Groomzilla (9 page)

Daniel cast a sexy glance over his shoulder before sauntering back to the team.

Owen pressed the heavy glass against his lap and crossed his legs oh so casually.

The next suit was single-breasted black with a more relaxed feel, paired with a burgundy tie and burgundy-and-cream-checked vest. Daniel’s catwalk strut improved, and he did a spin without Owen asking.

“Maybe,” Owen called. “Can we do something a little less serious?”

The pale pink suit with the red tie and white shirt shouldn’t have worked, but oh—it did. The tabbed flat-front pants were sinful, a fact highlighted by the way Daniel paused, opened the jacket, and posed for so long that Owen almost forgot they had an audience and almost fell to his knees.

When their eyes met, Daniel looked flushed, and Owen realized they were done having an audience.

“Definitely this one,” he told Syndie, standing with some difficulty. He left Daniel by the window and strode to the bed.

He handed Nadine his glass, then focused on the clothes. His hands flew as he sorted the pieces he knew would look great on Daniel, including the packages of hipster underwear—which would be pure torture to imagine under those neatly tailored suits.

“This is good. I want all of these. Daniel?” he called out. “Can you do a fitting at Syndie’s studio this week?”

“Friday” came the quick response. The fact that Daniel remained so far away distracted Owen for a moment.

“Friday good?”

“Four thirty!” Syndie said, her amusement evident. “We’ll get everything cleaned up….”

“Great. He’ll wear that suit out. Leave his stuff on the bed.” Owen took a breath and looked up, only to find Syndie, Lucias, and Nadine watching him with smug expressions. “And thank you. Perfect job as always.”

“Any time,” Lucias drawled, giving Owen a knowing grin.

“All right, then.” Owen winked at Syndie, who was clearly holding in a chortle. “We’ll see you Friday.”

“Oh, you’re coming too?” Syndie asked, eyes wide.

“Absolutely.”

“WHERE ARE
we going?” Daniel asked when Owen joined him at the bedroom door after seeing the crew out. The fabulous pink jacket was buttoned up, his hands tucked behind his back. The flush of desire peeking out from his collar, the bitten lower lip—Owen wasn’t made of marble.

“Kitchen. I interrupted your lunch, and we could probably both use something.” He tried to be suave and smooth, even checked his watch.

“Yes, we probably both could,” Daniel murmured, bumping Owen with his hip. “Let me guess—Victor only stocks pâté and caviar.”

Owen wanted to laugh, but the truth was, what they’d find in the giant double fridge upstairs didn’t seem all that appetizing. But…. “Come on. You’re carrying the mimosas and I’ll get one of the trays.”

He skipped the cookies, but with his free hand, Daniel snatched the tray up with an “mmmm” sound. Amused, Owen got some napkins and the fruit and cheese tray, stomach rumbling as they headed up the stairs. The kitchen was all brick walls, stainless steel, and a lighting system that required an advanced degree.

The giant L-shaped countertop ran the length of the enormous kitchen, its gleaming metal top with not a damn thing on it, not even an artistic bowl of green apples. No one cooked here—caterers heated up their premade meals in the ovens, then rinsed their plates and cups and silverware before heading out the door.

Daniel hadn’t been far off when he had said pâté and caviar.

And champagne. Lots and lots of that.

They laid their treats on the corner of the counter nearest the high windows; a beam of sunlight hit between two tall stools, one of which Daniel quickly claimed. When Owen turned around, the full impact of the makeover greeted him—a polished and attractive man with a grin that set him apart from just a guy wearing a nice suit.

“Pink suits you,” Owen said, a bit louder than he wanted to.

“In my line of business, it’s generally not a color choice I would make,” Daniel answered lightly, sneaking a cube of swiss cheese off the platter.

“More a gray or navy sort of world, hmm?” Owen fetched two slender champagne flutes from the glass-front cabinet nearest them.

“Gray, mostly, with the navy thrown in when I’m dealing with a more creative client,” Daniel deadpanned. “Ander hates it, unsurprisingly.”

“He’s a colorful fellow, and I don’t just mean his wardrobe.” Owen rejoined Daniel, sitting on the stool next to him before pouring them each a drink. “I love people in the fashion world. They don’t give a shit at a professional level.”

“You work in television, my friend. Ander said you people are jerks, but that’s okay.” Daniel sipped his drink, smacking his lips after swallowing.

“Some of us are jerks,” Owen agreed, toying with a cracker.

Daniel swiveled until their knees touched. “You seem nice.” He laughed when he said the word.

“What?”

“Ander made me admit I found you disgustingly attractive,” Daniel murmured. “But not before he punished me for calling you nice by sending me dick pics.”

Owen’s eyes went wide. “His?”

“Noooo.” He made a face. “He better not have. I need to double-check. Anyway, he told me to give in to my lustful feelings even though it wasn’t the mature or logical thing to do.” Daniel seemed to regret his little speech; he quickly put the glass back to his lips.

“You’re right, it isn’t very logical. We’re about to work together on a very stressful project. You’re going to have your hands full with the wedding planning and I’m going to be running around with the film crew,” Owen said, pressing a bit closer, toying at the crease of material at Daniel’s knee. “And I don’t do this thing….”

“But,” murmured Daniel.

“But sometimes you just have to give in to the chemistry.” Owen slid off the stool and leaned into Daniel’s space.

THERE WAS
a split second of “oh shit,” and then Daniel opened his mouth to the wonderful intrusion that was Owen Grainger’s tongue.

Daniel was grateful—Owen didn’t play, but he also wasn’t in a hurry; he put one hand on the back of Daniel’s neck, cupping him and drawing him close as he explored Daniel’s mouth like treasure was somewhere in there. The wet slip of tongues, Owen biting gently on Daniel’s lower lip—and then Daniel was done being kissed and decided to do the kissing.

He reached up with both hands, framing that gorgeous face, and pushed himself up, causing Owen to stumble back a little, just enough to break their kiss. Those dazed gray eyes gave him a thrill as he directed Owen’s attention back to his mouth.

The rattle of dishware alerted Daniel this wasn’t his apartment—he pulled back, blinking in surprise. Right. They were in the kitchen of Victor’s penthouse, a space that more closely resembled a mall than a home.

“This is not the….”

Owen’s heavy chest and kiss-bitten lips were making words hard for Daniel; his pants became too tight and his brain shorted out from lack of blood flow. He couldn’t remember the intent behind the sentence when he started it.

“Let’s go downstairs?” Owen asked, sliding his hands down to rest on Daniel’s shoulders.

“Walking could be a problem.” Daniel snickered as he ground his dick against Owen’s nearby thigh.

A wicked gleam overtook Owen’s gray gaze; he let his hands travel lower, brushing over Daniel’s chest, trailing his fingers over Daniel’s hard nipples.

“Okay?”

“Uh.” Daniel exhaled ever so eloquently.

Owen clearly took that as a yes, rubbing circles over Daniel’s nipples until he was humping Owen’s leg.

“I want to get you on a bed and tear that suit off you,” Owen murmured, tilting his head to bring their mouths closer together. “But I don’t want to stop.”

“Much as I’d like you not to stop, I actually don’t want to come in a suit I don’t own,” Daniel whispered against his lips. “How much is this thing?”

“About three thousand dollars.”

Daniel’s hips stuttered to a stop and he moaned low as he knocked his forehead against Owen’s. “I can’t decide if that makes it hotter or worse.”

Owen muffled a snicker against Daniel’s lips. He brushed their mouths together, feeling Daniel’s breath, the way their facial hair caught and rubbed, the tension in Daniel’s body as he seemed to be holding himself back. “So fine menswear turns you on?”

“The way you look at me in fine menswear.” Daniel opened his eyes; they were so close that Owen blinked to focus. “Also the way you look.”

“In fine menswear,” Owen teased.

“Mmmm. I’m willing to guess you look even better out of it.”

This time Daniel kissed him first, an openmouthed assault on Owen, sucking on his tongue. Something burned deep inside of Owen, like a strike of fire from brain to groin. He moved his hands down Daniel’s trim torso, farther, until they curved around his hips and back around to his ass. Daniel moaned in his mouth, rattling the last few brain cells Owen seemed to be clinging to. He squeezed and Daniel’s hips jerked; he sank his fingers into the soft flesh and pressed their bodies together.

The height difference forced Owen to sit down, pulling Daniel between his legs. It was the best and the worst, because Owen knew they weren’t going anywhere, and while he didn’t want to get off in fucking Victor’s kitchen, he knew he was absolutely going to come in Victor’s kitchen.

Daniel dipped his hands between them, slowing their kisses as it became very clear to Owen what his destination was. “Can I?” Daniel whispered, swallowing hard as he brushed his fingers over the obvious bulge in Owen’s pants.

Owen laughed; he didn’t answer, instead stealing a sucking kiss on Daniel’s bottom lip.

“Implied consent. I’ll take it.” Daniel pulled back just enough to fumble with the buttons of Owen’s pants, fingers clumsy as Owen yanked his own sweater over his head.

Daniel got the zipper down as Owen slipped his ass to the edge of the stool, legs open as wide as he could manage between Daniel and the countertop.

“No underwear? Seriously?” Daniel huffed as he stuck his hand in the open V of Owen’s pants to grasp his dick. “Did you plan to seduce the hell out of me today?”

Owen tried for something pithy, but all that fell from his mouth was “Fuck.” His breath came out in gasps as Daniel did a slow, tight squeeze from base to tip, teasing at the foreskin with his thumb.

“May I say, you have a great-looking dick,” Daniel said, licking his lips, jacking Owen off as he talked. “Attached to a fucking amazing body.” He looked up, his face flushed, sweat curling the hairs around his face. “Open your shirt?”

Not bothering to take off the tie—he flipped it over his shoulder—Owen began to unbutton from bottom to top. His fingers slipped as Daniel quickened his pace, keeping his fist at the top until Owen tipped his head back.

“Shirt, Mr. Grainger,” Daniel reminded him. “Let me see your abs, I know you have them.”

Breathless laughter erupted from Owen’s throat; he kept trying to think and move his fingers, but Daniel’s strong hand and the precome and the sweat and Daniel’s eyes on him—he just couldn’t get it all to work.

“Good enough,” Daniel purred, brushing his free hand over Owen’s chest, over his flat stomach. “Jesus, you should never wear clothes.” He crowded closer between Owen’s legs, rocking his hips in time with his fist. Owen grabbed the seat with both hands and let Daniel have his way with him.

“Oh God, you feel so good,” Daniel moaned. He licked a stripe from collar to jawline; the stool rocked violently under Owen and he had a fleeting thought of falling backward, but Daniel jerked his cock one more time, squeezing the head tightly, and Owen spilled in his hand with a shout.

Daniel kept stroking, every spurt pulled from Owen eliciting another jerk of his body. Slick wet sounds, Daniel all but chewing on his neck—Owen gasped as the orgasm just kept going.

Panting, Owen rolled his neck, catching Daniel’s searching mouth with a flick of his tongue. Daniel slowed his hand even as his hips thrust faster, frantic.

Owen bit Daniel’s bottom lip and sucked on the mark while Daniel whined weakly.

“Let me,” Owen murmured, pushing at Daniel’s clothes. He ignored the mess on his chest, come streaking the leg of his pants. He didn’t care about any of it—he just wanted to get at Daniel.

They worked together, Daniel pushing the jacket off and Owen pulling his shirt from his pants, which he pushed down to Daniel’s knees. “I hate your underwear.” Owen smirked as Daniel yanked the shirt out of the way. He sank to the floor, pulling Daniel’s boxer briefs down with him.

“Mmm, you smell good,” he murmured, petting the hair on Daniel’s thighs, stroking up to touch his sac as Daniel growled above him.

“Stop teasing,” he snapped without heat, choking out a moan when Owen sucked on the tender skin he’d just brushed his fingers against. “Again, do that again.”

Owen opened his mouth wider, taking more in; he ran his hands up to squeeze Daniel’s ass, then trailed his fingers down, teasing toward the crack.

“Oh shit.” Daniel laughed breathlessly, the sound of palm on skin filling Owen’s ears as Daniel jerked off above him. “Oh, not gonna last,” he panted out.

Owen didn’t want to miss what was coming next. He pulled back, knocking Daniel’s hand away. He kissed the length of Daniel’s long, slender cock, sucking the tip before he slid down, swallowing as he went.

“Oh shit,” Daniel said again, rocking and thrusting. Owen made a split-second decision, pulling off as he felt the first pulse of Daniel’s orgasm. He leaned back, panting, so he could look up and watch Daniel fall apart, spraying his orgasm against Owen’s cheek and mouth.

Daniel sank to the floor, hitting his head on the stool on the way down.

“Ouch,” he said weakly before sprawling out at Owen’s feet.

They lay there for a few minutes, Owen resting against the counter as he wiped his face with the corner of his shirt, Daniel at his feet. Their eyes met and Owen grinned. Much to his delight, Daniel returned it.

“That was, uh, not what I planned exactly, but damn.” Owen looked down at the mess he was and shrugged.

“I just came over a suit that costs the same as a month’s rent,” Daniel said, gesturing at his come-streaked suit. “Do you have a discreet dry cleaner?”