by A. D. Ryan
“You, of all people, have no right to be upset with what I do and who I do it with,” I remind her through gritted teeth.
Gretchen rolls her eyes. “You sure do seem to be having a hell of a time in the wake of our separation.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you seem to have acquired a taste for younger women,” she says, crossing her arms. “I never pegged you the type to go through a mid-life crisis.”
While she doesn’t outright name Amelia, I can tell that’s what she’s alluding to. Does she also suspect that it’s Amelia who’s here? Gretchen never was good at paying attention to anyone but herself, which meant she oftentimes missed what was going on directly in front of her, unless it benefitted her in the slightest.
Annoyed that I’m here with Gretchen while Amelia is God-knows-where hiding inside, I glare and am unable to keep the venom from my tone. I don’t mean to engage her further when it comes to my love life, but I’ve had enough. “Well, thirteen years with you, darling, and I was bound to need some kind of outlet. Who better than someone whose body has yet to be affected by gravity?”
Gretchen’s eyes widen to the point that, had this been a cartoon, I’d be able to see steam erupting from her ears and nose. I’m uncertain what she’ll unleash on me next, but I refuse to back down. I won’t out my relationship with Amelia, but I won’t deny that I’ve moved on either.
I’m surprised when she doesn’t bring up my date, though I can tell she wants to. “I got the papers, Owen,” she shoots back. “Stephen dropped them off last night.”
“Good.”
She eyes me defiantly, and I fear what’s coming out of her mouth next. “I’m not signing them.”
My eyebrows shoot skyward, and my jaw drops simultaneously. “Excuse me?”
“I mean it. I’ve spent thirteen years married to you while you built this company from the ground up and ignored me I’m not walking away with nothing.”
I’m unable to contain my laughter, and it draws the attention of a few people just inside the door. “Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before screwing around on me.”
Gretchen tries to feed me the same excuse that she’s been forcing down my throat for the last few months about how I pulled away first and drowned myself in work, but I put a stop to that right fucking quick. “Be that as it may, if you’d have just filed for divorce, we could have come to some kind of amicable agreement.” She opens her mouth to protest again, but I cut her off, pointing my finger at her and leaning forward until I’m right in her face. “Sign the papers, Gretchen, or so help me God, I’ll find a way to make the judge force your hand.”
Behind me, I can hear the countdown begin, signaling that the stroke of midnight is upon us. Without another word, I turn on my heel and storm back into the ballroom, leaving Gretchen on the terrace, and I look around for Amelia. I’m still so infuriated that Gretchen would show up here like this, but when I find Amelia by the bar, sipping another glass of champagne, it dissipates a little—not entirely, but enough for now—and I push my way through the crowd. She must sense my presence, because she turns to me, smiling, and makes her way toward me, finishing her drink and setting the glass down on her way over.
With less than ten seconds left, we reach each other, and I pull her into my arms, holding her close as though we were dancing again.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Eight!”
“It is now,” I reply.
“Seven!”
Amelia’s hands move up my chest, tugging on the lapels of my suit lightly. “You didn’t push her off the terrace, did you?” she teases.
“Six!”
I laugh, shaking my head, and curl my fingers into her hips. “No.”
“Five!”
“I assure you I did nothing of the sort,” I continue.
“Four!”
“That’s good.”
I tilt my face down toward Amelia as the countdown nears the end, and she looks at me with wide, nervous eyes that also hold a glimmer of excitement.
“Three!”
“What are you doing?” she asks, looking around. Her gaze freezes to the left, and I follow it, finding Gretchen watching us. This reignites my earlier feelings of irritation, and I’m even more certain of what I’m about to do. “We shouldn’t.”
“Two!”
I turn her face back to mine and brush my lips over hers. “Perhaps not, but I think we’ve earned it.”
“One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Before she can protest further—not that I think she will, if I’m being entirely honest—I press my lips to hers, pulling her hips against me again. Her fingers tighten around my lapels, and she steps onto the tips of her toes to deepen our kiss. Auld Lang Syne begins to play, the sounds of the string instruments filling the grand ballroom as everyone rings in the New Year around us.
That familiar hum of desire vibrates through my veins, filling my entire being and electrifying the surface of my skin. Amelia moans against my mouth, tugging on my lapels to pull me closer, even though it’s impossible, and my arms wrap around her waist, lifting her off the ground slightly.
Breathless, I stop kissing her, resting my forehead against hers as she tries to find her bearings and feeling her warm breath fan across my face and neck. “What do you say we get out of here? Head back to my place for the night?”
Smirking, Amelia looks up at me through her lashes. “My place is closer.”
21. Choose Your Fate
He’s agitated. It doesn’t take a genius to see this. It’s nothing I didn’t expect from him when I saw Gretchen approaching us, either. I’ve been in close proximity after a heated exchange between the two of them before, and this is no different.
He grabs at me desperately, his fingers digging into my hips as though he’s scared I’ll try to pull away—yeah, right—and the intensity of his stare both excites and frightens me…but not in a way that makes me afraid of him.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping he’d kiss me at the stroke of midnight, but I didn’t get my hopes up since I’d asked that we try and refrain from any major PDA. You know, for his benefit given his very recent separation. You never know who’s watching, after all, and I didn’t want to risk any unnecessary drama.
Until his lips touch mine…
In that moment, I let go. I’m no longer worried about what anyone else might think. Especially Gretchen. Why should I be? She didn’t care enough about Owen and what he might think when she stepped out on him, so what business is it of hers if he’s moved on with me?
The answer to that is: none. It’s none of her business, and it only takes a little public make-out session for me to finally see that.
It feels like we can’t leave the party fast enough as Owen pulls me out into the winter rain. It’s a light drizzle, but the air is heavy with moisture, indicating that it’ll only pick up. Our town car is still parked outside, our driver seeking refuge from the light winter weather inside. Upon seeing us, he gets out and rushes around, but Owen’s already got the door open and is ushering me inside.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cavanaugh,” the driver apologizes, grabbing the door and silently indicating for Owen to join me.
“Don’t worry about it,” Owen assures him, sliding in next to me and reaching for the button that’s going to put the privacy screen up. My heart races with anticipation, knowing that we’re about to fool around in the back of a town car, and I barely contain a whimper of excitement.
The driver climbs in and turns around to ask where we’re headed before the screen is up all the way, and I blurt out, “1280 Harrison Street. The Stack House Apartments.”
Then the screen is up and Owen is next to me, his lips on my neck and his hands on my breasts…then my ribs, waist, and finally hips and ass as he pulls me across the seat, forcing me on my back. I giggle as his hands move down my legs and under the hem of my dress, but I pick up on his frustration when they are forbidden to travel any hig
her than my knees due to the restricting cut of the gown there.
He groans, and I laugh at his irritation, the sound dying in my throat and transforming into a low whimper of pleasure as he’s able to get one hand up between my thighs and grazes the pulsing, lace-covered flesh that’s begging for more.
I thrust my fingers into his hair as he rests his head on my stomach. He’s unable to align his body with mine due to his limited access, but I find it hard to be upset by this as his fingers slip the lace aside and glide back and forth between my legs with ease. My breathing deepens, and he slips a finger inside of me, making my hands close, pulling his hair. As usual, I’m so lost in the sensation of his touch that I’m completely unaware of how often the car turns a corner, stops at a light, or continues on its course, and am surprised when there’s a knock on the window, alerting us that we’ve arrived.
Looking up at me, Owen smirks, his face still half-hidden behind his gold masquerade mask, and he pulls his arm from beneath my dress and…fuuuuck me…licks his fingers clean. I swallow thickly, my intake of breath shuddering as I go to run my hands through my still immaculately-styled hair.
It’s clear to me that the driver knows what we’re up to back here, because he hasn’t even made a move to open our door…that, and the fact that we rolled up the privacy window was probably his key indicator.
Still smiling like the cat who just ate the canary, Owen helps me sit up and then opens the door, stepping out and then helping me do the same. The driver avoids all eye contact with me—okay, so it’s me who avoids it with him—and Owen shakes his hand, giving me only the briefest of glimpses of a cash exchange between the two of them before quickly ushering me inside.
We’ve barely made it to the stairs when Owen lifts me into his arms and rushes up them. It’s probably a good thing he’s so fit, because most men at his age would probably get winded after the first flight—especially at the pace he is going. I swear, we make it to my door in record time, and I’m laughing as he tries to hold me and dig his keys out of his pocket. I slip out of his arms and allow him to let us inside.
The second the lock is disengaged and the door pushed open, Owen pulls me inside, closing the door and pressing me against it, his lips instantly attacking my neck and his hands groping my breasts. I twist my hands into Owen’s hair, my fingers slipping beneath the elastic of his mask and pulling it off, letting it fall to the floor as he locks the door behind me and pulls me farther into my apartment.
Our lips crash together in a heated frenzy as we stumble down the short hallway, past the kitchen area, the small living room, and over to my bed. All the while, Owen’s slowly working the zipper of my dress down while I tug at his tie and toss it behind me. Then I set to work on the buttons of his shirt as he pulls his jacket off, his lips still frantically pressed to mine and his tongue caressing mine sensually. As our kiss deepens, I push his shirt open, displaying his chest and exploring it with my hands—even though I’m pretty sure I’ve got every bit of his body committed to memory.
When we reach the bed, I push him onto it, watching his body fall back before he props himself up onto his elbows. He watches as I push my dress down my body, slowly letting him glimpse the lacy, black bra and panties I’d chosen for the night. His blue eyes are dark and locked on my body as I step out of the gown and go to remove my shoes, until suddenly, they snap to mine and he shakes his head once.
“Leave them on,” he instructs, and I shiver as the gravelly sound of his voice vibrates beneath every inch of my skin.
Obeying his request, I walk toward him, lifting my arms and pulling the ribbons of my mask free and setting it on the bedside table before straddling his hips. I can feel his erection through his pants, and I shamelessly rub myself against him, closing my eyes as the sensation of it makes my pulse race and my body quiver.
Beneath me, Owen groans, reaching between my legs and undoing his pants as quickly as possible. I move to slip off his lap, but he’s quick to flip me onto my back, yank off his pants and shirt, and then press his naked body back between my legs, thrusting his hips and driving me wild with anticipation.
He drops his face to my neck, nipping and kissing the skin there as he sets a trail down over my collarbone and the swell of my breasts that spill over my bra. I arch my back into him when his teeth graze my nipple over the lacy fabric, and he takes that opportunity to slip his hand beneath me and unfasten my bra faster than I ever dreamed possible. It falls into the black hole surrounding my bed, and his hand moves quickly to my hips. Goosebumps cover my body when he loops his thumb into the side of my thong and gives it a tug, the lacy fabric tearing a little and surprising me.
I look up at him as he smiles down at me, a cheeky glimmer in his eyes. “Owen, these are brand new,” I chastise weakly, unable to really find it in myself to give a shit that he wants to literally rip my clothes off my body.
“So, I’ll buy you a new pair…or several. One in every color,” he informs me, yanking once more and leaving the fabric tattered in his hand. I whimper, the muscles in my legs tightening and pulling him closer as a result. His thick erection grazes me, and then suddenly, he’s thrusting inside of me, our simultaneous moans filling the room.
There’s something different about the pace he sets as he moves above me, and I have a feeling it goes back to his earlier agitation with his ex. We’ve made love slowly, and we’ve fucked hard and fast, but this is…different. There’s a feeling of desperation and urgency that surrounds us, as well as an overwhelming sense of his need to prove something to…me? The world? Gretchen? I don’t know, to be honest, but as I stare up into his blue eyes, I see a somewhat vacant look in them, like he’s somewhere else, but still here with me. He sees me—I know he does—but he’s also somewhere else.
All it takes is my touching his cheek to draw his focus back to me entirely, and he shakes his head, unrelenting in his pre-set pace as he brings me closer and closer to achieving my orgasm.
“Stay with me,” I pant beneath him, lifting my head and pressing my lips against his in an effort to ground him here with me.
It works, and soon his hips pulse unevenly against mine as he comes, and I follow close behind, crying out against his lips and clawing at his back to hold him close while we ride out the waves of our climaxes together.
Owen collapses his full weight on me for a second, and I revel in the feeling of so much of our bodies being in contact. Soon, he rolls off of me, kisses my cheek, and excuses himself to use the washroom. While he’s gone, I slip off my sexy red shoes and grab a pair of white cotton panties and a basic white tank top and pull them on. After he returns, I use the washroom and then join him in bed, listening to the rain outside as it picks up and hits the windows and the side of the building. It’s a comforting and familiar sound that lulls us both right to sleep.
Through the night, the rain doesn’t let up, and Owen and I remain in bed most of the morning. We get up to make breakfast, then lunch, but for the most part, we’ve grown quite content to have a lazy day between the sheets…
Though, I suppose the things we’ve done between the sheets are probably considered far from “lazy.”
Dinnertime comes and goes, and Owen decides I don’t have enough food in my cupboards to make anything decent. I remind him that this is because I’ve been staying at his place more and more, so I’ve had no need to go to the market. Laughing, Owen pulls on his pants and dress shirt, leaving the top couple buttons open and foregoing his tie. As he pulls his jacket on, he leans down and gives me a kiss, telling me he’ll head down to the Chinese place and pick up takeout.
Alone in my apartment, I pull on a pair of shorts and start tidying up. The sound of the rain hitting the apartment building is so loud, it’s hard to drown out, so I turn on my stereo and start dancing and singing while I clean. I’m feeling pretty good about the few things I’ve gotten accomplished in a short time—making my bed and laying my dress across it until I can hang it up, cleaning the living area and bathroom—
and I’m just about to start on the kitchen when there’s a knock at the door. I laugh to myself, tossing the dishcloth on the counter and drying my hands on a towel as I make my way to the door.
“What? Did you forget your keys?” I ask, pulling the door open…but it’s not Owen on the other side. “D-dad?” I stammer, gripping the edge of the door hard to keep the shake in my hands from being noticeable. “What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting for breakfast tomorrow?”
Dad shrugs. “There’s supposed to be a storm headed this way, and I didn’t want to chance the icy highways tomorrow morning.”
I glance behind me out the window and see that it’s still raining, but the wind has picked up. He could very well be right; it’s not like I’ve turned the TV or radio on to hear a weather forecast that could prove him wrong.
This is the least of my problems right now, though, because Owen should be back soon with our dinner. Fuck.
Frantic, but trying to hide it, I turn around and search for my phone. Where did I leave it? I need to text Owen. Dad steps into the apartment behind me, but I don’t notice him until the door closes behind him.
“So, you seemed surprised to see me,” he speaks up after I finish searching my bedroom with no luck. “Were you expecting…your, uh, boyfriend?”
Inhaling sharply, I freeze, dropping the couch pillows I’d just lifted. Slowly, I turn around, trying to smile and really hoping it doesn’t come across as creepy. It probably does, though. “Y-yes?”
“So maybe I’ll get to meet this guy before tomorrow?”
His chances are increasingly good with every second that passes that I don’t find my damn phone!
“I, uh, I suppose that’s possible…”
…unless I can stop that from happening! I continue silently. My panic continues to grow because this situation is completely uncontrolled, and that’s not what Owen and I wanted. This has the potential to blow up in our faces, and I don’t want that.