Blowing It (18 page)

“Actually, I can.” He at least looked rueful. Or
perhaps he was a better actor than I’d given him credit for. “I hate to remind
you you’re under contract, Owen, but you are. You signed an image clause,
remember? That means if I say you’re to take Becky for dinner, then you will
damn well take Becky for dinner. Is that so hard to understand?”

“What if she refuses?” I countered.

Max grinned wolfishly. “She’s under contract, too.”

“Since when?”

“Since nine o’clock this morning. I should thank
you, Owen. You must have spoken very highly of us to bring her around so
quickly.”

“You mean she knew nothing about this?”

“No. I told her the same as I told you. I wanted
the two of you to meet. I’d have wanted that whether your image was in jeopardy
or not.”

“
In jeopardy
?” I repeated incredulously.
“Now who’s being ridiculous?”

“That, right there.” Max pointed an accusing finger
at me. “You don’t take this seriously, Owen, but if you want to get anywhere in
your genre, you have to.”

I shook my head. “I honestly don’t think people
care that much. I’ve looked at Wikipedia. There’s next to nothing about the
personal lives of any successful YA author.”

“And how much do you think there’d be if people
knew you were gay?” Max countered. “You think that wouldn’t be all over the
internet? It wouldn’t be brought up in every interview, every mention of your
books? Right now, you’re ‘children’s author Owen Black’. Do you really want to
be ‘gay children’s author’ instead?”

“No.” I crossed my arms sullenly.

“That’s what will happen. Your sexuality will
preface everything. It will eclipse any talk of your success. It will hamper
your career and then, on the rare occasions when you
do
do well, people
will say it’s because you got the equality vote. Do you want that? Or do you
want to let your books stand on their own merits?”

“You know I want that. I just don’t see why I need
a pretend girlfriend to make it happen.”

“You wouldn’t, not if you’d been more discreet.”

“So this is my fault?”

Max sighed. “I’m not in the business of
apportioning blame. What happened, happened. It’s my job to fix it.”

“So now I need to be fixed, do I?”

Max glared at me. “Stop being a diva, Owen. It’s
business, that’s all. Don’t make it personal.”

“How can I not when you’re telling me I have to
date Becky?”

“I’m not making you sleep with her, just have
dinner once or twice. She said you two really hit it off.”

I couldn’t deny the truth of his words, but that
was before I’d known Becky was my beard. Max’s assurances aside, how could I
believe she didn’t know? I didn’t trust a word he said.

“Call her, Owen,” Max said firmly. “I expect to see
you in the papers again within the week. If I don’t, I’ll make it happen, do
you understand?”

Throwing him a look which would have killed a
lesser man, I stormed from the room.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The next day couldn’t come quickly enough. I’d
invited Magnus to my place, and we’d planned a lazy evening, eating takeaway
and watching bad films. He’d confessed to never having seen
First Wives’
Club
, a situation which needed to be rectified as soon as humanly possible
if our relationship was to last. Me serenading “You Don’t Own Me” down the
phone had been met with a protracted and uncomfortable silence, but I knew he’d
come around. What gay man wouldn’t?

Suddenly, however, what was supposed to have been a
fun, relaxed evening was overshadowed by Max’s betrayal. I wanted to rant and
rave, throw things at the wall, tell Max to go fuck himself. I almost wished
I’d given him the benefit of the doubt and never learnt how thoroughly I’d been
played, because now I knew, and I had no option but to go along with it. I
didn’t doubt for a moment Max would carry out his threat to enforce my contract
by any means at his disposal. I couldn’t afford to fight my agency, even if I
had the time, but the Carnegie ceremony was less than a month away. Afterwards,
I consoled myself, Max would back off. I could manage three weeks.

Plastering a chipper smile on my face, I arranged
the menus of my local Chinese, Indian, and Thai takeaways in a neat fan on the
table and channel-hopped, waiting for Magnus to arrive. He was due to come to
my place straight from work, and I was supposed to have been writing until he
arrived, but I hadn’t found the energy, too riled by Max and Becky to
concentrate. Instead I’d spent the day playing endless games of mah-jong on my
laptop and watching home renovation shows. I could almost feel my brain dissolving
into a pile of ooze, sloshing stickily around my skull.

Magnus arrived at six thirty, and I jumped him the
moment he stepped through the door, throwing my arms around his neck and
hugging him fiercely.

“What was that for?” he asked, smiling but a little
taken aback.

“Crappy day.” I released my chokehold enough to
kiss his mouth. “Tell me yours was better.”

“Can’t complain.” He smoothed his hands down my
flanks, settling them on my hips. “You still upset about your agent?”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Probably.” He kissed me, our lips lingering. “There’s
really nothing you can do?”

“Nothing that wouldn’t get me in trouble for breach
of contract.”

“You think they’d risk the bad publicity? It could
ruin their reputation.”

“You don’t understand.” I slipped from his arms to
give him a chance to remove his suit jacket. Navy blue, it brought out the grey
in his hair, making him look wonderfully distinguished. “What reputation? It’s
not like they depend on a consumer market for their income. The best an
outraged public could do was boycott my books, and how would that help me? The
publishers don’t care what agents do, and the world is full of authors
desperate to sign with an agency of Cardwell’s calibre. I’m screwed.”

“It’s not right,” he insisted, a frown crossing his
handsome face. “I hate that they’ve got you over a barrel like this.”

“It’s only for three weeks,” I said, unsure if I was
trying to convince him or myself.

 “You honestly never suspected?”

I considered his question. “I knew there was something
off about it,” I admitted. “I
knew
it was fishy. I just never thought
Max would stoop so low.”

Magnus made a sympathetic sound as he folded his
jacket over the back of a chair beside my kitchen counter. “If there’s nothing
you can do, don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s only a couple of dinners, and
you said you like Becky, so it’s not a hardship.”

I glowered. “It’s the principle.”

“I know.” Cupping the back of my neck, he drew me
close and kissed my forehead. “But sometimes we have to do things we don’t like
in the course of doing our jobs. There’s worse fates than having dinner once or
twice a week.”

He was right, I knew he was, but his lack of understanding
rankled. I wanted more than sympathy and a what-can-you-do shrug off him. I
wanted him to be jealous or annoyed or
something
. Not tell me to suck it
up. “So, what, because I’m not cleaning sewers for a living, I should be
grateful?”

Magnus recoiled, surprised. I’d never snapped at
him before. “I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

I glared at him. “It sounded like it to me.”

“I can’t help what’s in your head, Owen.” His lips
set in a grim line. “What do you want me to say? I suggested you refuse, and
you say you can’t, so I’m trying to be supportive. You think I like the idea of
you dating someone else, even if it is only for show? You’re
my
boyfriend, but I don’t even get a say in this. And I get it, I do.” He held up
his hands as I opened my mouth to retort. “I understand your hands are tied.
That’s why I’m trying to be understanding. This is all new to me as well, and I
don’t like it any more than you do.”

“Well, I’m sorry you feel inconvenienced by my life
being dismantled!”

“Stop. Just stop.” Magnus frowned. “I know you’re
looking for someone to lash out at, but don’t turn on me. We’re supposed to be
the team here. We’re on the same page.”

“It doesn’t sound like it,” I said petulantly,
unwilling to let go of my tantrum.

“You’re being so unfair,” he said. “If I can’t do
right for doing wrong, what’s the point of me even being here?”

“You want to leave?” The possibility shocked me
back to my senses.

“No, I don’t want to leave. I want to curl up with
you and have a pleasant evening. Bitch about work if you want, but don’t take
your bad day out on me. I’m not your punching bag.”

“I’m sorry,” I said immediately. “I’m just
frustrated.”

“I know you are.” He softened his tone. “It stinks,
the whole thing. But if there’s nothing we can do to change it, let’s at least
look on the bright side. In three weeks’ time, the awards ceremony will be over,
and things can go back to normal.”

Sighing, I conceded defeat. I sank into Magnus’s
strong arms, rested my cheek on his chest, and let him comfort me. “I wish I
could take you with me,” I said softly. “I hate the thought of going with her.”

“What?”

“The awards ceremony. Max says I’ve got to take
Becky as my date.”

“Oh.”

Magnus lessened his hold around me, and I took an
uncertain step back.

“Magnus?”

“I-I didn’t think. Of course you’re taking her.”

“Max says I have to,” I said. “I thought you’d
realised—”

“I should have. You’re right.” He laughed sadly. “This
really sucks, doesn’t it?”

“You know I’d take you in a heartbeat.”

“I know. I’m not blaming you for anything. It is
what it is.”

“Sometimes I wish I’d never written that stupid
book,” I admitted.

“Owen, you don’t mean that.”

“If you say so.” I gave him a weak smile. “I’m
sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s forgotten,” he said immediately.

“Even so, I’m sorry.”

Smiling, he kissed me. “Let’s put it behind us.
Didn’t you say you had a film you wanted me to watch?”

҉҉҉

We didn’t get far into the film before we gave up,
too busy making out on my sofa like a pair of horny teenagers to pay attention
to the plot. Partly fuelled by guilt over Magnus’s exclusion from the awards
ceremony, partly wanting to put our spat behind us, I tormented him
relentlessly, kissing and groping, loosening my clothes in strategic places and
sneaking glances under my eyelashes to check he’d noticed.

“You’re a tease,” he finally growled, grabbing me
and hauling me onto his lap to thoroughly plunder my mouth with his tongue.

“Not to everybody,” I crowed, ruffling his hair.

“Should I feel grateful?”

“Yes. It makes you a member of a very exclusive
club.”

“There’s members?”

I kissed the tip of his nose. “Only one.”

As our clothes came off, we moved into the bedroom.
We were both hard and ready in moments, having got more than halfway there
while still on the couch. Magnus lifted off me long enough to open the nightstand
drawer and scrabble frantically, looking for a condom.

“I think you’re out,” he said, propping himself on
one elbow to double check. “Please tell me you have more somewhere.”

“Under the bed,” I said breathlessly, still
writhing as he used his other hand to stroke my dick.

Amid much grumbling, he let me go, got off the bed,
and squatted on his haunches, groping along the floor. When he surfaced with a
familiar drawstring bag in hand, I immediately sat up.

“Not in there!” I protested, but the bag was
already open, a toothy grin spreading across his face.

“What is this?” he asked, delving inside and
removing my vibrating dildo.

I buried my face in my pillow, peeking out at him
with one eye. “Can we pretend you didn’t see that?”

“Absolutely not.” Magnus twisted the base and
jumped when the vibrator came to life. “Strong little bugger, isn’t it?” he
asked, switching it off again.

“Would you believe me if I said I don’t know?”

He levelled me with a flat look. “No.”

“Dammit.”

Trying—and failing—to suppress a smirk, he placed
the toy on the bed. “I want to see you use it,” he said, his eyes darkening as
his pupils blew with lust. “I want to shove it inside you and watch you get
off. Think we can do that?”

I exhaled on a soft hiss. “Oh god,
yes
.”

I relaxed against the pillows as Magnus located
condoms and the bottle of lube, idly ghosting my fingertips over the length of
my dick, keeping arousal humming just below the surface of my skin.

Magnus remained kneeling at the side of the bed as
he poured lube into his palm and worked it between his fingers to warm it. I scooted
to the edge and opened my legs, watching his face avidly as he stroked my cock,
then worked lower, over my balls, digging his fingers against the seam as he
smeared into my crack.

The moment he reached my hole, I gasped, muscles
clenching, unused to the sensation. When I masturbated, usually I concentrated
on my dick, edging leisurely, or else I lay on my stomach in bed, grinding
against the mattress to get myself off. In truth, I was surprised the batteries
in the dildo weren’t flat.

A feral smile spread across Magnus’s face as he stroked
my hole, and I rocked my hips to push against his hand. He pushed inside with a
single steady movement, both of us groaning as his knuckles came to rest
against my skin.

“Jesus, look at you,” he whispered reverently, running
his other hand over my torso as he eased his finger out and back in. “You’re so
ready for this.”

I whined, and he rewarded me with another finger
and the first awareness of being really stretched.

To prolong the feeling, I squeezed hard around his
fingers, causing my cock to jerk and slap wetly against my abdomen. Magnus
hissed a curse, twisting his fingers inside me, working them in and out until I
had to relax and accept what he was giving.

I groused when he withdrew completely, but
anticipation ratcheted as he turned his attention to the dildo. It wasn’t a
particularly realistic toy, slimmer and smoother than the real thing, a
lightly-flared head atop a tapering length, about five inches of which were
insertable. I always found the last inch hard to take, the base being a little
too thick for comfort, certainly when the only one I was playing with was
myself. As Magnus lubricated the toy, however, I suspected by the end of the
evening it would have been inside me to the hilt.

“Why’s it purple?” he asked, frowning. “Why can’t
it be a normal colour?”

“Do you really care?” I asked sharply. “For the
love of God, just use it already!”

“Impatient, are we?” He grinned and gave the dildo
another deliberate stroke from root to tip.

I growled a warning.

Magnus chuckled, then full-out laughed when he placed
the vibrating toy between my legs and slid the tip inside, making me rise from
the bed with a startled yowl.

“Oh my
god
,” I gasped, clawing at the sheets
and willing myself to accommodate the tip, or at least stop reacting quite so
violently. Damn, I’d forgotten how
good
the vibrations felt.

Magnus took pity on me, easing the dildo out and lowering
the setting before attempting to reinsert it. I moaned as the flared head sank
inside, the gentler stimulation helping my sphincter to relax as he pushed
deeper, opening me up around the thickening shaft.

I planted my feet flat on the bed and bucked my
hips, working myself around the toy, searching for the perfect angle of
penetration while Magnus continued to thrust it in and out. I bellowed when he
jostled my prostate, the vibrations running the razor-edge between perfect and
too intense, whimpered when he withdrew, and ground myself shamelessly onto the
dildo as Magnus pushed it back against the spot which had made me scream. I’d
heard rumours of guys who achieved anal orgasms from prolonged stimulation, and
wondered if I was on the cusp of experiencing one.

Magnus was relentless, his eyes dark as he focused
on my body, on wringing increasingly frantic moans and gasps and cries from my
lips. Yet despite our respective positions, his seeming control over me, there
was reverence in his expression, in the gentle caresses of his hand as he stroked
my chest and stomach, and in the soft kisses and scrape of teeth bestowed on
the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. He whispered words of praise and
admiration, urging me on as I gave myself over to the pursuit of my climax.

“Touch yourself,” Magnus urged, breathing almost as
heavily as I was as he watched me take my dick in hand and start stroking. “Yeah,
like that. I want to watch you come.”

Slick with the lube Magnus had liberally smeared
across my genitals, my hand flew over my dick, working hard and fast along the
length. My desire coiled, spiralled, and I shifted position, grunting as I
chased the peak, the tipping point after which the orgasm became inevitable,
trying to push past the growing numbness from the vibrations.