Jason smiled up at him. He couldn’t help it.
Owen smiled back and there was some magic playing between them that drew Jason close, closer. Soundless music, quavers stringing them together.
A light touch at his side. The shock of a thumb stroking along his hip bone, exposed under the stretched cotton of an old T-shirt.
His pulse rapped a more exuberant beat.
Such dark eyes.
Jason reached a hand around Owen’s nape and drew him down. Softly expelled breath hit his nose, the bow of his lip, and Jason’s knees quivered. A supportive palm rested knowingly on his thigh, another on his waist, and Jason nudged himself into the hold, a couple of inches closer, against Owen’s chest, a warm groin combing his lower stomach.
Jason inhaled that inviting scent, softened by last night’s shampoo. Vanilla, honey. Earl grey.
Somewhere in the back of his mind was an awareness of family watching them, and a reminder this moment was for them. For credibility.
Except, it was the curiosity part of him that took up most of his mental space. And there was a flicker in Owen’s eyes that said he recognised it.
That perception was a relief to Jason. He liked the electric feeling of Owen reading him, knowing what he wanted. The tightening pressure around his waist guided him. It’s okay. You’re doing just fine so far. Keep going. I’ll help you.
He let out a shuddery breath, the tingle of his lips making him swipe his tongue over them. His first kiss with a man. Would he like it?
Would he be good enough at it?
He sucked in a breath, eyes widening. What if he messed up the pressure, the angle, the timing. What if it looked like a first kiss and he gave them away. What if—
A hand slid up his back, coaxing him closer. Their noses grazed. The heat of their mouths mingled.
He’d never trembled so hard.
“Owen?” he whispered, a plea.
Owen kissed him.
Chapter Eleven
Jason had always thought kissing was . . . good. Fine. Okay, really. He preferred it when lips travelled down his neck, a slick mouth sucked at his throat, teeth grazed his shoulder. Actual pressing of mouths and the plunging of his tongue into hers had always felt . . . a little out of his comfort zone. It made kissing a bit of a chore.
Not this kissing.
All the hard work came from Owen. Guiding hands, the pressure at their lips, the first gentle swipe of tongue. Jason was being steered, and it felt . . . more intense, somehow. Intimate. Like someone saying I want a taste of what it’s like to be inside you, and the shivery power of being the gatekeeper, deciding if and when to let them in.
In the space of seconds, Owen’s lips shifted against his, hot, imploring.
Jason opened for him. A tiny moan.
And then it all disappeared, and air shivered around his mouth, and he was left with a jarring sense that it hadn’t been enough. He wanted more teeth, more tongue, more tender desperation.
But, ah . . . probably less audience.
Oh my God, had he moaned in front of all the parental units?
He glanced around to four sets of wide eyes.
In a frantic wee move, he started to push away from Owen, but Owen’s grasp doubled, keeping Jason tight against him. “Good morning to you, too.” Owen swivelled Jason out of the doorway, and out of sight.
As soon as he released him, Jason understood why he’d held on tight those extra moments.
It was one thing to moan in front of four family members.
It was another to spear them with the sight of his very hard, very erect member.
He slapped a hand over his still-singing lips to stifle a yelp of mortification.
Owen’s eyes twinkled, a dimple deepening at his cheek. “It’s okay,” he mouthed, and then louder, “Better get ready. You’ll have Jane grumpy if you don’t open on time. It’s donut day at the station and it’ll be a slow trip back after the storm.”
The kiss would not leave Jason’s mind. It stuck there, at the forefront, with an intensity that echoed to his most sensitive places. He was throbby, and restless, and he couldn’t stop smiling.
Oh crikey.
He wasn’t quite sure how to broach the topic with Owen, but he felt quite certain it needed broaching. As soon as possible. And his lips needed breaching. Again.
If Owen didn’t mind.
He hoped he didn’t mind. He’d seemed very easy about the kiss and had taken all of it—and the effects of it—with good humour. Jason had started the morning embarrassed, but . . . not for long? Owen had taken him in his arms outside the convenience store and dropped another kiss on his forehead. All a bit of show for Cora, of course, but it also felt comforting. Like Owen wanted him to know he didn’t care. Jason could relax, be entirely himself. In fact, he’d prefer it.