Blowing It (26 page)
Authors: Kate Aaron
EPILOGUE
“Fuck off!” I pulled my bedclothes over my head,
burrowing under pillows and blankets as weight settled across my hips.
“Please?” Magnus tried to dig under the covers to
reach me, and I closed the gap.
“No! I’m not wearing it in bed!”
“For me?”
I peeked out from under a corner of the sheet and
laughed to see the doleful expression on his face. “Don’t pout.”
“What’s the point of having a medal if you don’t
wear it?” he asked.
“It’s not
supposed
to be worn,” I countered.
“And there’s no way I’m letting you fuck me while I wear it. Not again.”
Magnus grinned. “Spoilsport.”
“Get me one saying I’m a gold star cocksucker, and I’ll
consider it.”
His expression brightened.
“I’m kidding!” I said quickly. “Don’t you
dare
.”
“If I put the medal away, will you come out?”
I eyed him with suspicion. “Put it away first, and
we’ll talk.”
“I don’t want to
talk
.” He leered at me, but
clambered off the bed and over to my dresser, where the medal box sat.
I watched him put it away, smiling as I saw the
care he took with it. I honestly thought it meant as much to him as it did to
me.
After the awards ceremony had ended, I was
commandeered by
The Guardian
for an hour-long video interview, which
they were live streaming on their website. I’d turned my mobile over to Magnus,
who fielded calls from friends and relatives while I settled in a cosy chair
with a journalist and a whole room full of camera, lighting, and sound
technicians, trying to pretend I was having an informal chat with an old friend
while all around me red LEDs winked and silver umbrellas reflected hot, white
light straight into my face. It had been an uncomfortable and disturbing
experience, but a necessary one. The exclusive interview rights with the winner
had been granted by committee long before I was consulted.
Once
The Guardian
was done with me, I ran
the gamut of other reporters, admirably fielded by Katy. I didn’t think it was
entirely my imagination her demeanour had softened towards me. At least I could
console myself I’d got one thing right in my speech: she wouldn’t soon forget me
thanking her. She even took my phone off Magnus when he accidentally accepted a
call from Max. I don’t know what was said, but judging by her sharp tone and
assurance the matter was “sorted,” I assumed it was brief and to the point.
Finally—
finally
—she’d bundled me and Magnus
into the waiting car and packed us off home with strict instructions to enjoy
ourselves. An instruction we’d enthusiastically obeyed for the remainder of the
afternoon.
I’d long since lost track of time, but beyond
Magnus the sky was paling, darkness drawing in.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he picked up my
phone.
“You’ve got messages.” He held the device up.
“Missed calls, voicemails, texts….” He scrolled through the notifications.
“Mostly from Max.”
I laughed. “At least we know he didn’t have a heart
attack.”
“Do you want to call him back?”
I shook my head. “Max can wait until tomorrow. What’s
the worst he can do to me now?”
“You’re not worried?”
I wasn’t, I realised with a sense of liberation.
Months I’d spent fretting about coming out, but now it had happened, all I felt
was relief. The release of my second book had already been announced, and I had
the Carnegie to my name. There was no way Cardwell would risk losing me. “After
today, it’s probably more than his job’s worth to piss me off.”
Magnus set the phone down and smiled. “And you’re
going to make him sweat before you let him off the hook.”
I grinned. “Exactly.” My stomach gurgled, and I
wriggled in the bed to disguise the sound.
“Hungry?” he asked, smirking as he padded back to
the bedside.
“A little,” I confessed.
“No wonder, it’s almost nine. Did you eat this
morning?”
I shook my head. “Too nervous.”
He sat gently on the edge of the bed and leant to
kiss my forehead. “Want me to make something?”
“I don’t know that there’s much in the fridge.”
“Order in, then.” He caressed my cheek, and I inclined
my face against his hand.
“I think anything greasy might make me sick.”
“You’re not going all day without eating,” he
scolded. “I need you to keep your strength up.”
“Oh?”
He grinned wickedly. “I’m not done with you, yet.”
I covered his hand, slid my palm over his furry
forearm. Naked, he looked comfortable and relaxed, the hairs on his chest
matted and flattened from our lovemaking, trailing over the gentle curve of his
belly. His dick hung soft between his open thighs, but if I had my way, it
wouldn’t stay so much longer. Over the course of the afternoon and early
evening, I’d coaxed three orgasms from him and was hell-bent on setting a
record before we finally retired for the night.
I stroked the inside of his thigh, laughing when he
squirmed. I’d discovered weeks ago he was ticklish, and I couldn’t help
exploiting it every now and then. Sitting upright for better reach, I cupped
his balls, weighing the hot, heavy sac in my hand.
“I could always eat you,” I suggested. “Call it a
protein shot.”
He snorted and kissed me. “You’re insatiable, you
know that?”
“Mmhm.” I released his balls and switched to gently
pulling along his shaft. “Insatiable, good word.”
“I know this author….”
“Should I be jealous?”
“God yes, he’s adorable.”
I rested my head against his, listening to the
pitch of his breaths change as his dick started to plump.
“If he’s that cute, perhaps you should keep hold of
him.”
“Don’t worry, I intend to.” He looked at me, suddenly
serious. “You do know how much I love you?”
I curled my fingers around the head of his dick. “You’ve
been doing an admirable job of showing me.”
“Owen. Seriously.”
I sobered and returned his gaze. “Yes, I know,” I
said softly. “You know I feel the same, right?”
“That I do.” He kissed me. “I’ve got the
answerphone message to prove it.”
“Bastard!” I released his dick and crossed my arms,
face averted and nose in the air. “You’re not allowed to hold that against me.”
“I wasn’t going to,” he said, nuzzling behind my
ear. He was playing dirty; he knew that spot was sensitive. “I did plan on
holding something else against you, though.”
“Oh?” I squirmed as a shiver raced down the back of
my neck.
“Yeah.” He dragged my earlobe between his teeth.
“After you’ve had something to eat.”
I laughed. “You sound like my mother.”
He kissed me, soft and lazy, and I felt such a
burst of affection and warmth rising within my chest I was sure I must be
glowing with it; it must be visible, my feelings laid out for any fool to see.
Then Magnus smiled, looking as giddy as I felt.
I knew sex, had experienced and documented it from
every angle, every position. I hoarded sights, smells, sensations, and puzzled
how best to recreate and present them. How to most accurately convey the goose bumps
rising along Magnus’s arm, little blond hairs catching the light; the slow
sweep of his eyelashes and infinite depths of his stormy irises; the way the
faint, silvery stretch marks on his buttocks and thighs made his skin look like
watered silk. I saw all of that, and yet none of it. I saw
him
, the
sweet soul hidden beneath his flesh. And once I’d seen that, I never wanted to
stop looking.
###
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The Carnegie Medal is a British literary award
presented annually in recognition of an outstanding book for children or young
adults. It is conferred by the Chartered Institute of Library and Information
Professionals (CILIP), and named after Andrew Carnegie, a Scottish-born
philanthropist who founded more than 2,800 libraries across the world.
In 2014, the year Owen wins the Carnegie, the
actual recipient of the award was Kevin Brooks, for his novel
The Bunker
Diary.
For the purposes of this novel, Brooks does not exist, and no
parallels should be drawn between him and Owen.
Needless to say,
Blowing It
is neither
affiliated with nor endorsed by the CILIP, the Carnegie Medal, the judges, winners,
or nominees. All trademarks are the property of their respective owners, and
all characters contained herein are fictional: any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Some artistic licence has
been taken with the awards nomination process and presentation, and details
contained within
Blowing It
should not be presumed to be an accurate
reflection of the CILIP’s methods or opinions.
More information about the Carnegie can be found
here
.
Kate Aaron lives in Cheshire, England, with two dogs, a
parrot, and a bearded dragon named Elvis. She has the best of friends, the
worst of enemies, and a mischievous muse with a passion for storytelling that
doesn’t know the difference between fact and fiction.
Free Men Series
The Slave
The Soldier
The Master
Puddledown Mysteries
The Dead Past
The Coward’s Way
Brian & Lexi Series
Ace
Match
Lost Realm Series
Blood & Ash
Fenton, the Loneliest Vampire
Fire & Ice
Storm & Strike
Standalone Titles
What He Wants
The Rest of Forever
Four Chances: A Short Story Quartet
Short and Bittersweet
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