Page 57 of Filthy Sweet

Owen blinks. “Dinner?”

“You must be hungry. I know I am.” I rub his leg. “I’ll cook.”

“Sure. I mean that sounds great, thank you.” He swallows. “And don’t worry. I know you must be busy. I won’t try to stay the night.”

I grunt and stand up. “Stay the night,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even. “Why would I worry?”

Owen stands, too. “Since we’re just hooking up,” he says softly.

“Right.” I tug on my boxers. I’m way out of my comfort zone here, and when I search for words, I come up empty. Maybe we are just hooking up, like he said in the note to Reggie.

And maybe that’s not good enough for me anymore.

Instead of sharing that thought, I stick to what’s easy. I take him in a kiss, deep and quick, then stroke the side of his head. “Stay the night,” I repeat. “If you want to.”

“Okay,” Owen answers sweetly. “I will.”

Satisfaction thrums behind my ribs. “Good.”

“I’m going to see what’s in the fridge,” I tell him, chickening out instead of saying what I want to say, that he should just stay here every night, make the condo his home.

Owen nods. “I’ll be right down. I’m just going to use the bathroom.”

I turn and walk downstairs. This energy between us is fucking delicious. I’m the lucky guy who gets to watch Owen come into himself. I make him happy, and I don’t know anything that feels better than that.

So why am I still hungry for more?

I walk into the kitchen, and a minute later, Owen turns the corner. He’s wearing the panties and nothing else, and he’s taken a minute to put himself together, washing his face and fixing his hair. “Hey,” he says, then gives me a mischievous smile, posing for me with one hand against the wall.

“Shit,” I grunt, and my dick twitches to attention. “You know how hard it’s going to be to get through dinner without fucking you again?”

Owen laughs. “Good.”

I wink at him. “You eat everything, right?” I confirm. “No allergies, nothing like that?”

“Just bees.”

I puff air out my nose. “Well, there goes my first idea.”

Owen laughs. “Can I help?”

I shake my head. “I’ll cook. You want to pick a record? They’re over there by the stereo.”

Owen shrugs. “Okay. Can I make you a drink?”

“Bourbon,” I say with a pleased nod. “Thanks.”

I watch Owen walk over to the bar, swaying his hips, bolder every day. The panties cup the curves of his ass, giving them a nice shape, and I think about burying my cock in him again later.

For a while, I let myself just enjoy the evening. Owen picks an old Prince album, impressing me with his taste, and I whip up some veggie linguini. Both in our underwear, we sit at the kitchen table, eating slowly and losing ourselves in the conversation. I catch myself opening up even more, telling Owen about some of the hard times in LA, and he responds by taking my hand and telling me that I deserved better.

Fuck if I don’t start to believe him, too.

When the album finishes and the music goes silent, I finally manage to force the words out.

“So, uh, now that we heard from Reggie, we should probably check in again. About…” I wave my hand between us, not sure what to say. “You know.”

“About us?” Owen asks, and his mouth quirks up in a half-smile.

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