by Katie Fox
Stepping closer, Owen grabbed my hands by surprise, his eyes focused on his thumbs as they circled lazily over my skin. “Not only are they going to take a chance, but they are going to put in every effort to market it exactly as you proposed. They want you to work with them on seeing this project all the way through.”
“Wait. What?” My head snapped up, my eyes wide and round. My pulse throbbed at a rate I was sure exceeded heart attack levels, and I stared at him in disbelief. “I thought you meant they weren't—”
“You did it.” He shook his head, his lips spreading across his face in a larger-than-life grin. “You blew them away, just like I knew you would.”
“Oh my God.” As his words seeped into the part of my brain that processed that sort of thing, I squealed loudly, excitement causing me to jump right into his arms. I hugged him tightly, the delicious scent of his cologne enveloping me and making my head dizzy. “I can’t believe it!”
Loosening my hold, I pulled back a little—not entirely though because I loved his arms around me, the gentle strength of their embrace—and stared at his handsome face. Captivated. I was completely captivated. This was all him. This had been all his doing.
“Owen.”
Three seconds passed. His gaze narrowed. Our breaths mingled. And before either of us had a chance to come to our senses, Owen crushed his lips to mine.
He kissed me.
Hard.
His tongue swept into my mouth—stealing my breath, silencing my words, obliterating my thoughts—and my grip tightened. My hands climbed swiftly up his arms and over his broad shoulders, where they clung with a strength I didn’t know I possessed. I held on to him for dear life. I held on as if he was the only thing keeping me standing, and I was certain he was. A weakness spread through me like wildfire, and my knees trembled as he danced his tongue with mine in hot, needy strokes, and when he moved his hands up to my face, one slipping behind my neck and the other threading through my hair, my entire body sighed in relief.
I wanted this.
So did he.
He wasn't going to stop this.
Neither was I.
He walked me across the room, my feet stumbling in my heels and our mouths never parting as the back of my legs collided with the end of the bed. I had no choice but to collapse on top of it. Scooting myself farther up the mattress—Owen crawling above me, his strong, beautiful frame hovering just out of reach—I grabbed at his jacket. It quickly found a new home on the floor as I ripped it off, and I reached for the silk tie around his neck. My fingers curled around the material, tugging gently, a silent indication that I wanted, needed, him closer. I was desperate to feel his weight on top of me, pinning and pressing, his hard against my soft.
He gave me exactly what I wanted.
Lowering himself until our hips were flush—the thin fabric of my dress and his suit pants hardly a barrier between the heat of our skin—he rocked against me. I moaned, embarrassingly so, at the feel of his arousal lying hard and thick against my belly, and a shiver of pleasure rippled over every inch of my being.
My back bowed as our mouths continued to devour one another, a hunger I couldn't ever recall experiencing controlling and fueling my desperation.
Owen's hands roamed, blazing a fiery path over every curve, through my hair, across my breasts, down my sides, and finally to my thighs. His fingers disappeared beneath the skirt of my dress, and as his rough palm glided higher and higher, eventually reaching the delicate lace that hardly passed as an undergarment, he dragged his thumb slowly down my center, over the small bundle of nerves aching with intense need.
My chest rose on a sharp gasp, and I jerked at the feel of him between my legs, the sweet torture of his fingers, his touch. He rubbed me through the fabric, and as his mouth left mine and traveled to below my jaw, my hands took on a life of their own.
I timidly began to undo his tie, my fingers shaking a little as I tossed it to the floor and fumbled to free the small round buttons on his shirt. We were close, closer than we’d ever been, but it still wasn’t close enough. Losing patience, I tugged at the material, popping the last remaining buttons clear off, and immediately placed my hands against the warm lean muscle that made up his strong torso.
He was beautiful.
A magnificent sight to behold.
Owen’s lips caressed a trail of passionate, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, occasionally nipping and gently sucking as they moved over the base of my throat and across my collarbone before darting lower to the skin of my chest.
With his free hand, he reached up, pulling at the neckline of my dress, exposing one of my breasts. His breath was warm as he teased my taut nipple through my bra, and as he guided the strap of it from my shoulder and down my arm, I lifted my hips, silently requesting more.
More of his fingers.
More of his mouth.
More of the pleasure he was providing.
He needed no further instruction. His nimble fingers slipped beneath the lace guarding my lower half, and as they ran through the wetness that had gathered there—his lips and teeth grazing my nipple, teasing the tip of it with his tongue—he slid a finger inside me.
One at first and then two.
Another broken and breathless gasp left my throat, and if I hadn't been so preoccupied by the feel of him, I'm positive my cheeks would’ve turned one hundred shades of red. They probably had, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Owen’s hands were on me, in me, and his possessive mouth was claiming, placing its mark.
It felt so good.
He felt so good.
Through a half-lidded and heavy gaze, I watched him watching me. His eyes were dark and intense and full of pure sexual lust, and I barely registered anything else. His thumb circled my clit, around and around, back and forth, the pressure he applied absolute perfection. Each drive of his fingers pushed me higher, further, my body on the verge of capturing that coveted release I was desperate and eager to find. A coil of tension tightened in my lower belly, and I found myself rocking against his hand, trying to catch and match his expert rhythm.
“Come for me, Elle.” His voice was a gravelly whisper, and the deep growl that accompanied it vibrated across my skin, pushing me closer to climax.
I had read countless romance novels, always finding it a bit strange that women could magically come on command, but now, now I knew it was entirely possible. Owen’s voice alone and the intensity of his gaze had the power to seduce; add his tongue and hands to the equation, and I didn't stand a chance.
He continued his perfectly paced thrusts.
Push and pull, push and pull.
His fingers slipped out of me completely, but before I could mourn the loss, he drove them back in, passing this thumb over my throbbing center one more time as he did, and all of that built up tension unleashed itself in one shattering explosion.
Hips bucking and back arching high off the bed, I burst apart, my eyes fluttering shut as I called out his name in a moment of raw sensation and mind-numbing ecstasy. His immediate response was to reclaim my mouth, dipping his tongue in to catch and taste the sound of my moans as they transferred to him and vibrated down the back of his throat.
Every muscle turned languid.
My heart drummed beneath my ribs, and I lay unmoving, basking in the small aftershocks of pleasure. Incredible was the only word that came to mind.
Seconds later, Owen slowly and completely withdrew himself from between my thighs, and I felt empty without him.
“Owen. Please.” I don't know why I was begging or what I was even begging for exactly. He had just given me the best orgasm of my life, but somehow, it still wasn't enough.
Greed had me craving more.
I craved him. All of him. Everything he was willing to give. My hands went for the button on his pants, and as my fingers grazed the sensitive skin on his lower abs, he pulled back. His forehead pressed against mine, and he squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving.
After sever
al long beats, those thick lashes resting on his cheeks lifted, and as my eyes met his, I stilled. There was something stirring to life behind his gaze, and it scared me a little, scared me because of what it could be and what it possibly meant.
His Adam’s apple moved on a hard swallow, and before I could mutter a word, he was gone. He flew off the bed and spun around, his head bowed low as he shoved his hands through his hair, fisting the strands. He groaned as if he was in actual, physical pain.
I sat up quickly, panic and fear turning me cold as I looked at him. “Owen?” He ignored me, and I licked the sudden dryness from my lips. “What's going on? Are you okay?”
His gaze swung to mine, and the anguished expression on his face stabbed straight through my chest, piercing my heart. I gasped from its impact. He wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay at all.
And then I realized why.
Oh no. Please no. Please don’t regret this.
“I'm sorry, Elle.” His voice was hoarse. “I'm so sorry.”
Not even sparing me a second glance, he spun around again, this time cursing under his breath as he rebuttoned his shirt.
Watching him hurry out of the hotel room, I couldn’t force a reply past the lump of apprehension clogged in my throat.
Owen didn’t return that night.
At least not while I was awake. Sometime during the early hours when sleep and exhaustion had finally taken me and held me deep within its grasp, he must have quietly slipped in and collected his things.
I awoke the next morning to discover that he’d booked a sooner flight home—without me.
I HATED OWEN Caldwell.
I hated his beautiful smile and the butterflies that swarmed in my stomach whenever he was near. I hated that he was right and did have the ability to make me come with the simple flick of his stupid talented fingers. And I hated that it was Monday morning, and there I was, still in my pajamas, locked in my apartment as a result of calling off of work, all because I didn’t know how to face him.
It wasn’t like there was a rule book for that sort of thing.
Maybe there should have been.
As I fixed myself breakfast and plopped down on the stool at the breakfast bar, I decided I would write one. Seeing as I was now well on the way to being a trained expert on sleeping—or in this case, not sleeping—with one’s boss, I’d probably be able to sell a few copies and make a couple bucks.
Was worth a shot, right?
Sighing and silently chastising myself, I scooped up a spoonful of flakes and brought it to my mouth, wondering what I was supposed to do.
Did I play it off as though he hadn’t given me a spine-tingling orgasm and carry on about my day as if everything that’d happened was a figment of my imagination? Or did I go in with guns blazing, demanding to know why he’d left me there alone without any explanation? Neither option sounded appealing.
Screw it.
I was going to lock myself in my five-hundred-square-foot humble abode and forget the outside world existed. It seemed like a hell of a plan to me.
Until the outside world came knocking.
Literally.
The repeated bang on my door straightened my spine, and I dropped my spoon into my bowl, milk splattering out of its side as I pivoted around, my eyes darting to the source of the sound. “Who is it?” I asked around a mouthful of cereal.
There was no answer, and I hopped off the stool, padding over to the door and lifting onto my tiptoes to peek out the peephole. Not tall enough for a clear view, I grabbed the chair I kept stored in the small entryway and—careful to avoid any noise that would reveal I was on the other side—crawled onto it, pressing my fingertips against the wood for balance.
As I squinted through the tiny round glass, my heart took off in my chest.
What the hell was he doing here?
Ducking quickly, I climbed off the chair and started to shuffle backward.
“Elle!” Owen’s voice boomed through the cracks in the frame, and I nearly jumped right out of my skin. “I know you’re in there. I just heard you, for fuck’s sake.” He knocked again, louder and harder this time. “Open the door.”
A defeated sigh floated from my lips and my shoulders sagged. I reluctantly returned to the door, unbolting the deadbolts and sliding the chains from their locks. Swinging it open, I stuck my head out, giving my best “sick as a dog” look as possible. I even coughed for extra effort. “I called in sick for a reason, you know.”
Owen shook his head and rolled his eyes, his hand coming up and pressing on the door, forcing me to take a step back as he welcomed himself into my apartment. “You’re right. You’re so full of shit the toilet is jealous.”
A laugh almost slipped uninvited from my throat, but I was too angry, too hurt from the weekend to entertain his humor. Crossing my arms over my chest, I followed him into my living room. “What are you doing here?”
He stood with his hands on his hips, his gaze narrowed into a scowl. “What am I doing here?” He scoffed, seemingly annoyed. “What the hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you at work?”
So that was the road he was taking: the oblivious route. Not believing he had the nerve to even ask, I stared at him, my chest falling on an unsteady breath. “Do I really need to answer that?”
My response slapped the expression right off his face. He pressed his lips together, and the same regret that had swirled in his eyes right before he left me on Saturday night swirled in them again. “Elle—”
“No.” I raised my hand, cutting him off. “It’s okay. It didn’t mean anything, right? We were just caught up in the moment.” I said the words, but deep in my heart, I knew they weren’t true. It had meant something. It had meant everything, but I couldn’t let him see that.
Remorse filled his tone. “I said I was sorry.”
I had nothing to say to that. Sorry didn’t erase the ache that had sat heavily on my chest, crushing my heart all weekend. Sorry didn’t erase the fact he’d left me there or that I’d needed to fly home on my own because he didn’t know how to deal with the aftermath of what we had done.
Dismissing his shitty reply, I walked over to where my bowl of cereal remained, getting soggy. “If you really need me, I’ll finish my breakfast and get dressed and come in. If not, I’d like to—”
My words died on the tip of my tongue as Owen moved from where he stood, pulling a folded notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket and slapping it down in front of me. His hands curled around the edge of the counter, his strong arms bracing himself as he pierced me with his gaze. “I want to know why the hell this isn’t finished and sitting on my desk with the other submissions waiting to be reviewed.”
I stared at the familiar notebook.
Confusion bubbled, quickly turning into anger and slight embarrassment as I realized what he had. My notebook. I hadn’t given it much thought over the last day because my mind and head had been elsewhere.
My eyes darted to his, heat clawing up the skin on my neck and my blood whooshing in my ears. “How did you get this?”
“It doesn’t matter how I’ve gotten it. The only thing that matters is—”
“Yes, actually, it does. It matters a whole fucking lot.”
“Elle—”
“Tell me you haven’t read this.”
He looked at me, as if I’d asked the dumbest question in the world. The muscle along his jaw ticked. “Of course, I’ve read it.”
Of course, he’d read it.
This time I did laugh, but it was full of anger and frustration and humiliation. “Why? It wasn’t yours to read, Owen. You had no right. No goddamn right, do you hear me!” Red-hot fury moved through my veins, and I sat still, mentally talking myself down from the dangerous ledge I teetered on.
I wanted to pummel him.
I wanted to pummel him for regretting what we did and for walking away from me on Saturday night. I wanted to pummel him for showing up here as if it wasn’t going to affect me, and then for this…for rea
ding my manuscript without asking.
“This is why you applied to Caldwell Publishing, isn’t it? This is why you walked through my door that day.”
Ignoring him, I grabbed my notebook and stomped into my bedroom, yanking on my nightstand drawer and shoving it inside.
Owen hurried after me, his deep voice carrying throughout the tiny space of my entire apartment. “What dream are you chasing, Elle? Because I know for a fact it’s not publishing other people's’ stories.”
I spun around, my hands curled into tight fists, my eyes spewing a lethal combination of fire and venom. “Stop pretending you know anything about me!”
“Pretending?” He frowned, a challenging look etching its way on to his face. “Really?”
He took a step closer, and I took a step back. I couldn't be near him right now. Clearly, he wasn’t reading the situation or my need for his distance because he took another step and this time reached for my upper arms, holding me in place.
“I know that no matter how you try and spin this, you’re lying to yourself. I know you have a dream, one you’d rather bury in the bottom of a drawer than chase. I know you have a passion for writing, and your ability to tell a story is better than ninety-five percent of the manuscripts that end up on my desk.”
Tears clogged the back of my throat, making it difficult to swallow, and the feel of him on my skin and the accuracy of his words made me lightheaded and dizzy. I was at war with myself, wanting to shove him away and pull him closer.
I hate you, Owen Caldwell. I freaking hate you.
God. No, I didn’t. I was falling, and I was falling hard.
Sliding his hands up my arms, he pushed his fingers through my hair, tugging back gently so that I was looking at him. He was always so gentle, even during our heated moments. His thumbs swept tender circles over my cheeks, and his voice returned to a level that had goose bumps rising on my skin. “I know a lot about you. More than you think. But what I don’t know is what happened to the Elle that stumbled through my door—the one who convinced me to give her a chance.” He held my eyes, searching for answers I didn't know how to give. “Where did she go, huh? Better yet, why was she so desperate for me to take a chance on her when all this time she’s been too scared to take a chance on herself?”