Page 23 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

He unbuckles my belt and nimbly unzips my jeans. “Oh well,” I say faintly. “Never let it be said that I get in the way of a workman.”

“You know what they say,” he mutters, grinning. “A good workman loves his tool.”

“That’s not what they–” I start to say but my words die away to a moan as he reaches in and draws out my cock and licks up the length of it. Oh shit.

Oz looks up, his eyes so blue in the light that they seem to shine. I reach my hand down and tangle it in his hair, feeling the silky waves run through my fingers. He waits, his mouth open and a wicked sparkle daring me to go further. He doesn’t wait long.

Fisting my cock, I drag my hand down my length, drawing out a fat drop of pre-come. Then I rub the tip of my cock on his lower lip, seeing it glisten and shine before he moans under his breath and takes me down the back of his throat.

“Motherfucker,” I hiss, arching my back and banging my head into the wall at the feel of that hot, tight grip on my cock.

He pulls off slowly, letting me feel my cock bathed in that wet tunnel, before he levers up from his knees and grabs my shoulders, taking my mouth in a hot kiss.

I taste the tart tang of my pre-come on his tongue and grab the back of his head to keep him there as I tongue his mouth.

I breathe hard through my nose, feeling him writhe against me, his cock a solid, rock-hard length against my hip.

He pulls away and kisses my neck with soft, suckling kisses, detouring to the lobe of my ear where he plays, making me fist my hand in my mouth to stop myself from shouting out.

I shudder and grunt as the delicate kisses send cold shivers down my spine and my cock throbs wetly in the cool air between us.

His hands go down the back of my jeans, grabbing my arse cheeks in his callused hands and beginning to rub his groin against me, canting his hips and groaning.

I push my head into the plaster and moan.

“So good,” I whisper and he nods, the blue in his eyes already nearly eclipsed by his excited pupils.

He pulls back and slowly raises my shirt until it’s scrunched around my neck.

He nestles his nose into my armpit hair and inhales deeply, his eyes closed in concentration, then tracks kisses across my chest, nuzzling into the hair there with a dreamy look on his face.

I groan quietly and he nips my right nipple, looking up from underneath his lashes and biting down gently, making me squirm and moan.

He lowers gracefully to his knees and I watch with avid eyes as he unbuttons his jeans quickly and fists his cock.

It’s long and slender and as pale as he is with a ruddy, slick head.

He groans long and low and I feel my cock harden even more at the sound.

Starting to tunnel into his closed fist, he nuzzles into the neat thatch of hair around my cock and inhales deeply.

He looks up. “You smell so good,” he says hoarsely, and then rises up and takes me down his throat, swallowing and licking the sensitive underside.

Kneeling there, he looks like a debauched angel with that high-cheekboned face flushed and dreamy, his lips swollen and stretched around my cock and his chin damp with spit. Abruptly I feel my balls tighten.

“I’m close,” I grunt, and he blinks before pulling off my cock with a wet pop.

“Fuck my face,” he says hoarsely and I nod, taking the sides of his head and pulling him back onto my cock.

At first, I go slowly but he makes frantic noises of encouragement and soon I’m fucking his mouth frantically, feeling his suckling pulls drawing my come out of me. “Oh God ,” I whisper fervently.

He moans and as one hand frantically wanks himself, he reaches the other up, splaying it over my chest and pinching my nipple.

The tiny bite of pain makes me jerk and before I know what I’m doing, I grab that hand and hold on tight.

He looks up, almost startled, but then he groans and squeezes my fingers while sucking frantically and messily.

Saliva drips over his chin, and the noises are obscene in the room.

“Oh fuck,” I mutter. “So fucking close. ” I look down at him.

“Don’t swallow and don’t come,” I command.

He looks up blearily at me, and the sight of those eyes clouded with lust and the red mouth around my cock sets me off.

I clench my buttocks and unload spurt after spurt into his mouth.

He chokes slightly and some escapes, flowing over the sides of those full lips.

Instantly I drag him up against me and kiss him, taking my come from his mouth and swallowing the salty liquid.

I grab his cock in a firm grip and he shuttles through my fist, making choked, desperate noises as I suckle on his tongue.

It isn’t long before he goes rigid and groans deep in his throat, and I feel wet heat flowing over my fingers.

He rests against me for a long few minutes and then he moves back slightly, watching almost dreamily as I raise my hand and lick my palm clean.

He shudders slightly and moans under his breath and for a second I consider round two, but quickly discount it as I’m amazed we haven’t been caught this time.

Reading my expression, something passes over his face too quickly for me to analyse, and then it’s gone and his face clears.

He pulls back, breathing heavily, and leans against the wall next to me companionably.

When my head finally stops spinning, I reach out and caress his cheekbones.

He’s looking at me with an inscrutable face and he seems to glow in the shafts of sunlight from the large window opposite us.

“Come back here and kiss me,” I say hoarsely.

His expression lightens a little and he moves into me and takes my mouth, giving me his weight for a second. I groan under my breath at the feel of his tongue.

He pulls back and that expression has returned. I’d almost call it worried until he smiles gamely. “Come on,” he says in a hearty voice. “Let’s go and compare notes.”

“On the blow job ?” I say in a stunned voice, feeling myself reel at the way he’s so swiftly shifted gear.

He laughs. “Of course,” he says through his chuckles as we right our clothing. “We should always judge our performance. No. I meant our critique of this place.”

He’s still laughing when he opens the door and we find ourselves face to face with the second-to-last person I want to see. It isn’t my day today.

“Alexander,” I say resignedly.

“Silas?” he asks incredulously. “Is it really you?” He’s dressed in navy chinos, a white shirt, and a navy sports jacket. He looks pompous and slightly ridiculous in this heat and he even has a cravat on, for fuck’s sake.

“It’s me,” I say dryly. “In the flesh.”

“What are you doing here?”

I flush a little because this is terrible manners.

I’ve inveigled my way onto a tour, had a stand-up argument with his estate manager, and got a blow job in his drawing room.

Then, I remember the time he held me upside down out of a window at school for not doing his homework properly, and I straighten.

“Just looking around,” I say, waving a hand casually.

“In my house?”

“Isn’t it open to the general public?”

“You’re not the general public.” Then his expression clears and he smirks. “Were you looking for David? Sad to say he’s working for me now.”

“It is sad, but not in the way you’re thinking. But never mind. I’m not looking for him. This is Oz, and we’re here–” I hesitate and Oz shifts.

“To look around the house. I’m very interested in old properties,” he says smoothly.

Alexander looks Oz up and down so dismissively that my blood boils, then he laughs.

“How about ruins? You’ll love Silas’s house, then.

Make it quick, though, before lack of money sees it crumble into the ground.

Still, at least you’ve seen how it should be done.

” He grins unpleasantly. “Silas never could keep his balance, let alone balance his chequebook.”

“Not when someone was holding me out of a window,” I say flippantly. “It tends to upset one’s equilibrium.” I’m aware of Oz stiffening and then he smiles at Alexander. It’s not a nice smile.

“I’m so sorry about that suit of armour,” he says.

“What? Why?”

“It’s a fake.”

“Of course it isn’t,” he says bombastically. “How the hell would you know that?”

Oz grins. “It’s got Made in China on a label inside it.” He tuts. “I’d remove that before someone sees.”

He grabs my hand and tows me out of the room. When we’re a good distance away I hiss, “Has it really got a Made in China label?”

“ No ,” he scoffs. “But it’ll take him ages looking for it.”

My laughter is loud enough to be heard all over the house.

Oz

Once we’re back in the car, he drives off without saying anything.

The quiet feels ominous and I shoot him a nervous glance.

Was that too much? I’m floundering here.

Usually when I meet someone there isn’t any of this getting to know one another.

Shit, I can’t remember the last time I was even on a fucking date.

Usually it’s just a quick chat, a grope, things get heavy, and both of us come.

This is outside of my experience. I’d somehow thought that Silas would be his usual self during sex.

Calm and kind and funny. I thought I’d control the sex like I normally do and keep it light.

Well, the joke’s on me, because it was very far from that.

He was intense and demanding and so fucking hot that I thought I’d burn up.

I remember him instructing me not to swallow and then gulping down his own come while kissing me, and my cock stiffens.

Then I remember his hand squeezing mine when he came, and I wriggle and feel something heavy in my stomach.

He’s been so quiet since we left, and for the first time I worry about what another man thinks of me.

Have I put him off me, blowing him like that in another man’s house?

Has he lost interest now I’ve been on my knees for him, like so many others have?

I think of him moving on and I actually feel sick.

I hate this. I hate feeling so unsure about another person. This is why I avoid liking people. They bring ties and awful things like being bothered what they think of me and living up to their expectations.

I try to relax into my seat and stare out of the window watching the green fields fly past. I’ll just sit here, I decide. Let him speak when he wants to. I’m not begging someone to talk to me.

“You’re very quiet.” The voice that just spoke sounded very much like me, but I’m so stunned at what my mouth just did that I actually look around for the someone else who just spoke. He turns to me and I blanch at the look of anger on his face. “What’s the matter?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He sighs and his fingers flex on the steering wheel. “I’m just so angry at the way they spoke to you. Sneering at you like you were less than them.”

I stare at him, feeling disconcerted by his answer.

It wasn’t what I expected. “People see me and make a lot of misconceptions. It doesn’t bother me anymore, to be honest. People can think what they like.

The only people whose opinions I care about are very few in number.

” I smile. “The rest can go fuck themselves.”

He looks quickly at me before returning his eyes to the road. “I wish I could be like that,” he muses softly. “But I’ve always been bothered.”

“That’s because you hate letting people down,” I say sagely. “It’s your curse to want people to be happy.” I shake my head mournfully. “What a terrible person you are.”

He laughs and something inside me unfurls a little bit, like a plant seeking the sun.

I love making him laugh. To see him smile makes me incredibly happy, especially now.

That feels like something I should be bothered about, but I tell myself that I can’t be concerned about it if I don’t think too hard about what it means.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” I say impulsively.

He looks at me quizzically. “Of course, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

I flounder slightly. “Well, after the blow job I thought you might be a bit cross with me.” I shrug. “I mean, I did force it along and it would have been really embarrassing if someone had found us.”

“You think I’m angry about you giving me a blow job?” he asks incredulously.

When he puts it like that, it does sound ridiculous. I laugh. “Ignore me. That was stupid.” I look around as he pulls into the opening of a field and turns to me. “What are you doing?” I ask. “Is there a problem with the car?”

“There’s a problem in the car. Why on earth would you think I’d be cross about you giving me a blow job?”

I shrug awkwardly. “I don’t know. In my experience, men usually fuck off after we’ve both come. I just don’t want you feeling awkward about having to still be on a date with me afterwards. We can go home now if you like.”

Something flares in his eyes at the word home, but then a curious mix of anger and what looks like tenderness fills his eyes. He reaches out and cups my chin and turns my face to his. “Oz, that blow job was wonderful. I came so hard I saw stars. However, you’re missing something very important.”

“What?” I whisper.

“Most of what made it brilliant was because it was you. You make me hard when you smile at me, and when you get fierce I could drill stone with my cock. However, that’s all tied up in you.

I asked you on a date because I’m fascinated with you.

You make me laugh, and there’s something so vital and alive about you.

So, the blow job was just icing. The real sweet stuff is being with you, talking together and making you laugh.

If you never blew me again I would still want to be with you. ”

I try to swallow the stupid bloody lump in my throat. No one has ever talked or looked like this at me before. It’s incredible and humbling at the same time, and I instantly try to dissolve the tension.

“So, you’re saying you never want a blow job again, then?”

He smiles. “Of course I want one. I’m stupid for you, Oz. I’m not stupid in general.”

I sigh. Feelings are back again. Damn them.

He looks at me determinedly. “I can see I’m going to have to up my game. This wasn’t so much a date, as a farce.” I laugh and he smiles. “Be ready tomorrow afternoon at four. And be prepared to be wowed.”

I swallow hard.