Page 75 of Home Grown Talent

After a pause, he cautiously typed: Owen Hunter Mason Nash.

A stream of results popped up on the screen, most of them links to posts on social media, some to the official Weekend Wellness website, others to RPP.

“Shit,” he said, leaning back in his chair as if the words and images might jump off the screen to bite him. Then, with distaste, he looked closer and started scrolling, his stomach getting more and more tense as he went.

When his eyes landed on one particular image, though, he stopped, hand frozen on the mouse, horrified.

It showed a zoomed-in screen cap from last week’s show—that bloody shot where Owen was blatantly staring at Mason’s arse. Someone had photoshopped labels onto it. Pitcher? across Owen’s chest. Catcher? across Mason’s backside.

With one disgusted click, Owen shut down the browser.

He felt sick to his stomach. What the hell was wrong with people? How dare they look at him—at him and Mason—and think about that? How dare they speculate about their lives, about the most intimate parts of their lives? And how fucking dare they put it up on the internet to snigger at for fun? For their amusement?

In a fit of angry frustration, he slammed his fist on the table, sloshing his coffee onto his paperwork. “Fuck!”

And the worst thing was that Mason loved this crap. Lapped it up. It was his life, his career, his future—and for the first time, Owen wondered whether that was going to be a problem.

Because he hated it. He absolutely bloody hated it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Mason

Early evening sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains of Mason’s bedroom, casting golden shadows across the ceiling.

“You like that, baby?” Owen murmured, his voice husky and his cock buried deep, deep inside Mason’s body.

Mason nodded, eyes half closing against the pleasure rippling through him. One of Owen’s big hands had captured his wrists, pressing them lightly into the mattress above Mason’s head; his other arm was snug around Mason’s waist, lifting his hips at the perfect angle.

Their eyes met, Owen’s smiling and warm, his face flushed, lips curled in pleasure. “God you’re so… perfect.” He dipped his head, kissing Mason’s mouth, the thrusting of his hips slowing as he released Mason’s wrists and cupped the back of his head instead.

Subtly, slowly their kisses changed. Softened, sweetened. Mason’s heart pounded high in his chest, almost in his throat as Owen lifted his head to gaze into his face, before kissing him again. Moments later, he pulled out of Mason’s body, and Mason couldn’t stifle a whine of frustration at the loss.

“Shh,” Owen soothed, nudging Mason onto his side and lying down behind him. “Let’s try it like this.”

Mason managed a gasped, “Yeah,” as Owen eased back into his willing body, reaching around to take hold of Mason’s cock. His grip was strong and warm, and he stroked in a delicious counterpoint to the steady thrust of his hips.

Mason arched back, turning his head enough that they could kiss again. Messy, hungry kisses. He grabbed a fistful of Owen’s hair and pulled him closer, nipping at his lips, losing himself in abandon.

Owen’s pace quickened, both hips and hand, and then with a grunt, he rolled Mason over onto his belly. Mason’s cock rubbed against the sheets as Owen nudged his legs further apart and thrust harder, deeper, faster. Overwhelmed, physically and mentally, as Owen’s body pressed him into the mattress, Mason could do nothing but feel.

And he loved it.

“Fuck.” Owen growled the word against Mason’s ear. “Fuck, Mason. Yes.”

Breath stuttering, Owen got both arms around Mason, holding him tight as he fucked into him. The world slipped away, nothing left but the pleasure thrumming deep inside Mason’s body, the cresting rush of climax tightening his thighs, his balls, his belly.

With a cry, Owen came, deep and deeper, shuddering as he buried his face against Mason’s shoulder.

Then, breathing hard, he rolled them both back onto their sides, his cock still deep inside Mason. Slipping one arm under Mason’s ribs to wrap around his chest, Owen held him tight against his body as his other hand once more took hold of Mason’s cock.

Fuck, Mason loved the way Owen manhandled him. Took control. There was a kindness and attentiveness to it that made him feel spoiled and cherished and brought a ridiculous sting to his eyes as his simmering climax reached a rolling boil.

Muscles tensed, brain blanked. Close, so fucking close.

“That’s it. I’ve got you,” Owen murmured, mouthing the words against Mason’s ear. “Let go, angel. Just let go…”

With a shout, Mason let go.