Page 54 of Home Grown Talent

Inevitable, unstoppable, his orgasm began to rise. And somehow Owen must have known because he pulled out, lifting and turning Mason in his powerful arms till he was on his back, staring up at Owen.

For a moment, Mason lay there, gasping, Owen above him flushed, his cock swaying heavy and hard between them, his eyes gleaming. And then Owen was kissing him, devouring his mouth, grabbing Mason’s wrists and pressing them into the mattress above his head with one large hand as he smoothly entered him again in one powerful thrust.

Mason cried out with the pure abandoned joy of it, wrapping his legs around Owen’s waist, lifting his hips off the bed as Owen angled into him just fucking right. Right there.

He was so close now, so fucking close. But he couldn’t quite get there, not on his own. “Need to… Fuck.” He whined and whimpered, thrashing desperately. Mastered, and loving it. Too pleasure-soaked to be coherent. “Fuck, I can’t… I need to…”

“Say please,” Owen said softly, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. There was just a hint of a taunt in his voice, but his eyes shone with real affection.

“Fuck.”

“Say it…”

“Fuck. Please. Fucking please!”

Owen’s smile widened. Sweetened. “Good boy,” he husked, brushing his mouth over Mason’s before finally—fucking finally—taking Mason’s cock in his strong hand. “Now do it,” Owen growled, hand moving perfectly. “Come on, angel, I want to see you come.”

The shock of hearing his real name on Owen’s lips, of that firm, commanding grip, and the deep pressure of Owen’s cock pounding into him, twisted off the cap. Mason came like a detonation, shooting into Owen’s hand as he cried out and arced up off the bed.

Owen groaned, thrusting hard—once, twice, three times—and went rigid, fingers biting into Mason’s hips, gasping his release.

“Jesus,” Owen panted, collapsing over him, the words a hot caress against his throat. “Jesus, Mason. Fucking hell…”

After a few stunned moments, Owen shifted unsteadily, still breathing hard, and carefully withdrew from Mason’s body before he stood up to deal with the condom.

Mason rolled over, pressed his hot face into the duvet, aware of his jeans still tangled around one foot, dangling off the edge of the bed. He felt abruptly unmoored, vulnerable, and a little uncertain.

Angel.

Did Owen know? How could he? Or was it just a pet name?

But then Owen was back, gently tugging Mason’s jeans the rest of the way off his foot. The bed dipped beneath his weight as he sat down, one hand stroking Mason’s back.

“Hey, still with me, petal?”

All teasing had disappeared from his voice, nothing left but that familiar, gentle warmth. Mason moved, his leaden body responding sluggishly, lifting his face from the duvet, the wreck of his hair flopping over his face.

Owen watched him with smiling blue eyes, looking flushed and happy. “Okay?” he asked, pushing Mason’s hair out of his eyes. “Was that good for you?”

Mason nodded, and Owen smiled, then gave a little tug on his arm. “Come here, then. Let’s have a cuddle.”

And it was exactly what Mason needed, snuggling under the duvet together, his flash of vulnerability melting in the steady warmth of Owen’s arms.

After a while, Owen gave a low chuckle, the sound a deep reverberation against Mason’s ear. “That was… Christ, that was hot.”

Mason laughed too, burying the sound against Owen’s shoulder. “It really fucking was.” And maybe it was the drowsy warmth beneath the covers, or the feel of Owen’s strong body keeping him close, or simply the surge of contentment swelling inside him like a balloon, but Mason heard himself saying, “Why did you call me Angel?”

“Why not? You’re beautiful enough.” Owen threaded a hand into Mason’s damp hair, pushing it away from his face to look at him better. “Christ, you’re so beautiful.”

You’re so beautiful.

Mason stiffened at those familiar words. He didn’t say anything, though. He never did because it sounded silly and ungrateful, but this time, he didn’t have to say anything because Owen noticed his reaction.

“No?” he said, frowning. “That bothers you?”

Shaking his head, Mason had no intention of explaining himself. Yet somehow, under Owen’s steady gaze, it felt okay to say, “It’s just… I can’t help how I look, you know? It’s not like I can take any credit for my face, but sometimes it feels like it’s all people care about.” He winced, hoping he hadn’t offended Owen. “Sorry, I know it’s stupid, and I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not stupid,” Owen said. “I’ve seen the way people ogle you. It must feel … objectivising. I don’t want to make you feel like that.”