Groomzilla (14 page)

Another buzz.

Owen dropped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, stepping off the path for a moment to check his messages.

Ander dumped me for silk salesmen.

Soup for lunch?

Part of Owen wanted to keep walking, to burn off his anger, but for the first time, he had another option.

Come to my place?

Then he texted him the address.

DANIEL WAS
waiting outside his building in Midtown, smiling and bearing a shopping bag from Hale and Hearty on his arm.

“Hey,” he called, spotting Owen, and Owen’s stomach settled into a dull burn. “God, you live here? I thought when you said a hotel you meant someplace that charged by the hour.”

Owen dropped a kiss on his cheek as Daniel laughed at his own joke. “I think being on a television show is going to your head.”

“I’m hilarious.” Daniel lifted the bag. “I have soup, bread, and a bottle of wine.”

“Good.” Owen stole another kiss, this one from Daniel’s cold lips.

“I have condoms too,” he whispered loudly when they parted.

Owen couldn’t hide his delight. He took Daniel’s hand and led him into the building.

The narrow modern lobby was empty. The security man, in his somber black suit, greeted them with a polite nod. “Mr. Grainger.”

“Sam.” Owen pulled Daniel along behind him without stopping to chat. They passed ugly yellow chairs, the monitors with weird spinning colors, the track lighting, and went straight to the elevators.

“This place is hideous—I assume it’s incredibly expensive,” Daniel said, leaning against his arm as they waited.

“You can’t even imagine.” Owen felt himself clutching at Daniel’s hand; he tried to relax, tried to stop the shaking of his fingers, but Daniel just squeezed harder.

“Why don’t you own an apartment? You’ve been here for a while, haven’t you?” Daniel asked as the doors opened.

“I kept thinking this was temporary, that I’d go back to London, but, uh—Victor decided to stay here.”
And buy an apartment for over a million dollars.
“I didn’t want to invest in something permanent.”

“For seven years?”

Owen laughed as he watched the numbers climb. “For seven years.”

He’d only been at this hotel for a year; the apartment was two rooms, a kitchenette, and a bathroom, sleek and modern and more space than he could possibly need. For a moment in the hallway, Owen panicked at having Daniel in his place—he’d see how boring and sterile it was, how cold.

And then he led Daniel into the apartment—

“Oh my God, I love it.”

“What?” Owen shut the door as Daniel walked across the blond wood floor.

“It’s freaking gorgeous. Oh crap—I have that same sofa!” Daniel put the bag on the counter, turning to grin at Owen. “Well, the cheap knock-off version. I bet that one cost a ton.”

“Not too sparse?”

“Less to clean, plus you can find everything.” Daniel ticked each off on his fingers before taking off his coat. “Show me your bedroom.”

Owen slipped off his trench and threw it on the couch. “I thought I was getting soup,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“You get to fuck me, then you get soup.” Daniel pulled his sweater over his head, yanking his shirt out of his jeans in two quick motions. “Okay?”

“And here I thought this was going to be romantic.” Owen kicked off his shoes as he walked to Daniel, their gazes locked together, drawing him across the room like a tractor beam.

“This isn’t romantic?” Daniel lost his T-shirt, then reached for his belt. A flush of desire patterned his chest and neck, and Owen wanted to map it with his tongue.

He countered with grabbing the hem of his button-down and stripping it off, not even bothering with the buttons.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Daniel murmured, unbuttoning his jeans as he met Owen in the middle of the living room. “I know I said I’d stop saying it, but….”

“You don’t need to stop.” Owen grabbed him by the hips and pulled him closer.

Daniel tilted his face up, angling from side to side as if trying to figure out which way he wanted to kiss him. “Show me your bedroom, Owen,” Daniel whispered before crashing their mouths together.

Owen didn’t let go of Daniel. He dug in to find a small pharmacy bag while an industrious Daniel stripped him of his pants and underwear. He tried to concentrate on moving them into the bedroom, but Daniel’s hands proved distracting as hell.

“You keep mentioning the, uh….” Daniel dropped to his knees, pressing sucking kisses over Owen’s hipbones and thighs. Owen sagged against the counter, sighing while he sank a shaking hand into Daniel’s hair.

Daniel wrapped his arms around Owen’s waist and pulled him down until they were sprawled on the cold floor, Owen on top, cocks slotted together, mouths working furiously.

Owen went down on one elbow, bracing himself so he could reach for Daniel’s leg.

“What do you want… ohhhh.” Daniel tipped his head back when Owen drew Daniel’s leg over Owen’s hip.

He ignored the burn to his elbow, the pressure on his whole right side, and got his hand between them.

“God yeah, yeah.”

Owen gripped their cocks, sweat and the slippery tip of Daniel’s dick giving him just enough moisture to make it slide from top to root. He wanted to kiss Daniel, he wanted to ravish him, but he couldn’t stop looking at the gorgeous sight of them together, cockheads poking through the tightness of his fist. Daniel’s hips wouldn’t stop moving, thrusting up against Owen’s weight; his leg pulled him closer as Owen rocked his hand up and down, tip to base, over and over.

Daniel moaned and cursed, the stripes of his come spurting over Owen’s hand and wrist, and he kept jerking them both off through the wet mess and God, it felt so good to let go.

“Why do we keep having sex on the floor?” Owen whispered against Daniel’s whiskered cheek.

“To get to the other side.” Daniel yawned and rolled over until he was on top of Owen, lying on him like a cushion.

“I have a perfectly lovely bed.” Owen trailed his palms over Daniel’s back, rubbing away the chill.

Daniel shrugged, burying his face in Owen’s chest hair. “I can’t help it if you’re so sexy that I can’t wait for a bed.” He looked up, hair mussed and his expression smug—so delightfully smug. “We have the rest of the day for soup and your lovely bed. And my condoms.”

“Your condoms?”

A sexy roll of his hips and Daniel waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe I can convince you to let me at that spectacular ass of yours.”

Owen’s dick jumped before he could answer, and Daniel did a fist pump.

“Yessss.”

They laughed, deep and ridiculously loud, the sound bouncing off the empty walls and high ceiling. Sticky and wet—his ass was now cold—Owen felt contentment deep in his bones.

IT WAS
so very easy to fall into the lovely technicolor fantasy-come-true that was Owen Grainger. They passed the three-week mark, then six, and Daniel stopped counting. Up to his eyeballs in linens and fairy lights and tin lanterns, his apartment calendar a mass of colored Post-it notes, he followed Ander around with Tums, pain relievers, and chocolates, then spent his nights in Owen’s arms.

Fucking bliss.

Daniel twisted in the sheets, clutching three-hundred-count Egyptian cotton as Owen draped over his back, sated at last. He was heavy and damp, and Daniel came perilously close to whining as he pulled out.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Owen murmured, breathless against his ear, sucking a kiss underneath before moving away.

Daniel found himself manhandled over onto his back, huffing out a breath as Owen loomed over him.

“So pretty,” he teased as Daniel tried to kick at him, weak at best.

“Alarm’s in ten,” Daniel warned, and he was greeted with an eye roll and laughter. But not inaction.

It took a second for Daniel’s dick to be engulfed in heat and suction. He stared up at the white ceiling, breathing heavily as he was ravished, overwhelmed by his lover’s determination to bring him off before that pesky buzzer sounded.

“Slow—” Daniel started to say, but of course he got the opposite; Owen’s wet mouth on his hard-on moved that much quicker, deep-throating him in a move that broke a world record, and Daniel’s spine turned to lava.

He arched off the bed and shook through the pulses of his orgasm, the only sound from his mouth an extended “Fuuuuck.”

When Owen released him, Daniel flopped back on the mattress with a sigh. The sheets were a sticky mess around him, pulled off the corners, blankets on the floor. The alarm began its shrill ring, so Daniel rolled over with a grumble.

“Time for work.” Owen slapped Daniel on the ass. “We have to meet the film crew at the studio.”

“Why are you so cheerful?” Daniel watched Owen strip off the condom as he slid from the bed, enjoying the sinfully beautiful view. “We have to stop having sex and go to work.”

“We’ve had four days off; stop whining.” Owen threw the condom away—the trash can overflowing—before he sauntered into the adjoining bathroom.

Victor’s new schedule divided up the shooting between him and Owen; Owen just said it was because of “creative differences,” and since Ander didn’t seem to mind, Daniel took the opportunity to be happy for long, glorious stretches of time. After he finished his daily wedding planning duties, he got to enjoy fucking and soup (because maybe he was obsessed with feeding Owen) and watching old movies on Owen’s big television.

If this place had Pop Tarts, he would never leave.

Daniel pouted, stretching out as he sat up and winced, then slid out of the bed. He raised his hands over his head, trying to work out the kinks before taking another step.

“Save some hot water,” he called through the open door but was answered only by the splash of the shower turning on. Owen was going to ignore him and drain the hot water until Daniel ended up with ice cubes.

Typical.

And oh God. They had a typical. A routine. A “what do you want for dinner?” and “do you need anything from the deli?” and “let’s just cuddle,” and what was this magical beautiful thing?

Daniel stripped the bed, leaving the soiled linens for the housekeeper—and fuck if that wasn’t convenient—then made a bold decision to join Owen in the shower.

“Room for one more?” Daniel asked, pushing the curtain aside and peeking in. His strapping lover filled the decently sized shower stall with his broad shoulders and considerable height.

Owen turned to smile at him, rubbing the soap over his body. “You’ll have to stand right close,” Owen said, moving so the shower pulse hit his back and he could pull Daniel inside.

Owen soaped up his hands and began to clean Daniel, efficient but still lingering.

“Owen, you were the one who reminded me we have to work today,” Daniel warned, and maybe work was a good idea. He hadn’t talked to Ander in two days—something akin to an eternity.

“Daniel….” Owen replicated his stern tone, then chuckled as he rubbed down Daniel’s chest. “If you were in on the plan to be adults, you shouldn’t have joined me in the shower.”

“Whoops, my bad.” Daniel got into the action, stroking down to “clean” Owen’s lower half.

“Leave him be, he’s exhausted,” Owen huffed as Daniel snickered. He started in on Daniel’s hair, soaping it up expertly. Daniel returned the favor, reaching up to run his fingers through Owen’s close-cropped fuzz.

They continued in silence, washing each other’s bodies, rinsing off soap and shampoo before Owen turned off the water.

Daniel decided to blame the close proximity for the kiss he laid on Owen’s mouth. They really needed to get going, but….

Owen was beautiful, wet and sculpted and endlessly smiling, and perhaps it was inevitable for Daniel to slant their mouths together. A slow flicker of Owen’s tongue and Daniel’s mouth opened, their bodies twining closer.

Owen pulled away first, though he didn’t move away, his very blue gaze locked into Daniel’s. “Gonna get me in trouble with the boss,” he said, teasing. He stroked his hand down the side of Daniel’s face.

“I’ll write you a note,” Daniel murmured, but he got the message and pushed the curtain aside. “Come on.”

DANIEL TEXTED
Ander in the cab on the way to the studio while Owen read through the news on his phone.

See you in like fifteen. Need any snacks?

Ander didn’t answer.

We’re almost there. I’m gonna get muffins.

Nothing.

I might have a limp when I get there. And yes, it’s what you think. Start thinking of sarcastic remarks.

When Ander didn’t respond to that, Daniel hit the little phone icon and waited for Ander to pick up.

“What?” Ander snapped.

Daniel wanted to pull the phone from his head and stare at it like they did in the movies. “What do you mean ‘what’? Fuck you and good morning,” he sassed.

“Is there a reason you’re calling?”

“Uh, yes, I haven’t talked to you in a few days, I’m on my way to the studio, and I wanted to know if you needed anything,” Daniel said slowly. “What’s wrong?”

Ander snorted. “What the fuck do you care?”

Daniel rolled his eyes. The cab pulled up to the curb and Owen leaned over to pay the driver. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Don’t bother.”

Daniel had the door open, one leg out, but he stopped. “What?”

“I said don’t bother. I don’t need you here today.”

Owen came around the taxi, standing on the curb with a confused look on his face. “What?” he mouthed.

“I’m due to be here today,” Daniel said, “because we’re doing a tux fitting.”

Voices
carried t
hrough the line—Daniel recognized Victor’s oozing tone and his stomach dropped. Then Ander came back on, his tone icy.

“Come on up. We’ll do the fitting and then you and Owen are free to go.” The line disconnected and Daniel got out of the cab, gritting his teeth.

Rebecca met them outside the studio, worrying her hands. Daniel saw all of Ander’s harsh words imprinted on her strained face and tight-lipped smile.