Country Mouse Read Free Page B

two baskets with thick slabs of meat on puffy, toasted buns. “If you can’t order me around in bed, I’m not going to let you order my social schedule.” His whole body glowed when the waiter dodged the couple nearest them—she was crying and he was looking uncomfortable—and pulled their burgers and drinks off his tray.
    “Thanks,” Malcolm said tersely, and arranged his food once the waiter had left them alone again. He looked back at the Yank. “Well, get some meat into you. Can’t have you faint on me or attack a bystander.” He gave the Yank one of his best, brightest, bad-boy grins and wished he’d ordered fries, just for the suggestive shape of them. But he already had a lot more carbs on his plate than his personal trainer would normally let him get away with.
    “Thing is, Owen”—he repeated the name mostly so he’d remember it later—“if you play nice, people walk all over you. Trust me on that one. You’re a nice guy, but that’s like blood in the water. Attracts all kinds of unpleasant people who’re just trawling for a weakness. Any weakness.”
    Owen met his gaze head-on from under that fall of brown hair. “Kindness is not weakness, Malcolm. Forgiveness isn’t lack of backbone. Forgiveness is the thing that lets human beings not strangle each other after a half an hour’s acquaintance. It’s not something you in particular should shit on, you know?”
    Malcolm grimaced. “I know? No, I don’t know. Forgiving people gets you on vacation with your ex-bitch-wanker who’s getting laid while you’re drinking piss-water in a shitty bar. Punishing people gets your cock licked, and maybe your toes if you’re in the mood. Tell me which one you’d rather have.”
    Seemed he’d touched a nerve, because Owen glanced down at his food for a few moments too long.
    “It’s not unreasonable to ask for a little respect. It’s the very least I ask of my hookups, and if they approach the whole thing with the proper attitude, I play nice, too. I can be very nice if I want to.” Maybe I’m even in the mood to play nice tonight. The Yank might tickle out his softer side if he kept a level head.
    “They respect me,” Owen said, and an evil little smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. “Sometimes they fear me.”
    Malcolm looked at him curiously, suddenly more convinced he’d remember this one’s name. “Yeah? You make them pay for kicking you in the nads?”
    Owen groaned. “Not the way you’re thinking. Let’s just say that a conscience isn’t always a cricket, and leave it at that.”
    And now Malcolm was thoroughly disgusted. “You lectured them to death?”
    Owen laughed. “Ouch! That would be awful. No. It was personal, but they felt better, I felt better, and now we’re friends again. Forgiveness. Sometimes it really is a pleasure.”
    Malcolm took a deep breath and let it out, but it didn’t stop the stirring, the tingle, wrapping itself around the skin of his cock. Personal? He could only imagine. But God, the things he could imagine. He busied himself with his burger, eating with no more passion than if he were wolfing down whatever his desk neighbor deigned to bring him, right there in front of his six-pack of screens. “How’s the food?”
    Owen took a big mouthful, chewed slowly. He closed his eyes before he swallowed. “Awesome. Absolutely awesome.”
    Malcolm swallowed, too. Anyone who could take that much pleasure in a hamburger? What else could he take pleasure in? Time to find out. “Let’s talk about what we’ll do when we get to my place.”
    “No,” Owen said, eyeing his hamburger with carnal greed.
    Well, he could give him ten minutes. Okay, five at the speed the Yank was eating. Malcolm took another bite, but mostly enjoyed watching the kid eat. “No as in we’re not going to my place, or no as in you’re not going to tell me what your safeword is?” Malcolm made sure the irony was so thick even an American wouldn’t be able to miss it.
    Owen