2016 Top Ten Gay Romance Read online

  “Draw up his P45,” Bell shouted to her as Max marched across the office.

  Penny appeared at the door of the library, staring and wondering what was going on. As Max approached the exit, the door opened. Owen and Noah came in, talking, but then struck into silence by the sight of Max barrelling for the door and the yelling coming from elsewhere.

  “Max?” Noah said.

  But Max was in no mood to chat. “See you at home,” he said and swept past and out of the door. He didn’t have the patience to wait even five seconds for the lift, so slammed back the door to the emergency stairwell and headed down. His feet clattered on the concrete steps.

  Above him, someone called his name, but it was difficult to tell who in the echoing stairwell. He ignored it, went on, crossed the building’s lobby, and hit the street. He sucked in a big breath in the cold air, feeling as if it was the first time he’d breathed since he left the conference room.

  Well, done, Max. Didn’t even manage the week.

  * * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, he was sitting at the bench by the bus stop, fiddling with his phone, trying to figure out how to buy an electronic ticket because he’d left his coat in the office, which had his bus pass, his wallet, and his keys in it. He could break down and ask Noah to bring them to him. But he didn’t want to face Noah yet. He’d not only messed up and lost a job yet again, he’d lost the job Noah had got for him, and it would reflect badly on Noah and hurt him at the firm. It was all very well for Max to think that firm didn’t deserve Noah and hope he’d go for a job elsewhere, but sometimes you had to put up with the BS and bite your tongue because you had to put bread on the table. When was Max going to grow up and learn that?

  “You forgot your coat.”

  He looked up at the sound of Owen’s voice. There he was, in his overcoat, carrying Max’s winter coat. He towered over Max, who looked up at him squinting, as the sun poured over his shoulder, feeling like a bronze age man staring up at the statue of a god.

  Max shielded his eyes and took the coat. “Thanks.”

  He hated the choked sound in his voice. He’d never see Owen again after today, he supposed. Easy come, easy go. To his surprise, Owen sat down on the bench beside him. Max stared ahead, holding his coat on his lap. Traffic and pedestrians passed for about a century before Owen spoke.

  “I got the story out of Mrs Barstow. Though the best she could manage about a certain part was ‘he added the word end’ to Mr Bell’s name.’”

  Max’s lips twitched. He gave in to it and smiled. Yeah. That had been a choice one.

  “Penny was still laughing about it when I came out here. Noah wanted to come. In fact, Noah wanted to walk in to Mr Bellend’s office and resign on the spot. But I persuaded him and Penny to stay in my office and keep their heads down.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  “You know I won’t be able to think of him as anything but Mr Bellend from now on.”

  “Oh, dear, what a pity.”

  “What exactly did they say? Mrs Barstow didn’t hear that, only what you said to them. I gather a certain…racial slur was used.”

  “I don’t want to repeat it.”

  “Okay. Anything else? I’m not asking for laughs. If you want to take them to a tribunal, I will happily represent you.”

  Max stared at him. He would. “Pro-boner?” He smirked.

  “The word is bono, not boner, but you know that fine well. Max, what else did they say?”

  Max repeated it back, not liking saying that shit. Owen jotted notes with a slim silver pen onto a notepad he took from his pocket. He nodded and put it away when they were done.

  “I believe the phrase is bang to rights. Wide open to cases against them from you, Noah, and Penny.” He rubbed his hands together. “God, it’s cold. Are you, um, are you going home?”

  Max shrugged. “I suppose. The bus will be here soon.”

  “Forget the bus. I’ll give you a lift.”

  Max’s mouth went dry, and it wasn’t the effects of the cold air. Owen wanted to take him home. To an empty house. Noah probably wouldn’t be back for hours.

  A couple of minutes later, he was slipping into the passenger seat of Owen’s Mercedes. The heated passenger seat. It was more comfortable than his bed.

  “Nice car,” he said, trying to stay cool, even though he’d happily live in this car.

  Owen nodded an acknowledgment, then manoeuvred them out into traffic.

  When they got out of the busy traffic of the town centre, Owen relaxed and spoke again. Max snapped back to attention from watching the show—that is, Owen driving. He’d never appreciated before how sexy a hot guy driving a powerful car expertly could be.

  “Max, may I ask you something?”

  “Anything. Ah, I meant, ah, whatever.”

  “You and Noah are so different. It’s hard to see you two as friends. Yet you’re clearly…more than that.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Max blurted out in a panic. Damn, if Owen thought that, he’d definitely never lay a hand on Max, and Max was extremely keen to have Owen laying hands on him.

  Owen chuckled. “No, I know. That would be even less likely.”

  “Noah’s straight.”

  “I know. But I meant, he’s so serious and you’re, well, more fun-loving.”

  “If you mean shallow…”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Thick?” Max suggested.

  “Certainly not.”

  “Scatty?”

  “Well, maybe…” He grinned and winked at Max, who died, yet somehow managed to continue speaking and moving around.

  “I don’t say it much because it sounds weird, especially if we’re standing side by side, him black, me white, but we’re brothers. Not literally. Not even half-brothers. It’s a long story.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Our folks were in business together, when we were kids. Me and Noah were friends. I was friends with their other kids, too, but he was the same age as me, so we were closest. I didn’t have any siblings.”

  “So you’ve known each other a long time.”

  “Yeah. When I was twelve, my parents died in a car crash.” He could say it without his voice roughening and cracking these days. It had taken five years for that to be the case.

  “Max, I’m so sorry,” Owen said, looking shocked. “I didn’t know.”

  “Noah’s family took me in temporarily. My grandparents were all gone already. Then distant family members started coming out of the woodwork, looking for custody of me, because both my parents had hefty life insurance pay-outs, as well as their house and other money to leave me. Whoever had custody of me would have control of all the money until I was eighteen.”

  Owen grimaced. “Yeah. I’ve seen a few cases of that sort.”

  “The judge deciding on custody asked which relative I wanted to live with, and I said none of them. I wanted to stay with Noah’s family. They felt more like family than any of the blood relatives. Everyone was a bit taken aback. They weren’t even trying for custody, assumed a relative would get it. So me saying that threw the cat among the pigeons. But, in the end, it worked out. I got to stay with them. And from then on, me and Noah, we were brothers. He was there for me from the day my parents died, to when I got picked on at school for being too sissy. And he was there for me when I was figuring out my sexuality. He even fell out with his older brother over it, and they still don’t speak much. But he stuck by me.”

  He petered out and coughed. There was a sealed bottle of water in the cup holder, and he took it with a silent request for permission. Owen nodded, then looked ahead again, negotiated a junction, giving Max time to drink his water and compose himself.

  “I knew Noah was a good man,” Owen said when they were back on a straighter bit of road again, close to their destination. “Clearly, I barely knew the half of it.”

  “He’s a good man from a good family, and I couldn’t pretend I didn’t hear those bastards disrespecting hi
m. Oh, it’s just here. By the green gate.”

  The Mercedes drew up at the pavement beside Max and Noah’s house. Max finished the water, undid his seatbelt, and turned to Owen. He was calm, not flustered the way he had been in the bar or every other time he spoke to Owen. Owen looked back at him, that laser vision of his in full operation, looking intently into Max’s eyes.

  “Come inside,” Max said.

  “For coffee?” A little teasing. A little smile playing around his eminently kissable lips.

  “No. I want to go to bed with you. And I should have said that plainly from the start.”

  Owen grinned and turned off the engine.

  Chapter 4

  Max closed the bedroom door behind him and turned into Owen’s waiting arms. He turned his face up, eyes closing, and felt the soft brush of lips on his. Owen enclosed him in arms as strong as Max had hoped they would be. He sighed and opened his mouth, encouraging, welcoming. Owen deepened the kiss, though was still quite restrained. No thrusting tongue, but a slow exploration.

  After a moment, they broke for air. Max opened his eyes to Owen looking down at him, dark eyes intense but a smile on his face.

  “That was exquisite,” Owen said.

  Max’s eyebrows shot up. Not a word anyone had ever used for his kissing skills before. Though one he’d certainly use for Owen’s. Owen raised a hand to stroke the side of Max’s face, then moved it around to the back of his head. He fingered the band holding Max’s hair back.

  “May I?”

  “Please do.”

  He pulled gently until the hair was free of the band, then brushed strands of it forward over Max’s shoulders. He combed fingers through it, from scalp to ends.

  “I knew it would be like silk,” he said. “I’ve wanted to do this all week. It’s beautiful, Max. Beautiful.”

  He leaned in again and this time moved quickly from Max’s lips to plant kisses and licks and a nibble or two on Max’s neck and ears. Max groaned softly at the touch—exquisite. His cock, already perky, filled completely, and his pants became an agonising cage. Unable to restrain his need, he pressed against Owen, who seemed in no rush, rubbed against him, feeling his hardness through his pants.

  “Please,” he moaned out. “I need you, Owen. I need you.”

  Owen pulled back, kissed his lips again, holding his face in both hands, a thumb caressing each cheek. Max, more urgent, grasped Owen’s jacket lapels, wanting it off.

  “Please,” he begged again.

  Owen chuckled, his low, sexy chuckle Max had been dreaming about all week. He stepped back and took off his suit jacket, draped it on a chair. He slid off his tie, silk whispering against silk. Max gulped and followed suit—hah! He stripped off jacket and tie and tossed them at the chair, less careful than Owen, whose suit probably cost ten times as much. Owen started to undo his shirt buttons. Max mirrored his every move. Cuffs first, then collar on down, until they both pulled shirt tails from waistbands. Max got no further, frozen in place at the sight of Owen taking his shirt off, revealing those great big arms, broad, muscular shoulders, and well-defined abs. All tanned gold brown.

  “Are you sure you’re not a model moonlighting as a solicitor?” Max said.

  “I spend too much time in the gym,” Owen said.

  “Oh, I’d say you spend exactly enough time in the gym.”

  “I need something to distract me. Fill in my free time.” He stepped up to Max, lifted a hand to cup his face, kissed him, hotter, more urgent than before. “Can you think of anything?”

  Max barely managed to keep from wrapping his arms and legs tight around Owen and refusing to let go. He’d never wanted any man as much as he wanted Owen. He was incredible, beautiful. Owen’s big hands were on him, sliding under his shirt, pulling him closer. He let go what was embarrassingly close to a sob of need.

  “Shh,” Owen said softly. “Relax. I’m going to…” He trailed off and, to Max’s astonished delight, dropped to his knees. He bent forward, kissed Max’s stomach, flicking his tongue in the naval. Max almost came just from that.

  “Please,” he moaned. “I need…”

  He couldn’t articulate what he needed, he couldn’t speak coherently any more, as Owen undid the button and zip of Max’s pants and pushed them away enough to release Max’s rock-hard and aching cock.

  Max gasped with relief as it came free. The room was rather cold, and the whisper of chill air tried to shrivel it. But there was no chance, not with Owen so close, warming it with his breath and his lips as he kissed and licked, worshiping it. He reached up and held the base of it, stroked the underside where it throbbed and pulsed.

  Max almost lost control. He’d started to stroke Owen’s hair, but the sensation was so intense, he gripped and pulled until Owen spoke softly.

  “Easy now.” He raised his free hand to touch one of Max’s. He stroked the back of it. “Ease off there, love.”

  “Sorry.” Max let go, going back to stroking. “But I can’t hold on any—ah!”

  A cry broke from him as Owen pressed forward and swallowed his cock deep. The thumb went on stroking as he sucked, caressed, and teased. Max hung onto control by the tiniest of margins, not pulling hair, not thrusting hard at Owen’s face. Owen was in control of himself, though. Skilful and generous, finding the ways Max liked it, the right pressure, until Max didn’t think he’d be able to stay on his feet for much longer. His knees were going to go, he knew it. Owen moved yet closer, taking his hand away, taking Max to the root, the head of the cock in his throat. Max lost the last vestige of control. He barely knew his name and what day it was. His legs were wet string. He was an exploding ball of fire, coming in pounding waves, the tide surging into Owen, flooding, impossible to hold back.

  A last quivering moment, then he was gliding, ebbing, everything going blurry and soft, like flying into a cloud. He folded, but strong arms caught and held him. A soft voice whispered in his ear. There must have been words, but they might as well have been Greek.

  He came to his senses a moment later, lying on the bed, in Owen’s arms, obscenely and delightfully dishevelled. Owen was stroking his hair. He smiled when Max opened his eyes, looked into his face so close by.

  “I take it that was okay then?”

  “Okay?” Max said, voice hoarse. He grinned. “It was amazing.”

  “For me, too.” Owen nuzzled into his neck, stroked his chest, fingertips trailing and making the skin roughen into goose bumps. Max turned onto his side, into Owen’s arms. Owen had his shirt off, but pants still on. That would never do.

  “Let’s get into bed,” Max suggested. “It’s cold.”

  They stripped out of the rest of their clothes and dived under the duvet to snuggle close. Max reached between them for Owen’s cock. It filled his hand, hot and hard. Owen groaned.

  “Yes,” he whispered softly. “Yes, like that.” Max stroked the head of it, ran fingers up and down it. Owen’s eyes were closed and flickering. “That’s good.”

  Max pushed Owen to lie on his back and pulled the duvet down so he could see what he was doing. Oh, what a gorgeous cock, not huge in some porn star fantasy way. Just right, fitting perfectly into Max’s hand. He leaned up on one elbow and went on stroking and watching Owen’s face.

  “Is that good?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes.” Owen opened his eyes, reached up to touch Max’s face, stroke a thumb across his lips. “Max, please.” A gentle soft touch, but one Max interpreted correctly, along with the unspoken question.

  “Do you want me to blow you?”

  “I would love it. If you want to.”

  As if Max hadn’t wanted it from the moment he’d met Owen. He wasted no more time on words. He only moved down a little, bent to the pleasurable task. He licked a salty bead from the head, then slid his lips slowly down the shaft, learning every bump and vein, running his tongue over them. Owen gasped and said incoherent, encouraging things. One of his big strong hands came to rest on Max’s head. He could have pushed, shoved Max dow
n further onto his cock, but he only stroked, let Max set the pace.

  His unexpected gentleness, through this whole encounter, was a greater thrill than all of Max’s fantasies of him being dominant and taking control. Max had imagined he’d be that way, being older than Max, being a guy probably quite used to getting his own way. He reminded himself to stop imagining real people to be like the ones in movies. He’d fantasised about Owen ordering him to his knees, taking him hard. But this was better. Consideration, care. Nobody taking charge. Rather…an exchange. Sharing pleasure.

  The scent of sweat rose from Owen as it sprang from his pores. It mixed with the musk of sex and made Max’s senses swim. No better scent in the world than a man lost in pleasure. A moment later, he was proved wrong. Owen came, and the taste and smell of him filled Max’s mouth. Ah, salty goodness. Max laughed with delight as Owen shivered and flopped onto the bed, limp and wrung out. His hand on Max’s head went heavy and still and then slid away. Max sat up, leaned across Owen, one hand holding himself up on the other side of Owen’s gorgeous body. Owen was a saint in his ecstasy. A demi-god. In a moment, he sighed and stretched, languorous as a cat, contentment radiating from him. He opened his eyes and smiled up at Max.

  “Thank you. That was incredible.”

  “You’re so very welcome.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it all week, but it was better than any fantasy.”

  “Flatterer.”

  “Come here, please.” He held out a hand to Max.

  “You’re so polite.” It was said in a teasing tone, but Max liked it.

  A twink like him—and he couldn’t deny he fit the category—tended to get bossed around in bed, especially by older, bigger men. So Owen’s politeness and gentleness were refreshing and a surprising turn-on. He could get used to them. He wanted to get used to them. Which wasn’t to say he wouldn’t also like Owen to pound him into the mattress sometime and leave him walking funny for a few days…

  He lay down, across Owen’s broad chest, in his arms. Owen stroked his hair. Not so silky any more, heavy with sweat. After a few minutes, he pulled the duvet over them as the chill of the room penetrated.