Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2)

by Zoe Norman

  “Owen...” I breathe. “Something on your mind?”

  I know what’s on his mind, and I’m hoping he doesn’t wait until we get to the hotel room to show me.

  “You. Only ever you, Olivia. Get your sweet ass over here.”

  Owen reaches out to me and grabs my hand, pulling me to him. His large hands wrap around my waist and pull me up to straddle his lap. His hands slither up my thighs, pushing my dress up to my waist. Taking my face in his hands, he tugs me toward him and lightly nips my lower lip. His tongue slides over the spot he bit before plunging it into my mouth. I open for him immediately as he takes me in a hungry, needy kiss. It’s wet and sloppy and sexy as hell.

  My fingertips tightly grip the back of the seat on either side of his head as we continue to kiss. I feel his hands rubbing up and down my thighs, his thumbs moving closer and closer to my panties with every stroke. His hands fasten to my ass and urgently pull me toward him. My now exposed panties find the considerable bulge in his pants; the fabric and zipper rubbing me in just the right place.

  “Unnngh…” I groan and involuntarily my hips push towards him.

  His hand runs up my back and into my hair, pulling my head back, giving him access to my neck. His lips find that tender spot at the base and a violent shudder runs through me. Gooseflesh makes its way from my neck, over my chest, and down my arms. I think I whimper, but I’m not sure. His lips continue their assault on my neck, licking, biting, soothing.

  “I think I need to remind you who you belong to, Olivia,” he murmurs into my neck. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

  I don’t know if it’s the buzz I have or just the power of Owen, but I am completely under his spell. I would do just about anything this man asked me to at this point. I love it when he’s like this—possessive and sexy. Like he wants to mark me. I squirm on his lap, anticipating his next moves.

  Owen pulls his tie out of his pocket and holds it in front of me. He hasn’t said anything, but I understand what he wants to do. We’ve never really done anything like this, but we’re both drunk and a little uninhibited. I lift my hands up from his biceps, where I’ve been holding on to him tight, my breathing labored. I bring my wrists in front of me, offering myself to him. He takes my wrists and tenderly kisses the inside of each one before bending my arms behind my back. Gently wraps the silk fabric around them and purposefully ties it loosely. I could easily get my hands out, but it’s the thought that counts.

  The top of my dress is gaping now that my dress has been pushed up. He slowly slips one finger under the strap on one side and slides it down my arm. He then repeats this on the opposite side. My top pools at my waist and he is faced with the strapless bustier I’m wearing underneath. It is a beautiful lace bustier I bought especially to wear with my dress. It pushes my breasts up, and Owen sucks in a breath as they are exposed.

  “Fucking beautiful,” he whispers and drops his head to lick from one swell of my breast to the other.

  He uses his finger again to pull the bustier down, revealing my entire chest. Leaning forward, he sucks a nipple into his mouth, and I moan loudly at the sheer pleasure of his warm tongue on my sensitive skin. He sucks, licks, and nibbles, all to the sound of my mewls of bliss. His hands move restlessly over my thighs, kneading and groping, until he pulls back and lifts the bottom my dress to see my nude thong. My hips are moving, allowing me to rub against his rock-hard erection. The thin material of my panties are soaked at this point. Feeling this, he lifts his eyes to mine and in the dim light from the side rail I see they are dark, hooded, lustful. I slip my hands out of the tie, as I knew I would be able to, and before he has a chance to protest, I put my hands on his chest and push myself off his lap so that I’m kneeling in front of him.

  Now, this would be a pretty bold mood given that we’re just driving to the hotel. Except I know this ride will take an hour at the least, so I feel confident that I’m good on time. Plus, I’m drunk and horny. Ain’t nothing stopping this crazy train.

  I lean toward him a bit, my breasts out of my bustier, pushed up by the underwire. He looks tortured and sexy, his eyes dark and stormy. His hand reaches out and caresses my cheek. He knows what I’m going to do. I unbuckle his belt, slowly unbutton his pants, and pull down his zipper. It’s not easy given that it’s straining against the beast trying to escape.

  When I start to tug on the waist, he lifts his hips to help me. I pull his pants and his boxer briefs down just enough to free his enormous cock. In the dim light of the limo, I can see its purple head, the moisture at the tip. I make an ‘O’ with my mouth, appreciating the beauty of this massive phallus. When I place my hand around him, he grunts, his hips involuntarily pushing up into my greedy grip. I stroke him from root to tip, gently squeezing the head when I reach it, causing him to jerk.

  Placing one hand on his thigh, I lean forward and softly kiss the tip. Owen exhales a low, deep, agonizing groan, which only encourages me. There is nothing like giving this man pleasure. Not just because I know he’ll return the favor tenfold, but because I like knowing that I can do this to him. Owen is not a man without experience, and for me, it feels like a big win that I turn him on this much.

  I take him in my mouth—all the way—until I feel him hit the back of my throat. I stop before I gag but swallow, allowing him to feel the muscles of my throat clamp down on him. His head falls back as I use a combination of my hand and my mouth to stroke and suck. I cup his balls and give them a very gentle squeeze as he lets out a huff of breath. I accept his full length in my mouth once more, this time just about gagging. Owen would never hurt me in any way, this I know. But I also know that he loves to watch me give him a blow job and that it turns him on to no end when I can’t help but gag a little, too full of him.

  His hands have found my hair again and he is grabbing fistfuls, trying to control himself, to keep from fucking my mouth the way he wants to. He may be drunk, but he won’t come in my mouth if he has the option to fuck me—only if we’re pressed for time or I really push it. As expected, he suddenly pulls me back away from him by the hair.

  “Stop... Shit... No, baby,” he grunts, having difficulty finding words. “I want—shit that feels good—to fuck you… Please...I want to fuck you.”

  I pull back and lick my lips, disappointed that I’m not going to get to taste more of him but anticipating what’s next.

  “Yeah?” I question. “You want to fuck me, Owen?”

  He nods in a heated daze. “I need you like I need my next breath.”

  I grab my breasts and squeeze them together. Because they’re pushed so high, I have an advantage, and I bend my head down, lifting a breast to my mouth and seductively flick my tongue over my nipple.

  “Oh holy fucking hell, Liv...”

  Owen grabs me by the waist and quickly throws me up onto the seat before positioning himself down on the floor of the limo. As I’m settling myself, he puts his hands on both knees and pushes my legs up and back, my feet finding the seat. My legs are spread open for him, my pussy exposed. He reaches forward and, slipping his finger into the crotch of my thong, pulls until I hear a rip and they are off me. Then they’re thrown to the floor of the limo. Fuck, that’s hot.

  “Goddamn... So wet...and all mine.” After leaning forward and licking the entire length of my aching pussy, he ends with a suck on my clit.

  “Oh, baby! Owen...more... More...please…” I plead.

  His eyes lift to mine, his mouth still firmly attached to my clit, his tongue doing wicked, wicked things to me. He grins, not changing his pressure in any way. Bastard. He plants one final kiss on my mound and moves so he is now on his knees. He leans over me, one hand on either side of my hips, until he is just a centimeter away from my lips. I can smell myself on him and I just about combust.

  “Right now, I’m going to fuck you. You’re going to scream. You’re going to give our limo driver a raging hard-on from listening to you. And you’re going to come. You’re going to come hard while I’m buried balls-deep
inside of you.”

  Owen grips my hips and tugs me toward him, effortlessly sliding me along the seat’s soft, smooth leather. His hand reaches to his side to grab my calf, lifting my leg to his hip and placing my foot over his shoulder. I am completely open and exposed to him now as his lust-filled eyes roam my body. He grabs ahold of his cock by the base, squeezing it—his tell that he’s trying to hold back. My wetness clings to him as he rubs the head of his cock up and down my slit.

  “You are so soaked, Olivia. Have you been fantasizing of how I would finish you off tonight?”

  I nod desperately. Less talk, more fuck, I think to myself. He must be reading my mind, because as the last word of that thought hits my brain, he slams into me, fully seating himself inside. I scream.

  “Fuck, Liv. You’re so fucking tight!”

  He stills as I get my bearings. Too full of Owen is quite literally too full. No matter how many times we’ve had sex, he’s still awfully big for my body, and from this angle, he’s about to split me in half. He starts to pull out slowly, looking me in the eyes. He is assessing me, watching to make sure it’s not too much. He has one hand beside my hip and the other gripping the ankle of the foot on his shoulder. His thumb grazes my heel, my instep, and it’s like a little string attached to my nether regions is being plucked every time he strokes my foot. He pushes back in as slowly as he pulled out, concern on his face.

  “Good?” he asks.

  “Fucking phenomenal,” I reply.

  He gives me his sexy grin and slams into me, pushing me up the seat. I scream again, but he knows now it’s in pleasure and his tenderness is a thing of the past. He starts pounding into me. The loud cadence of his balls slapping my ass and the sound of my wetness reverberate in the small area. I’m a little drunk, so I’m also very responsive, and I’m not going to last long in this position at all.

  "Owen...God, I'm going to come..."

  I am barely able to breathe—he is taking all of my breath away. Not just with the fucking, although the fucking is insanely good, but with his face. The way he looks at me. He makes me want to be his. Makes me want to please him.

  He kisses my ankle and licks a little down my calf. "You need to wait. I'm not ready for you to come," Owen says darkly.

  Ohhh God...he's going to be the death of me.

  He’s pulling me down onto him as he pounds up into me, and I swear I can feel him in my throat. He starts to rotate his hips a bit and I begin to unravel.

  “Owen... God, baby, please... I can’t wait... I’m going to explode... Come with me, baby. Come on.” When his thumb hits my clit, I mewl, "Oh, Owen, shit!" I can't help but rock my hips up towards his tempting hand, looking for relief from this buildup that has been climbing in me slowly but surely as the night has gone on.

  I know he's close. His breathing is erratic and he's getting thicker inside me. His hand slides up my abdomen and to my breast, pinching my nipple.

  "Ah!" I scream.

  "You ready?" Owen asks, his eyes completely glazed over and pinning me into the limo seat.

  "Yes," I breathe out, barely audible.

  He presses his thumb onto the top of my clit hard and starts to fuck me ruthlessly. "Now, Olivia!" he yells and I explode.

  "Oh, Jesus, Owennnn! Ahhhhh!" I scream. I'm not worried about the limo driver hearing me. I'm worried about the other cars on the freeway hearing me.

  He slams hard into me once, twice, and on the third time, he holds himself still and deep inside me as he grunts and then yells “Fuck!” while emptying himself in me, throbbing against the squeezes I give him.

  He collapses on top of me, bracing himself with one hand on the back of the seat so he doesn't crush me. “I love you so fucking much,” he pants out against my shoulder.

  “I love you too,” I reply, equally fighting my inability to breathe.

  He leans forward and kisses me sweetly on the lips before rolling to the side and doing a half-assed job of fastening his pants. The tail of his shirt is sticking out the zipper of his pants, for God’s sake. While I try to get myself together a little, Owen reaches forward to grab my shredded thong off the floor. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he stuffs the tattered material into the front pocket of his shirt. I shake my head and roll my eyes as I grab a handful of tissues from a box in the console of the back seating area in a feeble attempt to clean myself up.

  “Thank God for well-stocked limos, huh, babe?” He’s laughing at me—the bastard.

  “Oh sure. You just tuck yours away. But me? I get the wet spot.”

  We laugh loudly, and I throw my tissues into the waste bin before curling up next to him, my head on his chest with my legs under me. He wraps an arm around me, pulling me close, and I finally get to run my fingers through the chest hair I admired earlier. I sigh deeply.

  “You okay? I wasn’t too rough on you, was I?” His voice tells me that he’s concerned. He loves to fuck me six ways from Sunday, but if he gets any indication that he’s hurt me in any way, he panics.

  I run circles on his chest with the tips of my fingers, contemplating whether or not I should say what's on my mind. I decide to go for it.

  "I'm fine. Just thinking about the things you said today. When we were dancing. When you gave your speech." I look up at him, not lifting my head from his shoulder, our eyes locked. "You really want me to move in now? You won't change your mind when you wake up tomorrow?"

  I'm insecure. I know it; he knows it. I believe what he said at the wedding, but I'd still like to hear him say it again.

  He looks me dead in the eyes, his gaze not wavering. “Olivia, I love you more than you can possibly imagine. And I don’t want you to move in.” Pause. Big, fucking scary pause. “I need you to move in. I want to do this with you. Will you do that for me?”

  I grin up at him and my heart swells. There is no use pretending that isn't exactly what I wanted to hear. My arms wrap around Owen’s neck and I kiss him sweetly, softly. Our tongues meet, but this isn't the kissing of two people who just fucked like rabbits. This is the kiss of two people who adore each other, love each other, and are connecting.

  I don't pull away, but I pause the kiss and say against his lips, "I can't wait to wake up to you every morning."

  He leans down and kisses me again, his hands roaming my back, soothing me. I lay my head on his chest and my eyes start to shut. Before I know it, I've fallen asleep, secure in the arms of the man I love.

  IT’S MOVING DAY, and it’s already a clusterfuck. Did you expect any different? Last week, I packed up my apartment—what little there was to pack in my little Chelsea studio. My parents took most of the furniture with the exception of a futon I brought to Owen’s—I mean our—place to put in the office. The rest of the things I had to bring were clothing related, dishes and kitchen items, and all the other little things people keep in their houses that they didn’t even know they had but fill about what seems like one hundred moving boxes. We decided that I would pack everything and sort through it when I got it to the brownstone.

  Owen got a couple of the guys from the firehouse to help out. Saul is here as well as Tanner and Tex, a new probie who just started. Owen was delighted that bringing Tex was a win/win for him and his firehouse buddies. We got the help of a young, strong man, and it serves as appropriate hazing for the new guy. I promised the boys that I would make them a hearty dinner in exchange for their help, and as promised, I have a huge pan of baked ziti and garlic bread in the oven. My friend and coworker, Laney, is coming later with dessert.

  I am sitting cross-legged on the floor, pulling books out of a box, and trying to sort through them. This one stays, this one goes. This one goes, this one stays. It’s tedious but oddly relaxing at the same time. I feel a hand on the top of my head and look up, greeted by the brilliant, blue eyes of my man. He leans down and kisses me softly with a big smile.

  “Having fun with your books?” he asks.

  “Actually, I am, thank you very much,” I reply with a smirk. “Ha
ving fun ordering around your probie and being all manly while moving my boxes?”

  He smiles down at me again. “Fuckin’ lovin’ it.” He kiss the top of my head and goes back to work by helping Tanner bring in a second pile of boxes.

  I filter through another couple of books when I hear a crash in the next room and a very clear “Fuck!” That does not sound good.

  I get up and walk slowly to our bedroom, preparing myself for the worst. Inside, I find the probie, Tex, his head in his hands, looking at a box that has fallen from his hands onto the floor. He looks terrified.

  “Everything okay in here?” I ask cautiously.

  He looks up at me, fear in his eyes. “Oh God, Olivia, I’m so sorry. I dropped this... It was so...like, heavy and awkward and I—”

  I put a hand up, stopping him. “Tex, relax. Do you even know what was in that box?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Look at the label. It’s just clothes. Sweaters to be exact. You didn’t break anything...and I won’t tell.” I wink at him conspiratorially and he instantly looks more relaxed and grateful. “I’ll tell you what. I have finally divided all the books in the living room. It would be really helpful if you took the donation boxes downstairs for me.”

  “Sure, Olivia. I can do that for you.” He sprints out of the room to get the job done, eager to help.

  I can’t help but laugh. This kid is absolutely adorable, and I hate the hazing, although I get it to some extent. Owen has made it clear that he went through the same—and much worse—so I keep my thoughts to myself.

  I decide to pull some of my clothes out and get them arranged. Last night, Owen and I went through the drawers and closet to make room for my stuff. I’ve developed a little stockpile of my things over the last few months here, but not much. I find a box that I know has my lingerie in it and bring it to the dresser so I can empty it.

  When I open the box, I see the embroidered, linen handkerchief my mother made me years ago, and it smells vaguely of lavender. I used it to line my lingerie drawer. Giving it a sniff, I lay it down in the drawer I plan to use for my lingerie. I take out my panties and bras, placing them carefully in the drawer. As I go through my day-to-day lingerie, I find my fancier baby-dolls and nighties. I don’t have many anymore. Owen has bought me one or two, and I have bought a few since I met him, but ones I had prior brought back too many negative memories of the men I’d worn them for, so I threw them away.