Blowing It (23 page)

Grinning, I hauled his head back by his hair and
licked into his open mouth. “God, I’ve wanted this. Wanted to feel you inside
me.” I bucked my hips and was rewarded with a choked gasp. “I’m going to drain
you dry, Magnus Cassidy. We’re going to fuck until we can’t walk.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I cradled his
head against my chest and set up a slow rolling motion with my hips, grinding
on his dick, relishing the sensation as he moved in and out of me.

“So…
fucking
… good,” I gasped, arching my
spine to find the perfect angle, the one where he hit all the right spots
inside me while my cock dragged between our stomachs, leaving a slippery trail
in its wake. “Shit, Magnus, I can still feel it burning.” I slammed down on
him, flesh slapping, heat and friction making my hole tingle, almost driving me
insane. It had been more than a while, but I could never remember sex being
this
intense. “Christ, Magnus, you feel
huge
.”

Spurred on by my words, Magnus took hold of my hips
and thrust upward, jerking my whole body, forcing a startled grunt from my
lips.

“Fuck, do that again,” I urged. “God
yes
,
just like that. Fuck, it’s burning
.
Jesus. No, shit, Jesus fuck, Magnus,
it’s actually
burning.
Stop, stop!” I leapt off his lap, crying out as
his dick wrenched free, leaving me feeling frighteningly loose and very, very
sore.

“What happened?” he asked, dazed and disorientated.
“Why’ve we stopped?”

Splaying my legs, I gingerly stroked my arsehole. It
felt dry and rough, and when I pushed one finger inside, it hurt like hell. Bitterly
disappointed, I cast around for a reason why things had gone wrong and lighted
on Magnus’s cucumber dick.

“Oh god, I think it was the condom.”

“What did it do?” he asked, scooting forward on the
bed and holding my hips for want of somewhere better to put his hands.

“I think whatever’s in the mint flavouring actually
burnt me.”

“You’re kidding.”

I gave him a doleful look. “I wish I was.”

The corner of Magnus’s lip twitched.

“Don’t you dare laugh!” I demanded.

“How badly does it hurt?” he asked.

“Enough I’m not doing that again!”

He chuckled. “I’m not suggesting we keep going,” he
said, stroking my hip. “If you’re really sore, you might need to get it checked
out.”

“I am
not
going to the doctor with this!
I’ll be fine. Just… no more fucking. Not tonight.”

“I might have some Sudocrem in the bathroom. Think
that’ll help?”

“You’re not putting Sudo on my arse like I’m a
bloody baby. I’ll be fine. What do you even have Sudo for anyway?”

“Shaving rash.”

“You don’t shave.”

“That’s because I get shaving rash.”

“Oh.” I bit my lip. The sting in my arse was
already easing, but the shock had served to sober me. Looking at Magnus, guilt
kicked in. “I’m sorry I burst into your house drunk and mounted you like a
hobby horse and insisted we use the wrong condom and ended up getting hurt.”

Magnus chuckled and placed a gentle kiss on my hip.
“I wasn’t complaining until that last part.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Well, maybe a bit at the first part, but the
middle started to make up for it.”

I squirmed as his touch on my hip turned from
comforting to assessing.

“You very sore?” I don’t think it was entirely my
imagination his tone contained a note of optimism.

“I’m a little bit sore in one very specific place.
The rest of me is okay.”

“Okay enough to carry on?” He slid his palm across
my stomach, just brushing the top of my pubes, waiting for permission to go
lower.

I put on a bored expression and gave a
long-suffering sigh. “I suppose I can, if I really must.”

Magnus called my bluff. “I wouldn’t want to put you
out. Perhaps we should go straight to sleep.”

I eyed his cock, still half-hard and hopeful. “No,
no. I’m sure we can think of something,” I said, still feigning disinterest. I
wrapped my hand around the root of his dick and removed the condom which had betrayed
me. Dropping it on the floor, I began to coax him back to full hardness.

He lost the battle of wills, caving and closing his
eyes with a soft grunt. “You play dirty,” he growled.

Laughing, I lifted his chin and kissed him. “You
have no idea.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I woke the next morning to an empty bed and a dull
throbbing in my temples. Clutching my head, I groaned dramatically and buried
my face in the pillows, avoiding the bright sunlight streaming through the patio
doors.

The throbbing continued, insistent and strangely
rhythmic. Realising it was my phone vibrating, I groped along the floor until I
found my jeans, folded neatly with the rest of my clothes, and extracted it
from the pocket. “What?” I demanded, not even looking at the caller before I
answered.

Max’s voice burst down the line, way too loud and
shrill for my hangover’s liking. “Explain yourself
immediately
.”

“Explain what?” I asked, still groggy.

“You’re plastered all over the internet! At a
gay
bar
, no less.”

“I went out with Becky. I thought that was what you
wanted.”

“Oh no, Owen, I know
exactly
what you
thought. Think you’re clever, do you? I set you up with Becky for your own
benefit, to protect your career, and this is how you repay me? By parading
around London with what can only be described as pornography on your shirt?”

“Pornography?” I frowned, then winced when the
movement made my head feel like it was being stabbed. Behind my eyes. With a
rusty spoon. “Do you mean my Banksy top?”

“I don’t know who you think you are, Owen, but
you’re not Russell bloody Brand. You can’t get away with this shit! The
partners are
livid
.”

“It’s art,” I said, bristling.

“It’s filth!”

“It’s a harmless anti-establishment statement about
homophobia in the police force,” I said primly, surprising myself with my
eloquence. “It’s cool and edgy.”

“You looked a state. You were
drunk
in a
gay
bar
.”

“With Becky! As far as anyone knows, I was
humouring my
girlfriend
.” I sneered the word. “Isn’t that what straight
guys do? I remember seeing enough of them when I used to go clubbing.
Metrosexual, they call it. Chill out, Max.”

“I will not ‘chill out’,” Max seethed. “Thanks to
your little stunt, I’m going to have to spend the rest of my day on damage
limitation. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but the line was
already dead. Growling with frustration, I shoved the phone under my pillow and
turned over to try to go back to sleep.

“That sounded dramatic.” The edge of the bed dipped
as Magnus sat by my feet.

What was I even doing at Magnus’s place? I didn’t
remember him being with me the previous night….

Memories came flooding back, and I groaned again, although
this time with mortification. Showing up at his door drunk and horny at four in
the morning, making an exhibition of myself, the mint condom—

Kicking off the covers, I scrambled out of bed and
rushed to the bathroom to throw up. I was still clutching the porcelain,
spitting the last thick strands of drool from my lips, when he appeared in the
doorway.

“Feeling rough, dear?”

“Piss off.” I groaned weakly. “I think I’m dying.”

Chuckling, Magnus ruffled my hair and flushed the
toilet. I gagged at the smell of disinfectant in the water and averted my face.
“You only wish you were. A cup of coffee and some aspirin will sort you right
out.”

“No aspirin,” I said. “Ibuprofen. Aspirin makes
headache worse.”

“I think I can manage that. And two sugars in your
coffee.”

“I’m sorry,” I said miserably. “Last night….”

“Best forgotten,” he said diplomatically. “There’s
a spare head for the toothbrush in the cabinet. Scrub your teeth and come get
some pills.”

Nodding obediently, I gripped the edge of the sink
and dragged myself to my feet, wincing anew as I caught sight of my reflection
in the mirror. My hair was stuck up like the Cameron Diaz character in
There’s
Something About Mary
, and probably from the same cause. My eyes were ringed
in black where the mascara and eyeliner had smudged while I slept, and red
lines scored my cheeks from the pillows. I picked a crust of dried spit from
around my lips and examined my furry, swollen tongue. My mouth couldn’t be more
disgusting if a fairy had shit in it during the night.

Turning on the shower, I resolved to at least make
myself look human before I faced Magnus again and resumed begging for his
forgiveness.

Fifteen minutes later, washed and scrubbed, with
minty-fresh breath, I was at least more reheated corpse than the full zombie. I
shuffled into the kitchen, where Magnus was sitting at the table, his laptop
and two cups of coffee beside him.

I sipped gratefully from the one that wasn’t
half-empty and wordlessly swallowed the two tablets he pushed towards me.

“Have you seen this?” he asked, indicating his
computer.

“Seen what?” I rounded the table and stood beside
him, looking at the screen over his shoulder.

I was immediately sorry I had. There I was, plastered
all over a gossip site looking drunk and stupid, hanging onto Becky as we
staggered towards a waiting taxi. I at least looked a little bit glamorous in
the first shot, taken on our way into Heaven, but when I came out, I’d looked a
mess. I was only grateful the photographer had focused on me, and there were no
pictures of Ryan or Sameer. The threat the images posed to my career was
nebulous at best; for either of them, it would mean instant dismissal.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Magnus asked, and my
heart sank to hear the barely-suppressed anger in his voice.

“No.” I hung my head. “I know it probably won’t
console you, but I do realise how stupid I’ve been.”

“Do you?” Magnus turned, the scrape of chair legs
on tile making the dull ache in my temples spike to a sharp pinpoint of pain.
“What were you hoping to accomplish, Owen?”

“I don’t know!” I said miserably. “It seemed a good
idea at the time. Get my own back on Max, show him he couldn’t set me up.”

“That’s a child’s answer,” Magnus snapped.

“What do you want me to say?” I demanded. “I’m
sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am.”

“Was it just you and her?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“Last night. Was it just the two of you?”

“At first. We met Ryan and Sameer later on.”

“So it’s only me you left out.” His face set.

“It wasn’t like that!” I protested. “I couldn’t
invite you, you know I couldn’t. That doesn’t mean I didn’t want you there.”

“I’m sure my boss would have loved that.” His lip
curled. “I suppose I should be grateful.”

I crossed the small kitchen and set my mug
carefully on the counter. “I-I know I fucked up,” I said. “You’ve got every
right to be furious with me—”

“Thank you for giving me permission,” he sneered.

“I’m sorry!” I shouted, then cringed at the volume.
“I’m sorry, all right? How many times are you going to make me say it?”

“Until I know what you’re sorry for!” He slumped in
his chair and raked his hand through his short hair. “Jesus, Owen. You tell me
you were tricked into going out with Becky, you tell me you don’t want to go
along with it, then you do…
this
.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Yes you did. About last night, you absolutely did.
But you were too busy thinking you were going to score points against your
agent to stop and think how I might feel seeing it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re
my
boyfriend,” he growled. “How am I
supposed to feel when I see you fawning all over her?”

“There wasn’t anything like that going on!” I
protested, thoroughly alarmed. “Surely you know that?”

“I don’t know what I know anymore.” He stared at
the screen again. “Is this what you want? To go out and get stupid drunk every
night?”

“No!”

“Because I know you said those days were behind
you, but I’ve been here before, Owen. I’d rather you were honest with me.”

“No! No, that’s not what I want. I want
you
.”
I fell to my knees at his feet, ignoring the cold, hard tiles, clinging to his
jeans. “Please, please don’t make this about us.
Please.
I was stupid, I
admit I was, but that isn’t who I really am. I feel like shit, I really do. And
I
hate
feeling like this. That’s why I stopped going out, and it had
nothing to do with you!”

“It seems very little in your life has anything to
do with me,” he said coldly.

“What does that mean?” I demanded.

“Christ, Owen, open your eyes. I’m making all the
effort, here. I’ve introduced you to my family, and you won’t even be seen with
me in public.”

I couldn’t have recoiled faster if he’d hit me. “Is
that what you want? To meet my family?”

Magnus made a frustrated sound. “I want to
matter
,
Owen. I want us to count for something. I think I was very understanding when
you explained about your agent not wanting people to know about us, but I
didn’t sign up for you parading yourself in public with a woman. And you don’t
look too cut up about it, do you?” He indicated one of the pictures. I had an
arm around Becky’s neck, my other hand on her waist, speaking directly into her
ear.

“Sameer and Ryan were
right there
,” I protested.
“You can’t honestly think—” I broke off, shaking my head.

“I don’t think you’re actually sleeping with her,”
he conceded. “But you’re not going out of your way to avoid giving other people
that impression.”

The penny finally dropped. “Are you…
jealous
?”

“Wouldn’t you be?” he countered. “If I was
pretending to date somebody else, if I was draped all over them on the
internet, would you like it?”

“No.”

“So why do I have to put up with it?”

“You said you understood! You said, you
promised
—”

“When you went for dinner with her! Not when you’re
introducing her to all your mates and taking her on nights out when I’m not
invited. It hurts, Owen.” His face crumpled with the admission. “It really
fucking hurts, and I’ve been down this road before. I know how it ends.”

“I won’t do it again,” I promised. “I swear I won’t.
After this, Max probably doesn’t want me seen with Becky anymore anyway. Don’t
you see, we got ourselves out of it.”

“Don’t tell me you did this for me,” he hissed. “Nothing’s
changed, not really. What happened to all your ideals, Owen? What happened to
the man who wanted to be the next Alan Hollinghurst? When did you get so scared
you’re frightened to even suggest one of your characters might be gay?”

I flinched from his words. The truth was ugly.

“I thought you wanted to be a famous gay author?
What about all the kids you thought you could help, all the kids like you and
me, who just want to see themselves in the stories they read? Don’t they matter
to you anymore? Did you stop caring?”

“No!” I protested, covering my ears in an effort to
block out his words.

“For fuck’s sake, Owen, I’m a
builder,
and
I’m more out than you are. If I can be accepted in my industry, why aren’t you
fighting in yours? I thought the arts were supposed to be liberal.”

“It isn’t that easy,” I protested.

“But going back into the closet is?” Magnus
snorted. “I can’t even look at you right now. In fact, I want you to leave.”

“What?” I stared at him, shocked to the core.

Magnus rose, stepping over me like I wasn’t there.
“I want you out of my house.”

“No, please, listen—” I clutched at his ankles,
trying to stop him. He tripped, caught himself on the counter before he fell,
and rounded on me.

“I said go. Don’t bother calling me until you’ve
grown some balls. Unlike you, I actually want a man in my life.”