by RGAlexander
His picture and bio really stuck in Owen’s craw. He was a handsome, openly gay and unattached man with a killer smile, a man who bore enough resemblance to a movie star Jeremy thought was attractive to make Owen nervous. He also had Maori tattoos like Jeremy’s, only on his arm.
This was the man calling Owen’s lover. This man who went to the same conventions, knew the same people in the industry and made no bones about embracing his sexuality.
George was a threat.
When Brady was still living with them, he’d told Owen more than once that it was just work. Jeremy didn’t do nine-to-five. He was an artist. He kept strange hours from home and the other people in his industry did as well. His cousin was adamant that Jeremy was not that type of guy.
He wasn’t. Owen knew he wasn’t. But that insecure asshole inside him added it to the top of the proof pile, telling him Jeremy wasn’t as sure about their future as he seemed.
Ever heard of projecting, Numbnuts?
Fuck that bastard. He hadn’t come out to the ass end of nowhere so that hot, gay, talented George could steal his man before he had the chance to tell him how he felt.
In a small quadrant in a deep, dark corner of his mind, a little voice told him he wasn’t making any sense. That he should be more confident than ever that Jeremy was his. That he shouldn’t fuck it all up by making a jackass out of himself and saying something he was going to regret.
Owen gave that little voice the finger and slammed open the door. “What the hell, Jeremy?”
Jeremy had turned toward him with a smile, yellow paint on his cheek and phone in his hand, but he froze when he saw Owen’s face. “What’s wrong?”
Without a word, Owen strode over to him, grabbed the phone and flung it out the window. Jeremy’s eyes went wide and his lips parted.
Surprise, Owen thought sarcastically. “Strip and get on the bed.” If Jeremy’s eyes got any wider they’d pop out. “Jeremy, take off your clothes and get on the bed. I won’t ask you again.”
Owen took off his flannel shirt and t-shirt, heading to the sink without looking to see if Jeremy obeyed. He washed the sawdust off, ran his thumb under the cold water for a minute and then searched for a towel to dry off with while he looked around.
They’d done all this in ten days. The kitchen was a warm gold with white trim and homey-looking curtains. The refrigerator was full of actual food, including produce, and there was a small table and two chairs where Owen and Jeremy could have breakfast before they started their day.
In the main room they’d just refinished the wood and there was an affordable but comfortably wide couch, an area rug and a coffee table—Jeremy had forbidden a television. The rest of the cabin was taken up by that giant copper tub…and the bed.
Owen had insisted on the four-poster and high-end mattress. The memory of that night on the floor was still too recent. He wanted something comfortable for his damn vacation.
The bed currently had another feature that drew Owen closer. Jeremy. Naked and kneeling. He looked more confused than guilty, but that wasn’t going to change what had to happen.
Owen went to his gym bag in the corner of the room and brought it to the bed, setting it down beside Jeremy. He opened it and pulled out two thick lengths of corded rope, a butt plug, and the travel-sized flogger, making sure the kneeling man could see everything.
Jeremy inhaled at the sight and Owen wanted to smile, but his emotions were still too volatile. He was going to have to do this slowly. He needed to be in control of himself before he played his lover.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t prep him now.
He slid one length of rope through his hand, knowing Jeremy was watching his every move. “Turn and face the wall.”
“Owen, you—”
“The faster you do this, the sooner I’ll let you speak.”
Jeremy turned on the bed until he was facing the wall on his knees.
“Give me your wrist.”
Jeremy lifted his arm and Owen made short work of forming a rope cuff and attaching it to the thick wooden post nearest the wall. After he tested its hold, he took the second bit of rope, walked to the other side of the bed and repeated the process.
Then he took a step back and stared. Jeremy’s body always gave him so much pleasure. Just looking at him made Owen hard. Happy. It made Owen ache to think the sight could ever be taken away from him. It made him jealous and stupid and crazy.
He walked over to where Jeremy had left the lube and came back to the bed. Coating his fingers, he traced the Maori design, feeling the scar tissue on Jeremy’s ass cheek. “You look like a captured warrior right now. I’d take a picture, but I left my phone turned off in the trunk.”
The cheek flexed and Jeremy sighed. “Owen, if you’d let me tell you…”
Owen placed one knee on the bed and moved closer, slipping his fingers between Jeremy’s firm cheeks and making him gasp.
“Why ruin this by giving in so easily?” Owen murmured, pushing through the tight ring of muscles with one finger and feeling the stretch. “I was thinking about the first time you did this to me in your shower. I was fucking begging for it. I know now I wasn’t ready for it yet, but I’d have given anything, done anything, to have more. I was lost from the second you let me see you. Touch you.”
He was lost before that, but he hadn’t known it at the time.
Owen slid a second finger in to join the first and went deep, finding and massaging Jeremy’s prostate. “Remember?”
“Oh God, Owen. Yes. Fuck, of course I remember.” His head fell back. “Jesus, that’s…”
Owen bit the inside of his cheek hard and dragged his hand back, removing his fingers, his touch. “It’s not going to be as easy for you, Jeremy. I’m not as giving as you are and you’re going to have to work for it.”
Jeremy
The alarm clock he’d bought for the bedside table said it had been an hour.
An hour. He’s been winding me up for an hour.
Jeremy knew he could have stopped Owen at any time. He had a safe word, and if that didn’t work, he could have ripped these damn posts off the bed so they could talk about the stupid phone and Owen’s reaction to it.
But he hadn’t.
He wanted to say it was because he knew Owen was working something out, working up to a conversation that had been in the air for weeks. But the truth was baser. Simpler.
When Owen ordered him onto the bed, all Jeremy had wanted to do was submit. He’d never been able to explain it. From that first experience with a paddle, he’d been a willing student. As much as he craved and loved taking Owen and claiming him, exploring his primal side, he needed this. It was one of the reasons he believed their sex was always so combustible. It was all need and no rules. A true partnership. They didn’t have to want just one thing, be just one thing. To each other, they were the whole package.
This time Owen seemed determined to keep him on the ragged edge, waiting for a punishment that never came. The flogger still hadn’t been touched since Owen set it beside him. It was more mind fuck than physical pain, which for Jeremy was always harder to endure.
At first, Owen had fingered his ass, stopping when Jeremy’s hips started pushing back in need. He’d done it again, and again until Jeremy realized his true punishment. He was being denied orgasm.
His big body had shuddered when Owen spread his cheeks and circled his anus with his skilled tongue. He’d pushed it inside and moaned hungrily, giving Jeremy hope that we was losing control. But he hadn’t. He’d stopped again and gotten off the bed, leaving Jeremy alone for five endless minutes only to come back and repeat the process.
The next time he joined Jeremy he’d played with his ass cheeks. Squeezing and spanking them, spreading them and massaging them. Then Owen’s hands had traveled over his body, tracing every tattoo, testing every muscle before returning to his ass for a single sharp spank.
The last time, he’d inserted the butt plug—although inserted wasn’t exactly
the right word. He’d used it to fuck Jeremy with shallow thrusts until he was shaking. Moaning. Then he’d pushed it all the way in and left again.
And the whole time, Owen hadn’t said a word, which was the biggest mind fuck of all. He loved saying things to drive Jeremy wild. Loved to give dirty running commentary while Jeremy fucked him. If Jeremy hadn’t been so lost in the treatment his body was receiving, he would have started to worry.
The bed dipped and he tensed, knowing Owen was back for more. Owen’s hand shook on the butt plug for a moment and then he tugged on it, not quite hard enough to pull it out. Another tease then.
Jeremy couldn’t take any more. He struggled for breath and turned to look over his shoulder, and Owen’s expression told him he was as bad off as he was. As needy.
“Owen, please.”
Crystal blue eyes darkened when he saw Jeremy watching him. “Do you want me to stop?”
“I want you.”
Pulling out the plug without argument, Owen placed it off to the side before climbing onto the bed behind him. Jeremy heard his zipper as he opened his jeans and his heart started to race. “Owen?”
“I’m giving you what you want.” His voice was raw with arousal and he pressed his forehead on Jeremy’s shoulder. “I need you.”
“Yes,” Jeremy gasped, breathless. “Take it. Whatever you need. Please, God, take it.”
He gasped again when more cool lube slid between his cheeks. Owen spread them wide enough to sting and then he was in him, filling him without preamble. Without stopping.
Yes. Please don’t stop.
Owen’s chest was hot against his back, one hand strong on his hip while the other stroked the length of his painful erection. “Sorry,” he whispered as he pumped deeper inside him. “I need you. Love you, baby. I’m sorry.”
Why was he sorry?
“I love you too,” Jeremy moaned. “You feel so good, Owen. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop again.”
“Never,” he growled, his pace faster as his cock filled him.
Fuck, yes. Fuck me. Don’t stop fucking me. Love it so much. Need to come.
“You’re so damn tight,” Owen groaned. “I couldn’t get enough. I’ll never get enough.”
Jeremy’s arms ached from being held in the same position, his body on fire from prolonged frustration, but it was worth it. It was all worth it if Owen let him come. He was so close. “Please, Owen. Harder. Don’t stop.”
The hand on his erection tightened, pumping in time with his hips. Harder. Faster, oh fuck, that was it. Almost. Almost there. “Owen!”
The waves rushed in and covered him. Pulling him under in a climax so intense he nearly passed out. All he could do was feel. All he could feel was Owen. He needed Owen with him.
Owen stiffened behind him, shouting his name as he found his climax. Jeremy could feel Owen’s release dripping down onto his ass cheeks and thighs as he pulled out. He smiled like an idiot, unable to stop himself. Relief and subspace combined to make him dizzy.
It took him a minute to realize his arms were free. Owen rubbed them more vigorously than he had to, making sure circulation returned. Jeremy was tingling all over so it must be working.
He heard bathwater running. Were they taking a bath?
Owen helped him off the bed and into the tub, though he didn’t join him. Jeremy was still smiling, his eyes half closed as Owen caressed him with a washcloth. “That feels wonderful, Finn.”
“I’m glad.” His voice was tight. Upset?
Jeremy forced his eyes to open fully. “What is it?”
“I wasn’t in the right headspace to tie you up. It was irresponsible. That’s why we couldn’t use the flogger. Are your arms okay?”
Jeremy lifted them up and wiggled his fingers. “I’m good. You’re not. Why did you?”
“Why did I what?”
“Tie me up when you were in the wrong headspace?”
Owen looked down, watching the washcloth trace circles on Jeremy’s chest. “Honest answer? When I came in I was angry. I wanted to argue with you. Talk. But somehow I ended up tying you to the bed and torturing the both of us for the better part of an hour. I couldn’t seem to stop myself.”
Sighing, Jeremy reached up to cover Owen’s hand with his own. “I’m sorry I used the phone. I found it in the trunk when I was looking for something else and I thought I’d just check my messages and turn it off again.”
Owen’s hand tensed against his chest. “But you didn’t.”
“No.” Jeremy’s brow furrowed. “What is going on in that head of yours?”
“Who was on the phone, Jeremy?”
The question had a jealous edge. But that didn’t make any sense. Owen wasn’t the insecure mess in this relationship. He was confident. He took what he wanted and he always wanted Jeremy. Worrying about sexy stewardesses and handsome bisexuals who wanted a piece of one sexy alpha owner of Finn Construction was Jeremy’s job.
“Who?” Owen repeated.
“Tasha. Her message sounded upset so I called.”
Owen looked surprised but still miserable. “She has a husband who worships the ground she walks on and caters to her every whim. You’d think she could go a day without talking to you.”
“You’d think it if you hadn’t known us for twenty years, but you have so there’s no excuse. We always talk. Though, to be fair to her, she hadn’t left a single message since I sent her that video at the airport. I think she was feeling anxious and had no one else to talk to.”
Worry replaced irritation. “Is she okay? Is it the baby? I’m her friend and brother-in-law—what weren’t you supposed to tell me?”
“I wasn’t supposed to tell Stephen that the radiologist saw something in her last ultrasound and wanted her to come back today for another look.” Jeremy reached up to caress Owen’s jaw. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but she’s having her first baby at thirty-five, so they’re covering all the bases.”
He waited until Owen leaned into his hand to ask, “What is it, Owen? I thought you’d been feeling better since we got here.”
“Better?”
Jeremy lifted his eyebrow. “Yes, better. You think I don’t know you, Owen Finn? I’ve known you most of my life and I know that you haven’t been yourself for the last few months. Is it your parents? Because they’re both doing better now. Or did something else happen at work?”
He hoped someone else hadn’t quit because they’d found out Owen was with Jeremy. It had been hard for him to hold a carefree smile in place when he’d found out about that.
Owen shook his head. “Neither. Who’s George?”
“George?” Jeremy’s surprise turned into suspicion. “Did I tell you his name?”
“You haven’t told me much.”
He couldn’t help it. He started to laugh. “Jesus, you crack me up.”
“I’m serious, Jeremy. I want to know who this George is and why he thinks calling you every damn day is okay with me.”
“You are serious.” Jeremy sighed again, lifting himself out of the tub and walking across the room, heedless of his dripping body. “George is a friend who makes superhero coffee table books and goes to conventions to hunt for models.”
“I know that. Did he want you to model?”
“No, but I would if he asked. I’d make you do it too.” Ignoring Owen’s growl, Jeremy lifted one wet hand as he reached under the bed for his suitcase. “I get it. You’re scary jealous guy now. Or you’re having pizza withdrawals, which I wouldn’t rule out.”
He knew it was in here somewhere… There. He picked up the box wrapped in plain brown paper and held it up triumphantly. “Bring me a towel so I don’t get our new couch all wet.”
Maybe he should be angry or insulted that Owen didn’t trust him. Maybe he was still high on endorphins and warm from the bath and he’d get pissed later. Or maybe he just loved the man and knew him well enough to realize there was more going on than jealousy over his phone time with Tasha and George. By taking his reaso
ns for being jealous off the table, Jeremy hoped he’d tell him what it was.
After Owen had laid a towel on the couch, Jeremy sat down and handed him the box. “This is for you.” He laughed at Owen’s expression. “It isn’t a bomb. Open it.”
Owen started to unwrap it and Jeremy inwardly crossed his fingers that he’d like it. “It’s chock-full of cheese, but I did it for our anniversary and your birthday,” he murmured softly.
When Owen opened the box and saw the large, leather-bound book and the golden engraving on the cover, he smiled.
“The Finn Factor: A Family Album,” he read out loud before looking up at Jeremy, still smiling but obviously a bit confused.
“Open it,” Jeremy urged him.
As Owen began to turn the pages, Jeremy spoke. “I started making sketches of your family last summer,” he reminded him. “I wanted to capture all of them, and it was a way to draw something other than our favorite vigilante demon. As much as I love him, he gets monotonous.”
Owen turned a page, and on one side Jeremy saw the sketch he’d done of Jennifer Finn fishing on the dock—on the other was a full color drawing of her as a superhero. She was smiling Little Finn’s mischievous smile as she dragged a fresh catch of men behind her in a fishing net. Owen laughed softly.
“I think it really captures her essence,” Jeremy chuckled. “Anyway I didn’t know how to put something like this together, so George agreed to help me organize the artists. We called several of my fellow graphic artists and asked them each to make one superhero based on my sketches and a list of particular personality quirks. In this case, two, because I couldn’t separate your parents, even in art.”
Owen was touching Jeremy’s sketches of Ellen and Shawn as he glanced over at the rendering of them as Greek gods, clinging to each other and looking down at all their super-children with pride and love in their eyes.
“I like that,” he murmured.
