Owen wassilent.
“I think that you might be that kind of manaswell.”
“What?” Owen’s eyes grew wide. His dark blue irises wereenchanting.
“Someone who knows what he wants,” Crawford clarified. “And who isn’t afraid to get it. Why else would youbehere?”
Owen didn’t reply for a long while. Crawford watched as he dropped his gaze to study the glossy finish on the table. It was clear he was uncomfortable, but Crawford knew that if Owen wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t have come. All he needed to do was figure out how to turn the evening around so Owenrelaxed.
Owen’s comfort was Crawford’s toppriority.
The glass of water Crawford ordered arrived. The waitress set it on the table for Owen, then left before either of them could thank her. Crawford watched as Owen busied himself with the glass, letting his fingertips press into the beads of condensation so they ran down and onto thetable.
“When I first came here,” Crawford said, “I was twenty-seven years old and unsure of what I wanted in life, or how to go about finding it. It was just after my mother had died, and she had always been such a monumental force in my life that I wasn’t sure wheretoturn.”
Crawford reached forward to busy his fingers with the glass of whiskey. Impulsively, he wanted to reach out and run his fingers along Owen’s thigh, but Crawford would wait. All good things were worth waiting for. Even if nothing happened tonight, seeing Owen wear his collar was more than enough. Owen wouldn’t wear it if he didn’t think there was something more between them. Crawford refused to believe someone as strong and accomplished as Owen would let himself be owned somindlessly.
“It was an accident that I came here. It was late, I’d been drinking, and I was alone. I was mourning my mother’s death poorly. I heard the music, read the neon sign, and figured that if nothing else, it’d be another place to drown mysorrows.”
A stillness had settled between them that not even the distant, booming music could disrupt. Owen watched Crawford out of the corner of his eye, and Crawford watched him back. A dinner alone wasn’t enough to solidify the bond between them. If Owen wanted to know who Crawford was, Crawford would bare himself freely. He wasn’tashamed.
“What I found was something more. The woman at the front desk, Rose, checked me in as a guest and explained the rules, but it wasn’t until I was on the dance floor, watching two men grind against the same young woman as they kissed each other that I realized whereIwas.”
“But you stayed,” Owen remarked. His voice was fragile, like he didn’t believe in himself enough to commit to hiswords.
“I did. It’s been five years of weekends and of more faces than I could ever hope toremember.”
“Then why me?” Owen asked. “If you can have anyone here, why pursue me like you’ve been doing? I… I really shouldn’t evenbehere.”
Crawford shook his head slowly. “I’m a man who knows what he wants, Owen. Itoldyou.”
“And?” Owen swallowed. “What makes me different than anyoneelsehere?”
The crescents of Crawford’s fingernails tapped at the glass in his palms. He considered the question long enough to take a sip. The whiskey was smooth, and its smoky flavor wasdivine.
Crawford set the glass down. “You caught my eye from the very first second we met, and I haven’t been able to shake the thought of you since. No one here has been able to do that. And I think that you and I might have more in common than youthink.”
“What?” Owen’s expression tightened. “What do you meanbythat?”
“I mean that there’s something about you—a look in your eyes, a way you hold yourself…something—that leads me to believe you long for something life has yet toaffordyou.”
Owen saidnothing.
“All day you do your best to guide others. I think that deep down, you crave for the release that comes with letting go.” Had Crawford’s attention not been so invested in the man at his side, he might have missed the slight way Owen’s lips parted. “You need to be told what to do. You need to know thatyouare the one being cared for instead of the one doing thecaring.”
“That’s not true,” Owen whispered, but there was no conviction in hisvoice.
Crawford saw his chance. He turned toward Owen just enough that it wasn’t awkward when he ran his hand along Owen’s neck, palm caressing the soft leather of Owen’s collar. The intimacy of the touch woke his cock, but Crawford didn’t let arousal cloud his mind. What he wanted from Owen was morethansex.
“Then why are you here, and why are youwearingthis?”
“I…” Owen’s gaze danced from Crawford’s eyes to his lips, then back up again. His eyelids drooped. “You asked me todoit.”
“I asked for you to dress appropriately,” Crawford whispered. Their lips were close now. One by one, he could tell that Owen was letting go of the tethers that held him back. “I sent the collar as a suggestion, but never once did I demand you wear it. You made that choice onyourown.”
“So what?” Owen whispered. His eyes were closed now, and his lips were so close that Crawford felt his words. “You sent it for me to wear it, didn’t you? Of course Iwould.”
“Life is full of choices,” Crawford whispered. “The choice to come tonight. The choice to wear the collar I sent you, the choice to find me instead of dance, the choice to let me come so close, the choice to let me kiss you… You asked me before why I would pursue you when I could have anyone in here, and the truth is this:youare my choice. It’s up to you whether I am yoursaswell.”
