Country Mouse by Amy Lane Read Free Book Online Page B

relished the skin-on-skin feeling, the touch, even the eye contact. “Why are we here? I get you probably ended up in an overpriced shithole of a hotel—”
    “I really like your mouth.”
    The shape and feeling, maybe, not what was coming out of it. Malcolm smiled. He couldn’t help it. Damn, the guy was cute. Really cute.
    “So you’re spending the night at my flat because you really like my—” Both of Owen’s hands came up, burying themselves in the curly mass of his hair, and Owen positioned him just so, and then touched his lips harder, possessively, and his tongue swept in deeper, with authority.
    Malcolm groaned, opened to him, surprised that someone who’d been so eager to submit to him could take the lead with such ease. When his blood had surged to his skin some, including a healthy dose all points south, and his breathing had quickened, and someone (him) had made a breathless moan into someone’s (Owen’s) mouth, Owen pulled back and placed gentling kisses on the corner of his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead, his chin.
    Malcolm felt stranded, panting slightly for breath, as he clung to Owen’s shoulders (hard shoulders—not massy at all, but hard; Owen was no stranger to a gym) and tried to capture Owen’s mouth.
    Owen refused to be captured. He kissed down Malcolm’s stubbled chin and pulled back, grinning.
    “What?” Malcolm had never felt so vulnerable.
    “You’ve got a good shadow here,” Owen said, scraping it with his thumb. “I’m jealous.” He flashed a powerful grin and brought a hand to rub across his own barely-stubbled jaw. “I tried to grow a goatee once. It came out more like a Chia pet. We called it ‘Chia beard.’”
    Malcolm chuckled, resisting the temptation to put his hand over his mouth. He touched Owen’s cheek instead, liking the feel of the almost-smoothness under his palm. Owen had a long jaw and a narrow, pretty face. His eyes—plain brown at first glance, were dark and liquid and framed with lashes that were blond at the tips.
    “Your face is too pretty to hide under a beard anyway,” he said, trying to sound older and decisive. Instead, he sounded . . . dreamy, but maybe Owen liked dreamy, because he smiled softly and lowered his head for another kiss. “Good chin, great jawline.” He traced it, fingernail scraping gently along the soft skin beyond the bone ridge. He liked to suck on that, bite a bit, depending on mood and timing. “Great body, too,” he added, wondering why he felt the need to compliment Owen. He liked him. No harm done, right? It wasn’t a competition, not in this case. If it had been, he’d have ended it by losing the game back on the couch. He could be gracious in defeat. Maybe. Try to. It wasn’t Owen’s fault. No, Owen had stayed around and was still touching and kissing him.
    The kink seemed to be completely gone, which was fine. Right now, he felt mellow enough to kiss and explore and accept what Owen did to him. Which was to keep him relaxed and drifting in this very aware yet almost sleepy state, with some arousal thrown in. He pulled Owen close for another kiss, half-turned toward him, noticed him getting aroused too, Owen’s dick brushing against his thigh.
    He glanced down, and Owen grinned, knowing exactly what he was thinking. “Do you only top?” Owen asked.
    Malcolm hesitated. That tended to be his chosen role these days. First, tops got a lot more play. A lot. At least from the casual hookup sites, so he’d slowly dressed up his profile to make himself look like an exclusive top. He wasn’t. Had never really been. It was just simpler, played into his image. And he really never wanted to encounter a business client who frequented the same sites and saw him being anything but in control.
    “I’d really like to fuck you, but it’s okay if you don’t want to.”
    Nothing’s too intimate for a stranger. Malcolm’s heart was suddenly pounding. No risk here with Owen. The Yank would be gone soon enough. And if