Page 86 of Snowed In

Owen gave a low whistle as he spotted the problem. “Did you find the stopcock?”

There he went, saying that word again. “Um, no. Sorry. I had a look under the kitchen sink, but I wasn’t really sure what I was looking for.”

There was mischief in his eyes as he glanced at me. “No flaccid penises presented themselves?”

I smacked my hands against my face and groaned. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

A warm hand gripped my shoulder. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. But seriously, most people don’t know that’s what it’s called.”

I opened my fingers just enough to glare at him from between them. “Bet they don’t mention penises though.”

Owen chuckled, seeming far more relaxed than I’d ever seen him at the coffee shop. “Nah, can’t say they do. Might make things more fun for me if they did.”

He squeezed my shoulder before releasing me, and the skin burned under the cotton with the memory.

Lowering my hands, I tried not to ogle Owen as he bent over and glanced into the open cupboard door. I tried, I did.

But then he dropped to his knees, fully bending over as his head disappeared under the sink, and the threadbare denim stretched thin over his plump arse. I shifted on my feet, openly gawking at the delicious sight he presented.

“Ah, got it!” There was the sound of something turning. He said something else, but I missed it. I was too lost in wondering if his cheeks were as squishable as they looked, and how it might feel to bury my face between them.

“Rory?”

I jumped a foot in the air, accidentally catching my toe on the corner of a unit. “Ow! Fucking thing.”

Owen pulled out of the cupboard to see me hopping around, clutching at my foot. “You okay?”

“Yep.” I dropped my foot to the floor, trying to ignore the jolts of pain from my pinky toe. “Sorry, what did you say?”

He frowned in the direction of my foot. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No more than usual.” That was true. Something about being around Owen seemed to amplify my clumsy nature.

“Hmm.” From how the lines on his forehead deepened, he didn’t believe me. “Do you need to sit down?”

“Nope. I’m good.” And stubborn. I was most definitely that.

Owen opened his mouth as though he was going to argue, before snapping it shut and smiling tightly. “Want me to show you where the stopcock is, so you know for future reference?”

“That’d be great.” I scurried over and dropped to my knees. When Owen didn’t move, I glanced at him questioningly.

“Here.” He ducked his head inside the cupboard. “It’s okay, we can both fit.”

I mean, yes, we could. But not without touching. And while I was sure Owen saw this as nothing other than a plumber educating a client on water safety, that wasn’t how I saw it.

Or, more specifically, how my cock would see it.

After taking a deep breath and sternly warning my body tobehave,I copied Owen’s posture and gingerly edged closer. In order to fit, I was going to have to press my entire left side to his right.

As soon as my shoulder brushed his, all my blood rushed south. The situation didn’t improve as the rest of us lined up, making me imagine all the other fun ways I’d like to be lined up with this man.

Fuck, I needed to get laid. Maybe a trip into Cardiff to hit up a gay bar would be a better plan for New Year’s Eve, rather than the one I currently had—sitting on my sofa and eating an entire tin ofQuality Street while watchingGavin and Staceyfor the millionth time.

In the small space under the sink, Owen’s scent was even more potent. I dragged in a whole lungful, adding it to the memories of this I’d undoubtedly be revisiting later. Alone. In bed.

Owen cleared his throat, like he’d just realised how close we were. “Here, this is it. Turn it this way for on, this way for off.”

“Great,” I squeaked, hurrying out as fast as I could. The last thing I wanted was for Owen to realise I was lusting after him.

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