that way, being older than Max, being a guy probably quite used to getting his own way. He reminded himself to stop imagining real people to be like the ones in movies. He’d fantasised about Owen ordering him to his knees, taking him hard. But this was better. Consideration, care. Nobody taking charge. Rather…an exchange. Sharing pleasure.

The scent of sweat rose from Owen as it sprang from his pores. It mixed with the musk of s*x and made Max’s senses swim. No better scent in the world than a man lost in pleasure. A moment later, he was proved wrong. Owen came, and the taste and smell of him filled Max’s mouth. Ah, salty goodness. Max laughed with delight as Owen shivered and flopped onto the bed, limp and wrung out. His hand on Max’s head went heavy and still and then slid away. Max sat up, leaned across Owen, one hand holding himself up on the other side of Owen’s gorgeous body. Owen was a saint in his ecstasy. A demi-god. In a moment, he sighed and stretched, languorous as a cat, contentment radiating from him. He opened his eyes and smiled up at Max.

“Thank you. That was incredible.”

“You’re so very welcome.”

“I’ve been thinking about it all week, but it was better than any fantasy.”

“Flatterer.”

“Come here, please.” He held out a hand to Max.

“You’re so polite.” It was said in a teasing tone, but Max liked it.

A twink like him—and he couldn’t deny he fit the category—tended to get bossed around in bed, especially by older, bigger men. So Owen’s politeness and gentleness were refreshing and a surprising turn-on. He could get used to them. He wanted to get used to them. Which wasn’t to say he wouldn’t also like Owen to pound him into the mattress sometime and leave him walking funny for a few days…

He lay down, across Owen’s broad chest, in his arms. Owen stroked his hair. Not so silky any more, heavy with sweat. After a few minutes, he pulled the duvet over them as the chill of the room penetrated.

“Max,” Owen said after a while, “Did you want to come back to work at the firm again? I could get you your job back.”

“No,” Max said. “I definitely don’t fit there. And…” He looked into Owen’s face. “If I worked there, then this won’t happen again, will it? I mean, I don’t know if you want it to. But I do, so…”

“I definitely want it to happen again. And you’re quite right. If you worked there, it couldn’t.”

“Then I guess I start sending out my CV.”

“I have a lot of contacts. May I ask around, see if anyone’s got anything for someone with your brand of refreshing honesty?”

“You’d do that?”

“I’m not saying I’ll get you a job, but I’ll bet I can put you in touch with the right people. That’s what contacts are for.”

“Okay, great,” Max said. “That’s good of you, thank you. What about at the firm, though? Not for me, what about Noah and Penny?”

“We may have the senior partners over a barrel. If I seize the moment, I bet I can get both of them taken on when they qualify.”

“But you know there’s more to it. Changes have to be made.”

“And I’m the one in the position to make them, yes.” He stroked Max’s face. “Ah, you’re not going to let me get away with anything, are you?”

“I bet you get away with a lot, and always have.” It was only partly teasing.

And Owen responded with a serious nod. “You’re right. I have. I have to use that to the good, don’t I?”

“Yes.” Max grinned. “I promise you many and various rewards if you do.”

Owen laughed and pulled him closer for a kiss, held onto him until the room started to dim as the afternoon wore on, and Max drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

Max went into the kitchen. Noah was messing around at the stove, the radio playing. It was almost 6:30. He gave Max a brilliant smile, interrupting himself singing along to the radio.

“Was starting to think you’d sleep right through until morning. I’m making a spag bol.”

Max knew that because the delicious scent of softening onions had woken him. He’d been alone in his bed, but it still held traces of Owen’s cologne. He’d taken a quick shower and put on sweats before joining Noah in the kitchen.

“Could you set the table?” Noah asked.

Max started setting out the plates and cutlery on the kitchen table.

“Are we having wine?” he asked.

“Definitely. Grab a bottle of red there.”

They bustled about the kitchen, until at last they were sitting at the table. Noah picked up the bottle of red and filled Max’s glass then his own. He lifted his up, as if making a toast.

“To Max and his big mouth.”

“Oh, no,” Max moaned.

“Oh, yes. This time I can’t condemn you for getting sacked again over it. Thank you, Max, for what you said. For standing up for me.”

“Returning the favour, you know that.”

He clinked his glass to Noah’s. They drank and started on their dinner. After they finished the food, they lingered over wine, discussing the fallout from the day’s events. Max didn’t mention his own particular fallout, though was sure Noah had guessed at it—he and Owen both disappear from the office and when Noah comes home, Max is fast asleep in bed at teatime. Doesn’t take a genius to work that out.

When Noah went to fetch them some ice cream from the freezer, Max checked his phone, which he’d heard buzz with a message a little while ago. A text from Owen. Max grinned at it.

If you’re free tomorrow night, want to see dinner and eat a movie?

He was never, ever living that one down.

THE END