Blowing It (22 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Heaven was hot, sweaty, and loud. We gyrated to the
thump of bass so strong, the floor vibrated with it and the beat came alive, a living
thing pounding against my breastbone. I drank vodka and Red Bull and ground my
hips and danced until my damp hair was plastered to the back of my neck, an arm
around Ryan and an arm around Becky, who each in turn had an arm around Sameer,
the four of us holding each other up as we carved out a space for ourselves
amid the crush of young, lithe bodies.

“They’re all fucking children,” I bellowed in
Ryan’s ear, lip curling as some cute young thing squeezed between us on his way
to the bar. “When did we get so
old
?”

“You’re not old,” Becky shouted.

“I feel it!”

Sameer glared at the back of the twink’s head until
he’d moved away from Ryan. “We were never that rude.”

“Yes we were,” Ryan said, laughing. “We were just
too drunk to remember.”

“You might have been, my love, but I was always
sober, remember?” Sameer wrapped his arms loosely around Ryan’s waist, and Ryan
hung onto his shoulders for balance.

“You were
sober
?” Becky asked incredulously.

“Sameer doesn’t drink,” I said, hooking my arm
around her neck and speaking directly into her ear, half an eye on Sameer and a
smirk on my face. “Not even being married to Ryan’s driven him to drink—
yet!
”

“Fuck off!” Ryan twisted to face me, a wounded look
on his face. “I’m a responsible adult. I’m a
teacher.
I only drank
because I lived with you. So there!”

It was my turn to feign hurt. “I only drank so I
wouldn’t have to listen to you having sex when we got home.”

“That’s rich!” Ryan protested. “
I’m
not a
screamer.”

I gasped. “Bastard! You swore you’d never tell!”

Becky doubled over laughing. “Stop it, please,” she
begged weakly, clutching her side. “It hurts.”

Turning his back to me with a distinct swish, Ryan whispered
something in Sameer’s ear, his words accompanied with a shameless grope though
his loose jeans.

“Whoa, whoa, we do
not
need to see that!” I said,
holding up a hand to block my view of Sameer’s crotch.

“Nobody does,” Sameer agreed, taking hold of Ryan’s
wrist and moving his hand up to his hip.

“Spoilsport.” Ryan grinned goofily.

“I’m taking this one home,” Sameer decided.

“You can’t go yet!” Becky protested. “It’s early!”

“It’s three o’clock.”

“Oh my god, is it really?” I wriggled to get my
phone out of my tight jeans and squinted at the bright screen. “Fuck me, it’s
three o’clock.”

“
So
?” Becky asked, stringing the vowel out.

“So, it’s time we left,” Sameer said firmly, tucking
Ryan under his arm and supporting his weight as he slumped against him.

“Booty call.” I gave Becky a knowing nod. “They’re
going to get laid.”

Sameer grinned. “Damn right we are.”

“He’s going to tie him up and spank him,” I said, leering
at Sameer.

“You are
not
!” she exclaimed, staring
between the pair, mouth open in shock.

Sameer laughed. “Don’t believe everything Owen
tells you.”

“Not when Ryan’s drunk,” I clarified, then, deciding
I might have overstepped my bounds, I changed the subject. “How will you get
home?” I asked. “Is there a train?”

Sameer shook his head. “Last train was half-twelve.
We’ll get a taxi.”

“That’ll cost you a
fortune
!”

He shrugged. “It’s a one-off.”

“Owen, you’re staying out, aren’t you?” Becky
asked, making cow-eyes at me.

I glanced around the dance floor. The room was
thick with dry ice, men on pedestals rising out of the smoke like ghosts, the
spirits of gay bars past. The idea made me smile. Someone next to me flailed a
little too enthusiastically, and we all bumped into one another. We were
getting jostled from all angles, the crush of clubbers becoming oppressive,
although already small spots were clearing in the crowd as people separated and
left. Soon there would only be the true die-hards remaining.

“I think I’m going to go,” I said. “This place will
be dead soon.”

Becky whined in protest, but when Sameer made for
the door, she followed me.

Outside, the air was warm, although without the
cloying humidity of the club. A row of taxis waited opposite, their orange
lights glowing brilliantly in the dark street. A handful of smokers stood in a
roped-off area beside the door, clouds of blue smoke billowing over their
heads. Farther down the road, a young man was being violently sick in a gutter,
heckled by three drunken girls wearing short dresses, hen party sashes, and sparkly,
penis-shaped boppers on their heads.

“Have you got enough money to get home?” I asked
Becky, crushing my hand into my pocket and emerging with a couple of notes and
a handful of change, which I squinted at to examine under the dim streetlights.

“Yeah, I’m good.” She produced a note from the
inside pocket of her small clutch bag. “I always keep a twenty separate.”

“You take the first one,” Sameer said to her,
indicating the row of cabs. “Are you two sharing?”

I glanced at Becky, who shrugged. “I haven’t a clue
how to get around London,” she confessed. “Are you on the way or not?”

I wasn’t, but Magnus was, I realised. “Close
enough,” I decided. “We can share.”

We waved to Ryan and Sameer as the taxi pulled away
from the kerb, laughing when Ryan sagged against his husband and Sameer had to
catch him and haul him upright. When the taxi turned out of the road opposite
the Adelphi Theatre, we settled more comfortably in our seats, Becky’s head on
my shoulder.

So early in the morning, the traffic was light. The
eastern sky was already beginning to pale, and I watched the streets pass
outside the window, lulled by the rhythmic motion of the car. I hadn’t seen
London at this time in years, and I smiled fondly at familiar roads and
buildings, lit in orange and reds, the brilliant blue of an ambulance flying by
in the opposite direction, siren wailing. As we turned onto Holloway Road, I
nudged Becky, who sat up and directed the driver to her door.

“I thought I was dropping you off?” she asked,
frowning slightly. “I live farther out than you.”

“I’m not going home,” I said, accompanying my words
with an exaggerated wink and a leer.

“You dog!” She poked my ribs. “Here was me thinking
I was taking Cinderella home before she turned into a pumpkin, and you’re going
to get laid!”

“It was the coach that turned into a pumpkin,” I
corrected. “Now get out, the meter’s running.”

Stuffing the twenty into my hand, Becky clambered out
of the cab, and I asked the driver to wait until I’d seen her open her front
door and wave me goodbye. Giving the cabbie Magnus’s address, I reclined in the
seat, my head full of all the wicked things I was going to do to him when I
arrived.

҉҉҉

It was close to four by the time I rang Magnus’s
doorbell. His street was quiet, all the curtain drawn, no lights showing in the
windows. The sound of the buzzer reached me through the door, sounding eerily
loud. I rang it again, and a third time, before a light came on in his flat. I saw
a shadow moving around inside, then the blinds of the window beside the door
twitched. Plastering a smile on my face, I waved and rang again for good
measure.

“What the hell?” Magnus hissed when he opened the
door, graciously catching me before I fell into his hallway.

I giggled. “I went out.”

“I can see. You stink of alcohol.”

“Missed you,” I said, turning in his arms and
kissing him.

“Get inside.” Magnus half-led, half-dragged me
through the entrance and pushed me into his flat.

I steadied myself against the kitchen counter while
I waited for him to lock up again. He was wearing a pair of pale grey jogging pants,
sliding low on his hips and thin enough to leave nothing to my imagination. His
hair was mussed from sleep, but my appearance seemed to have thoroughly woken
him up.

“Where have you been?” he asked. “And bloody hell, what
are you wearing?”

I stretched out my loose tank to display the image.
“Do you like it?”

“It doesn’t matter what I like, your agent is going
to have a fit. Please tell me you weren’t seen in that.”

“I tipped off the photographer,” I declared
proudly. “Fuck Max.”

Magnus groaned. “Who put you up to this? Who were
you with?”

“Becky. As long as I’m with her, it doesn’t matter
what I do. She’s my beard.”

“I know what she is,” he said, a trifle irritated.
“That doesn’t mean you’ll get away with…
this
.” He indicated my attire.
“Christ, Owen.”

I crossed the room, only stumbling over my own feet
once as I attempted a sexy sashay. “You should see what I’ve got on under it,”
I said in a whisper, stroking his chest. His nipples hardened at the touch. “Remember
the first time we had sex? Remember what I was wearing?”

Magnus groaned. “You’re going to be the death of
me.”

I scraped my nails down his torso, over the
waistband of his joggers, and palmed his cock, which was beginning to plump
nicely. “I want you to fuck me,” I said, enunciating carefully, the hard
K
of “fuck” catching on my tongue as I pushed the word from the back of my mouth
to the front. “I want to straddle your lap and sit on this fat cock”—I squeezed
the glans—“and fucking ride you.”

“Jesus.” Magnus exhaled slowly.

“Nope, just Owen.” I sniggered. “But I’ll make you see
God before I’m finished with you, Magnus Cassidy.”

Magnus shook his head, not in refusal but as though
his brains were fuzzy, all the connections short-circuiting. “You’re too
drunk,” he protested weakly. “In, in the morning—”

“It’s already morning,” I countered, mouthing the
underside of his jaw. His skin was sharp with stubble, which scraped across my
lips. “I’m done waiting, Magnus. I trust you. I want to do this.”

“I’m not talking advantage—”

“I’ve been practising,” I whispered.

“You, you’ve
what
?” he stuttered.

“Every night with my dildo, imagining it was you.
Your cock inside me. Fucking me.
You
, Magnus. Not some stupid piece of
plastic.”

“Oh, hell.”

He surrendered to me kissing him, pawing him,
working his dick between our bodies, his thigh between my legs as I practically
rode him there in the kitchen. I pushed the waistband of his pants, and they
slithered down his hips.

“Get on the bed,” I growled, nipping his jaw.

Half-tripping over his joggers, bulged obscenely at
the groin, he scrambled to obey.

I shrugged my jacket off and let it fall to the
kitchen floor, balancing myself against the counter as I kicked off my boots. The
tank came next, draped over the little table pushed against the wall, and I unfastened
the button of my jeans as I nipped into the bathroom to grab a condom from the
box he kept in the cabinet.

Stepping on the toes of my socks to work them off,
I padded barefoot through the flat to Magnus’s bed. He was sitting on the side
of the thin mattress, joggers bunched on the floor, a bottle of lube at his hip
and his cock standing firmly to attention between his legs.

I stood before him, and he reached instantly for my
hips, drawing me closer and pressing a kiss above my bellybutton. I cradled his
head, carding my fingers through his hair, caressing his face and jaw and neck.
He looked up and met my eyes for a long moment and, seemingly reassured by what
he saw, he slowly, deliberately, unzipped my jeans.

I shimmied my hips to help him slide them down my
legs, and held onto his shoulder as I stepped out of them and kicked them
aside. My dick was straining against the silk of my underwear, but Magnus
didn’t torment me, and soon the bright pink pants lay on the floor, forgotten.

Picking up the lube, he snapped the lid open and
drizzled the cold, clear fluid onto my dick, working it over my flesh with a
practised twist of his wrist while I dug my nails into his shoulders and curled
my toes in the carpet.

I bent to kiss him, tongues and teeth clashing as
my hips jerked erratically, seeking more friction from his hard, calloused
hands. When he reached under my balls and smeared my crack with lube, sliding two
fingers into my arsehole and working them gently in and out, it was all I could
do to clutch at him for support while I ground myself onto his palm. I loved
every part of my sex life with Magnus, but Jesus fuck if sometimes I didn’t
need to be pounded until my teeth rattled.

Fumbling only a little, I tore the condom open and broke
free to drop to my haunches between his knees and roll it on.

“Why’s it green?” he asked, looking with some
concern at his dick, which now, admittedly, resembled a cucumber.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” I said, standing
and urging him to close his legs so I could kneel over him.

“Owen, I think that’s one of the flavoured ones.
I’m not having sex with a mint condom.”

“It’s still a condom, isn’t it?” I asked, holding
onto his biceps as I clambered across his lap. “I don’t give a shit what type
it is, just shut up and fuck me.”

The next protest died on his lips as I reached
behind myself, steadied his dick, and sank onto it.

The first sting of penetration felt wonderful. I
hadn’t lied when I said I’d been practising, but my little dildo just didn’t
measure up to Magnus’s thick cock. I savoured the sensation of my muscles
opening to admit him as I gradually lowered myself into his lap. Ryan always
teased it was a sign of a true bottom slut that I loved the burn. I’d always
retorted it took one to know one.

“Jesus,
fuck
, Owen,” Magnus gasped as I ground
to a halt, clenching around the base of his shaft to prolong the feeling of first
being stretched wide.