“I suppose then you can be pleasantly surprised.” Owen shrugged, swimmer’s shoulders rippling under his green sweater. “That or you miss out altogether.”
Not entirely sure that they were still talking about cards, Quill swallowed against a sudden surge of emotion. He didn’t usually care what he missed out on, figuring he’d leave the adrenaline rushes to crazy kids, but something about Owen made him want to leap without looking, just once, if only to see what it felt like to fly before the inevitable crash.
Distracted, he missed his next chance to undercut Owen as the points evened out. Because the points were inching toward one hundred, the next few turns would likely be decisive. And something in Quill wanted to prove Owen wrong, wanted to show him that he wasn’t some stick-in-the-mud. So, he knocked before Owen could beat him to it, trying to trust his cards and ignore his gut, which said to wait a turn.
And immediately paid the price, Owen gleefully taking the undercut, collecting his points and calling game. Fuck.
“Best two out of three?” Owen was practically bouncing in his seat, triumph radiating off him in a way that was sexy as fuck.
“Nah. You won fair and square.” Quill wouldn’t let it be said he was a sore loser. “I’ve got a camping mat in addition to sleeping bags. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m not sleepy yet.” Owen’s mouth quirked, a devious glint in his eyes that made Quill’s toes curl in his boots. Despite the fire, the temperature in the building was dropping with the night winds and storm picking up outside, and Quill couldn’t help a shiver. Or maybe that was all Owen and his nearness. He was no longer certain about anything.
“We can keep playing,” he offered, words doing nothing to cut the charged energy gathering between them. “You want a blanket first though? Don’t want you getting chilled.”
“I’m good. Fire’s doing a way better job than I’d expected. I mean I’m not about to propose we play strip rummy next, but I’m not freezing.”
“No one’s stripping,” Quill said quickly, even as he couldn’t get the image of Owen peeling off that fuzzy sweater out of his head.
“Of course not.” Owen shook his head, a weariness in his eyes like he hadn’t expected any more from Quill. “It wouldn’t be professional.”
Not entirely sure what was coming over him, Quill growled low, not liking how quick Owen was to dismiss him and wanting to push that judgment from his expression. And there it was, that urge again, to leap and understand the adrenaline that everyone else seemed to run on. Words would be nice, but they failed him then, some baser part of him taking over before he could stop it, and then he was leaning in, claiming Owen’s mouth in a decisive kiss, swallowing his gasp of surprise.
Cards fluttered to the floor as Owen looped his arms around Quill’s shoulders, pulled him closer. Unlike their first kiss, he seemed content to let Quill lead, let Quill plunder his mouth until they were both breathing hard.
“Oh, hello.” He grinned up at Quill, and this would be the perfect moment to pull away, regain his sanity, but Quill didn’t. Couldn’t. Was rooted to the damn couch, awkward angle looming over Owen and all.
“Sor—”
“Don’t you dare apologize. If I said I was cold, would you warm me up?”
“How cold?” Quill, who didn’t flirt, was doing a damn good approximation of it, voice still low and husky and the word no nowhere near his lips.
“Very.” Owen pulled him down for another kiss, and Quill let himself slide that much closer to hell. And if he was going to be damned, if he was going to let go of professionalism for the sake of a kiss and try to fly instead of sticking to safe zones, then it was going to be a good kiss, one that let him taste as much of Owen as he’d been craving.
Slowing down from his initial attack, he took his time, exploring the curve of Owen’s full lower lip, tongue detouring to trace his devastating dimples before seeking entry to his mouth. As their tongues tangled together, Owen hooked a leg around Quill’s calf, urging him with his hands and legs to fall more completely on top of him.
“Fuck.” Quill had to groan as their bodies met, torsos aligning, Owen wiggling about until their groins were rubbing right along with their tongues, a subtle rocking that mimicked the slow dance of their mouths. Quill might have not spent the past twenty years entirely celibate, but it had been so damn long since he’d made out like this, kissed and kissed with no end in sight, no end goal, that he felt like parched August earth, needing Owen like a garden needed rain, soaking up everything he had to give.
At some point, the dynamic shifted, Owen taking over, his tongue fucking its way into Quill’s mouth, a deep, dirty rhythm that Quill welcomed with a low moan. Decades separated him from the last time he’d climaxed from nothing more than grinding and kissing, but he could feel it bearing down on him, like an iceberg of need breaking free from his usual icy glacier of self-control.
“Want skin.” Owen pulled Quill’s uniform shirt loose from his pants, taking his thermal undershirt with it. His hand was cool on Quill’s superheated skin, raising goose bumps and making him shiver and not only from the contact.
“Damn. It is cold.”
“Sorry. We’ll just have to keep each other warm. It’s practically medicinal at this point, right? Huddling together for warmth is supposed to help avoid hypothermia...”
“I don’t think we’re in any danger of that.” Quill tried for stern and failed miserably, voice still sounding like he’d been pounding back Jack.
“We can pretend.” Owen pulled Quill down for another kiss, pausing long enough to add, “And it sure feels like I might die if I don’t get more of this.”
“Yeah.” Quill didn’t even bother denying it because that was exactly how his racing pulse felt, urgent and needy, shutting everything else except for Owen’s next kiss, which arrived hot and demanding. He lost himself to it, letting Owen carry him along, only vaguely aware of agile fingers working his belt free.
Then Owen’s fingers were stroking him through his boxer briefs, and he almost lost it right then. Bracing himself on one arm, he gave Owen more room to work. He didn’t waste any time either, shoving Quill’s boxers down, freeing his throbbing cock.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed against Owen’s mouth, barely able to hang on as he started a fast, tight stroke, as sure as if he’d been in charge of Quill’s cock for years, knew exactly what he needed. It had been so long since he’d had anyone else’s hand on his cock, but even more than the novelty, it was Owen’s kiss, his scent and taste, that pushed Quill up against the edge. He wanted to touch Owen too, wanted so much that his brain could scarcely hold the list of needs, but right then all he could do was pant, eyes squishing shut.
“That’s it. Like that.” Owen broke away from the kiss, stroking Quill’s face and neck with his free hand before that hand dipped lower. A single flick against his balls. That was all it took before Quill was coming, not even present enough to grunt out a warning or care where his spunk landed. No, all he could do was shudder over and over as that glacier he’d built up so carefully over years collapsed, all control shattered.
“Oh my God.” As the pure, white-hot pleasure faded, cool embarrassment seeped in. “Didn’t mean to...”
“I did.” Owen’s head tipped back, hands releasing Quill to tug at his own zipper. And damn. Quill knew enough to know that he was supposed push aside his lethargy and get Owen off. Especially after the way he’d shot with no warning, getting them both all messy. But if Owen cared, he wasn’t showing it, hand a blur on his thick cock, body stiffening. And like on the ridge earlier, Quill was powerless to do anything other than watch the way joy transformed Owen’s face, smoothing his angular features, brightening his skin and eyes. When he came, Owen’s expression was almost beatific, embracing the pleasure with his whole being in a way Quill wasn’t sure he’d seen before.
Owen’s sweater was now a total wreck, and hi
s fingers glistened with come, and the sight was so hot that Quill had to restrain the urge to grab Owen’s hand and lick it clean, but he’d undoubtedly shocked them both enough for one evening. Surprisingly, he didn’t have his usual post-sex slightly queasy, empty feeling, but regret and embarrassment were doing a pretty good job as stand-ins.
“We’re a mess.” Straightening, he retreated to his end of the couch, trying in vain to right his clothes.
“I know.” Owen grinned like this was the best news in the world, shrugging out of his sweater, revealing a T-shirt advertising some tech company. Damn. They hadn’t even gotten all the way naked, and Quill still felt stripped bare, secret cupboards of wants and needs wide open for Owen’s inspection. “And okay, yeah, it’s cold now. I’m going to go collect my sleeping bag and bedding, and then you can warm me up some more, Ranger.”
Owen’s tease hit him like an icy rain, the reminder that he was undoubtedly one more item on Owen’s bucket list. Be snowbound, fuck a ranger...all part of the adventure for him. Sighing as he grabbed a flashlight, Quill headed for his room, changed clothes in the frigid air, and put on layers of flannel and thermal shirts like that could be enough to ward off the temptation for a repeat. Part of him wanted to remain in here, freezing temperatures be damned. Surely hypothermia would be preferable to whatever awkward conversation came next. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? How did he find his footing after losing the whole goddamn trail of noble intentions that he based his life around? He was lost with no rescue in sight and only himself to blame.
Chapter Twelve
Owen knew as soon as Quill emerged from his room that there probably wasn’t going to be more making out on the agenda. Regret and self-recrimination practically rolled off him, apparent in the slump of his broad shoulders, the heavier-than-usual tread of his feet, and the defeated huffs of breath. Indeed, Quill gave the couch wide berth, unrolling an inflatable mat and sleeping bags and blankets in front of the stove. He spent a long time not looking at Owen, fiddling with his bedding, and then messing with the fire.
Despite the fire, the room really was starting to get chilly, and since snuggling up for warmth apparently wasn’t going to happen, Owen spread out his sleeping bag on the couch and crawled inside, all in less time than it took Quill to continue his show of avoiding Owen.
“You know, instead of fluffing your sleeping bag for the fifth time, you could try talking to me.” Owen tried to keep his voice a light tease, but some of his frustration edged its way in.
“Sorry.” Quill still didn’t glance over at Owen, instead finally lying down, wiggling into his bag. He had on what looked to be thermal underwear underneath flannel pajamas. It was sweet and old-fashioned and with both of them in their sleeping bags, the whole thing could have a fun camping vibe if only Quill didn’t seem so determined to make this awkward. “Not much to say, other than that I’m sorry. Not sure what came over me. Got carried away, and it won’t happen again.”
“I like what came over you. Very much. And I think it totally should happen again. I want it. You want it. We’re both consenting single adults, and literally no one else needs to know about what we do with our off-time. I’m not planning on outing you, Quill.”
A long-term relationship with a closeted guy still wasn’t on Owen’s to-do list, but he’d happily take a secret fling, especially if it made it easier to get through this winter. And having had a taste of the passion Quill concealed beneath his stoic exterior, he wanted more however he could get it.
Quill was silent a long moment, then huffed out a harsh breath. “I appreciate that. But it still can’t happen again. I’m practically your boss—”
“Except for the fact that you’re not. You’re really not. As far I know, they don’t even have you write an evaluation of me at the end of the season. It’s a volunteer position. I already turned down the subsistence payment. My supervisor, such as it is, is your friend the volunteer coordinator. You and I work together, sure, but I’d call us associates, not boss and employee at all. With my finance background, I do get ethics implications for such things, but that’s not the case here.”
“Ethics goes deeper than merely a signing-paychecks thing. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
Owen had to laugh at that. “If anyone’s taking advantage here, it’s me. And I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to push, but I’m also not going to lie and pretend I don’t want something on the regular with you.”
“I...” Quill finally looked his way but still didn’t meet Owen’s eyes. “I don’t do relationships.”
“No one’s asking you to waltz down an aisle. I’m talking about hooking up because it’s convenient, and we both want to.”
“I’m not here to be your drive-through convenient sex fix.” The way Quill’s face shuttered told Owen that he’d chosen the exact wrong wording. “Good night.”
“Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, you kind of did.” Quill shook his head, disgust clear in his eyes.
“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that I don’t like you. I do.” Owen had a feeling he was digging his grave deeper, so he shut up, swallowing back further explanation, and tried a different tactic. “Who was he anyway?”
“Who was who?”
“The guy who turned you so off relationships.”
“Who says there was a guy?” Quill’s tone was more wary than bluster. But Owen knew he was right. It wasn’t so much Quill’s insistence that he was married to the job as much as the way he kissed. He kissed like a guy who’d had it before, but under that experience was an undercurrent of hurt and longing. Quill wasn’t simply a man ending a long dry spell. No, his hunger had a depth to it. He’d had someone once. Owen was sure of it.
“There was a guy. Your friend in college perhaps?”
“You adding mindreading lessons to that bucket list of yours?”
“So I’m right?” Owen all but crowed, sitting up so he could see Quill better.
“It’s not something I talk about.” Quill was hedging rather than outright lying, which Owen found strangely endearing.
“Maybe you should start. My sister’s a therapist. She’s a big believer in talking helping people let go of stuff. I’m inclined to agree.”
“You’re inclined to talk anyway,” Quill pointed out. “Not all of us need to air our business to make sense of it. It was what it was, and it’s been twenty years. I’m not pining.”
“Maybe not pining, but there’s no expiration date on hurt.”
“I’m not hurt.” Quill’s tone was defiant, but Owen still believed he was lying. Someone had hurt him and hurt him good. And Owen already wanted to drop-kick whoever this college guy had been. “If anything, the experience proved to me that relationships are far too much trouble. Including the short-term, regular-sex kind you seem fond of. Any sort of relationship always brings drama. Not worth it.”
“If you really believe that, you haven’t had much good sex. Or a good relationship.”
Quill scoffed. “All sex is pretty similar when it comes right down to it. It’s messy and complicated, and honestly, not that much different from jacking off except for the awkward after.”
“We could be having more sex, not an awkward after.” Owen resisted the urge to add an eye roll. “And messy is fun. Don’t make me come over there and prove it to you. If that truly wasn’t better than jacking off, I wasn’t trying hard enough. You should let me redeem myself.”
Even in the firelight he could see Quill’s deep blush. “It was...okay. Better than okay. But that’s rare—”
“Which is all the more reason why we should do it more.”
“I’m too tired to argue this more.” Quill let out a yawn that sounded fake, but Owen knew when a strategic retreat was in order. They weren’t going to settle anything that night. Quill was determined to be stubborn, and Owen wasn’t g
oing to strong-arm him into a round two. Even if part of him was tempted to use the falling temperatures as an excuse to get Quill to share body heat, the only thing worse than no cuddling would be reluctant snuggling with a guy who couldn’t seem to let himself enjoy anything. Which was sad, really, and added to Owen’s chill, the idea of how much Quill denied himself, and the unexpected desire to be the one to give him a taste of what he’d been missing.
* * *
“It’s going to end up being a ten-dollar-part fix, isn’t it?” Quill shifted his weight from foot to foot in the chilly generator room, waiting for the repair technician to finish his assessment. Ron was an older, rail-thin man Quill had worked with before, who had a habit of sucking his teeth while he worked. Okay enough guy unless one made the mistake of letting him talk politics, which Quill had learned his lesson about and tried to keep the focus on the still nonfunctional generator.
“Not this time.” Ron straightened. “You weren’t wrong about there being a short, and it’s fixable, but truth is this generator has seen better days.”
“Department’s not going to replace it any time soon.” Of that, Quill was sure. Hell, just getting the repair order invoice through all the necessary bureaucracy would be a challenge.
“Well, then you’re gonna have to baby it along this winter, be careful not to overload it. It’s not recycling the heat as well as the newer models either. You might have to deal with being colder than last year. I can get you running again, but I bet this isn’t my last visit here this winter.”
“Let’s hope you’re wrong.” Quill wasn’t looking forward to telling Owen about rationing electricity and the possibility of their quarters being colder. Not that he wanted to talk to Owen period. They’d made stilted conversation that morning, Owen making him coffee and oatmeal along with another “this only has to be awkward if you let it” pronouncement that Quill had only been able to make a noncommittal noise at. But Owen’s cheerfulness aside, it was a pointless warning. Things were already uncomfortable, had been the second his heart rate had returned to normal. Every interaction felt clumsier, like he couldn’t stop tripping over his words and intentions.
Arctic Heat (Frozen Hearts) Page 11