Take This Man: Gay Romance Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

is like a touch, featherlight against Owen’s lips. And Owen tries to answer Luther, but he finds he doesn’t quite know how. He winds up stammering, blinded by the ice-blue brilliance of Luther’s eyes, and the sudden graze of Luther’s thumb against his bottom lip. “I—I—I—” Too late, Owen realizes he’s trembling. He wants to look away, but Luther won’t let him.
    Luther’s fingers lightly stroke Owen’s temple as he crowds even closer. Owen has the wild thought that they made love just last night, but this moment feels more intimate than fucking ever could, and then Luther’s kissing him. Luther kisses Owen’s tremor away, and only pulls away once Owen’s wrested back his trademark calm.
    “Talk to me,” Luther pleads, before adding, “Stay!” Owen flinches at the sound of Luther’s voice—raw, and little used. Under any other circumstances, Owen would consider it his duty to soothe away that tone, in whatever way he could, but he can’t, now. Not when he’s the one who put it there in the first place. Owen makes himself step back, and thinks that that one, small action—stepping away, from Luther, might be the single hardest thing he’s ever had to do. When Owen speaks, though, his voice is steady.
    “I don’t belong in your world, sir,” Owen says, and something dangerous flares in Luther’s eyes, at that.
    “You do if I want you to,” Luther says, with a stubborn tilt to his jaw.
    Owen snorts, harsh and grating.
    “Yeah,” he answers. “Right.” It’s possibly the most disrespectful tone Owen’s ever used on Luther, and Luther looks lost again, but this time, the expression angers Owen more than it moves him.
    “Want me?” Owen asks, and it’s him that crowds into Luther’s space this time. The movement is defiant and unapologetically threatening. Luther looks startled. “You didn’t want me last night, sir.”
    “Of course I wanted you!” Luther says, and he looks like Owen struck him, but Owen doesn’t care. Not now.
    “You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Owen spits, and he might almost feel bad about it if it weren’t for the fact that nobody can move him the way Luther Philadelphus can. Nobody else can make Owen feel this—vulnerable, this exposed. Owen realizes that he’s let his guard down around Luther, in a way that he hasn’t around anybody since his ex. He knows, from all those months of fighting with him, how important the next few seconds are. How critical it is to hang on to the upper hand while he still has it.
    “What was that at the party, sir?” Owen asks, and he can’t help but enjoy it, just a little, when Luther flinches at the emphasis on his rank. “I told you that you could go. And then what do you up and do, but drag me along, and act like your night is about as much fun as pulling teeth? I mean, what the hell , sir? You barely talked—barely looked at me, the entire time. You didn’t—you didn’t introduce me to your grad-school friends. Fuck, you didn’t say so much as a single word to anyone. So don’t stand here and tell me that you want me. That I belong in your world. Not after you made it abundantly clear last night how much I don’t!”
    “Jesus Christ, Owen!” Luther shouts back. Luther’s gone nearly white with rage, or something else. He’s naked and gorgeous and everything that Owen wants and won’t ever be allowed to have. “That wasn’t about you!” Owen makes a sound at that, and finally whirls around, his hand on the door he should have escaped through ages ago. Luther’s talking rapidly behind him. Owen doesn’t want to listen, but he does.
    “You never gave me a chance not to go, Owen! Did you ever think about that? You show up on my doorstep, and then assume that I—that I—” Luther sounds winded, like he’s grasping at straws. “I see those people every week, Owen! Why the fuck would I want to go their party when I could spend time with you?”
    Luther lapses into silence. He slumps near