by Zoe Norman
“Olivia, why did you leave the club? Were you not having a good enough time? Was the company boring?” he spits out.
Whoa. It's the middle of the night, I think I might still be a little drunk, and I'm not sure what to do with this.
“I'm not understanding this running business, Olivia. Let me guess…” He smirks. “You saw me talking to Christina at the bar, right? You thought I may have fucked her this afternoon—or ever? Is that it?”
I avert my eyes sheepishly. I feel like an errant child. And worse, he's hit the nail on the head.
His eyes grow wide as he takes in my expression. “Holy shit. That was it, wasn't it? You were jealous, so you thought you'd bolt rather than either confront me or stand your ground. Jesus. What did your last boyfriend do to you to make you so fucking scared?”
I don't even realize I've fallen back against the wall as he's been talking. I feel a tear run out of the corner of my eye, a combination of my guilt over how I behaved, my embarrassment over how right he is, the alcohol I've consumed, and the way he is spot on with his assumption of what my last boyfriend did to me. His face morphs when he notices the tear and instantaneously switches from furious to panic to understanding.
I wipe the tear away and slowly shake my head. “I told you. I deserve your being angry with me. Yes, I was jealous. I know I have no right to be. Charley told me who she was, the redhead, and it should make you feel better to know I feel like an idiot.”
I look up at him, not knowing at all what to say but desperately wanting him to reach out and touch me. I shake my head again. Dropping my gaze to the floor, I let it out in a barely audible whisper “I'm so sorry, Owen. I don't know what else to say.”
His shoulders slump as he watches me. “Hey,” he says, lifting my chin with his finger and forcing me to meet his gaze. “I'm sorry too. I didn't come here to make you cry or to make you feel stupid. I just wanted a few answers...and you've given me enough. I get it.”
He wipes away a stray tear from my eye with his thumb before pulling me into him by my shoulders and hugging me tightly. I fold right into him, fitting into him perfectly—my head on his chest, his head comfortably propped on top of mine.
“You wanna make it up to me?” he teases.
I smile and give a sniffly chuckle into his chest. This is the problem. He's warm, and I fit like I've always been here. It's so confusing. I've known this man for just over forty-eight hours. How could things be this comfortable after such a short period of time? This isn't about sex either. I mean, the sex has been great, but I'd be completely satisfied if he just lay down with me, fully clothed, and held me while I slept.
I take a deep breath as I entertain this pleasant thought. I pull back a bit and look up at him. His eyes are soft and understanding when he leans down, brushing his lips against mine. I close my eyes and press against him slightly.
“I really am sorry, Owen.”
He hushes me and leans down for another slow kiss. An understanding passes between us that neither of us can define. The atmosphere has changed in the room, and it's not sexually charged, but lovingly charged.
He slowly and methodically undoes my top, testing the waters to see if I'll stop him. I don't. I search his eyes, which are soft, warm, and comfortable. He undresses me slowly, and in return, I start to unbutton his shirt, pulling it from his jeans. All of this is unhurried with an undertone of want and need. We are silent, letting our actions speak for us. He makes quick work of my clothes and I am suddenly standing before him in just my panties and bra. I take a step back to watch him strip out of the rest of his clothes, and he tosses them onto the nearby chair, leaving only his boxers on.
The underwear we have left on gives a certain modesty to this moment. This isn't going to be about fucking. I know that now. He takes my hand, shuts off the light, and leads me toward the bed.
In the dark, all of my senses become hyperaware. Suddenly, all I hear is our breathing. All I feel are his calloused hands as they slide over my body, moving me slowly toward the bed. I feel the mattress hit the back of my knees and he stops. I feel his mouth on my shoulder leaving warm, wet, kisses. I think I hear myself moan, but I can't be sure.
I place my palms on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It's thudding rapidly, and I feel it speed up as my other hand runs over his abdomen. His mouth slides across my collarbone to my other shoulder, and his teeth pick up the strap of my bra and gently move it off my shoulder. His lips move to the swell of my breast as his hand comes up my side. If time could stand still right now, I wouldn't fight it.
“Owen…” I moan into his neck. It's the first thing that's been uttered since we started undressing, but it comes out more as a breath than a word.
He kisses down my neck and across the tops of my breasts as he reaches around me to unfasten my bra. It pops open, and he slides the other strap down my arm, tossing it to the floor. His large hands cup both breasts as his thumbs pass over my pebbled nipples. He bends down, taking one into his mouth, suckling gently.
“Ahhh…” I whimper, my hands delving into his hair.
Owen groans and kisses from one nipple to the other as he gently lays me down on the bed. He lies beside me, his hands sliding across my body as if committing it to memory. It's so erotic.
His hands run up my side, over my chest, down my arm. He laces his fingers with mine as he leans over me, kissing me again. In the dark, with him over me, I feel small and feminine. This is the definition of sensual, and every nerve ending in my body is awake and cataloging his every move. I run my hand down his back and let my fingers slip under the elastic of his boxers. When he moves, I can feel his erection press into my thigh—a feeling I've become accustomed to in the last few days. A rather quick accommodation of this feeling really. I let both hands slip in and I lightly rub his ass.
I'm not being grabby or insistent, because there is nothing rushed about this. Our other sexual encounters were hot, heavy, rough. And I loved that, but this...This is different and amazing and exactly what I needed from him tonight.
I start to push his boxers down as he settles himself between my legs, his lips never leaving my skin. When I let my legs fall open to him, he settles his weight on me. Propping himself up on his hands, he looks down at me. I can barely see his eyes in the dark, but for whatever reason, I have never felt as beautiful as I feel in this one moment.
He hovers above me, continuing to stare down. It seems almost like he's lost in my face.
“Owen? Are you okay?” I ask.
“Everything is perfect.” he breathes, and it feels like his words are weighted with a meaning unspoken.
I slide my hands up his arms and capture his face, pulling him down to my waiting mouth. Our kiss is slow and wet, tender and passionate. I'm lost to him, and I want to please him so very badly in this moment.
He slowly grinds his erection against my sex, only my panties serving as a barrier between him and his ultimate goal. I moan into his mouth as the tip of his penis strains against my opening through the now drenched fabric.
“You're so beautiful, Liv,” he whispers. “From your mind,” he says, kissing my forehead, “to your heart”—he crawls down a bit, planting a kiss above my breast and slowly sucking my nipple for good measure—“to your perfect, sweet pussy.”
He slides farther down and plants a sweet kiss on my mound. I groan as he lifts himself up, swiveling my hips involuntarily, as if begging him for more. With my panties still on, he slips his finger inside the band.
“You're so wet, Olivia,” he gasps, seemingly surprised.
I lift a finger to my mouth, trying to close my legs, suddenly feeling embarrassed.
“No, no, no,” he says, keeping his hands on my thighs, preventing me from closing my legs. “I think it's fucking hot.” He slides the material of my panties to the side and easily inserts a finger inside me.
My back bows off the mattress as he watches. “Ahhhh…” I cry out. “More…”
“If you liked one, you'
ll love two,” he says, slipping two long, thick fingers inside me while his thumb rubs my clit.
“Oh God,” I moan loudly as his fingers slowly slide in and out of me.
“Olivia?”
“Yes? What?” I say breathlessly.
“Let me make it good for you. Ask me. Ask me to make love to you.”
I reach down between my legs, grabbing hold of his hair, gently pulling him up to my side.
“Owen”—I cup his face in my hands, my breathing heavy and eyes intent—“please take me. Make love to me. Devour me. Make me scream your name, and once I do, start all over again.”
He smirks and crawls over my body, ready to fulfill my every desire.
* * *
Light is hurting my eyes, and I give a groan. One eye struggles to open, and I get a full face of sunlight coming through the enormous window I obviously forgot to shut prior to passing out last night. Clearly that was because I was exhausted after Owen and I made love for most of the night.
Mmmmm...last night. I look over to the space beside me and note that I'm alone in my bed. Owen left last night, leaving me to sleep by myself and ruminate about what has been going on in the last few days. I feel a bit overwhelmed by all that's happened, and I suddenly feel an urge to think it through, start to make some sense of it all.
Realistically, this can't happen can it? I mean, yes we come from the same city, but what are the chances that he's really going to reach out to me when we get home? And I sure as hell won't be reaching out to him. Aside from not wanting to look like an idiot if he rejects me, my recent history does not set me up to be the one to make the first move. I'm lucky if I make any move at all.
And just as I start to feel hopeless about Owen, I remember moments like last night, or in Starbucks, and the connection we clearly have. Yes, we have had a lot of sex. But is that just because we're out of our element and we're just doing what's accessible? I mean, it's not like we can learn about our regular lives when we're not home. Maybe it's opening a door to our being able to learn more about each other moving forward.
But didn't he say he wasn't looking for a relationship? Yeah he did. Of course, that was before all that's happened this weekend, before last night. And last night...Just…wow. We didn't just fuck last night. That's not what that was. We made love. We connected. And I swear that's not just me being a silly girl. In fact, there were moments where he seemed downright uncomfortable, like he was feeling things he wasn't accustomed to or didn't want to.
Why does all of this have to be so complicated? Why can't it be like in the movies? Boy meets girl, boy seduces girl, they have sex, they get married, they have a kid, roll credits. I pull the covers over my head and groan. This is going to be a problem. And I don't know what to do about it. I'm leaving tomorrow. Then what? I don't want to get hurt. I'm really terrified of that. The bottom line is that if I let this guy into my life, then I risk letting him into my heart. And if I let him into my heart, I risk getting hurt. Simple.
But as Charley says, I can't spend the rest of my life wanting but not trying, hurting and not living. I think it might be time for me to take some chances, and who's to say that taking chances has to end in my being hurt? I can take some calculated risks, right? Be careful where I step, make my intentions known, let him know about my fears, and keep an open mind. Christ, my fears… Wait until he hears that story.
I put my head under the pillows. Time to go back to sleep. This is too heavy for me right now. I close my eyes and drift off again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Owen
This is Olivia's last night in Seattle. The last night I'll see her until I get back to New York. Then again, it may be the last night I'll see her. Period. If I knew what was good for me, I'd cut it off after tonight. Or at least that was the original plan. A mere seventy-two hours ago, this thing with Olivia was just supposed to be a weekend thing. We were supposed to flirt with fate and have a little fun together. Nothing more than some conversation and good sex.
Who am I kidding? The sex is phenomenal. In a few short days, she's changed everything for me, and I like it and hate it all at the same time. I don't do this—this seeing-a-chick-more-than-twice thing. In order for that to happen, the woman needed to be roll-your-eyes-back-in-your-head amazing in bed and make it on to my rotation of women. In New York, I could call up one of three women and be balls deep inside her within the hour. And I like it that way—or at least I used to.
I came into this weekend thinking I'd have a fling with a bridesmaid or two. Never did I anticipate falling in like with someone. As it is, I've been in Olivia's bed nearly every night since we arrived in Seattle. And I liked it. I mean, really liked it. I've sworn off serious relationships since the breakup with my ex-fiancée, Molly. After that disaster, I tend to stick to relationships that last for twenty-four hours or less, if I'm lucky.
Women don't stick around—not when you're screwed up in the head like I am. Sure, things are fine for the first three months. That 'honeymoon' phase lulls you into thinking that maybe, just maybe this relationship could work out. Then, poof—they bolt. They get a dose of the real Owen. The one with the bad dreams and night sweats. The one who refuses to open up about that night that changed my life forever and made me question everything. Ultimately, that's what lead to me calling things off with Molly. When you go through something traumatic, you find out real quick who will stick with you through the dark valleys. Molly was always afraid of the dark.
For as beautiful of a woman as Molly was, her cold, unsympathetic soul made her repulsive to me. That, combined with the fact that I caught her with another guy's dick down her throat, sealed the deal for me. I was officially single an hour later.
But this—whatever this is with Olivia—feels different, comfortable…and oddly secure. I never had these feelings with Molly. It's been an unexpected weekend to say the least, but it's been pretty amazing at the same time. I'm so confused.
Olivia called me between sessions at her conference and asked me to come over to her hotel for dinner. It was an unexpectedly intimate invitation, but after a busy day with Travis and Marc, a little downtime with Olivia will be a perfect way to end the night.
I've thought of her all day, and honestly, I can't wait to kiss her. On the way out of the hotel, I snag a single peony from a bouquet of fresh flowers sitting in the lobby and walk the short distance to her hotel. I got few “aww” looks from some women on the walk over here, so I'm feeling pretty confident that the lone flower was a good move on my part.
The hotel elevators open and I step into the car with an older couple. They're in their seventies, I'm guessing, and holding hands. I watch as the older gentleman gently places a kiss on his wife's temple and whispers something inaudible to me, sweet words only meant to be shared between the two of them. She lovingly looks up at her husband and mouths, “Thank you,” before leaning into him. It strikes me how, even after all this time, they still love each other. The things this couple may have endured over the years boggles my mind, but what strikes me even more is that they endured them together. They've had a partner in life and in love. My heart pangs with an ache to have that too. Someone to come home to at the end of a long shift. Someone to travel through life with. Someone I can claim as mine.
The older couple exits the elevator on their floor, and as the doors close again for its ascent, I stare at myself in the reflective glass encasing the elevator. I fidget with my hair and suddenly get butterflies in my stomach. Why am I so freakin' nervous? I push the uneasy feelings aside and man up. I have the entire evening to spend with Olivia, and I'm going to enjoy all of it until she kicks me out or the sun comes up.
I get off the elevator on Olivia's floor and walk down the long hall toward her room. My fingers quickly run through my unruly hair before I knock on her door and tuck the single flower behind my back.
Olivia opens the door wide, wearing a warm, inviting smile and dressed casually in jeans and a white button-down shirt.
&nbs
p; “Hello, beautiful,” I say, soft and low.
“I'm glad you could make it. Come in.” She tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear while ushering me in.
“There's no place I'd rather be,” I say honestly.
Olivia turns and looks at me with almost an air of relief.
“Wow,” I say, surveying her from head to toe. “You look incredible.”
I walk into the room and turn, pulling Olivia toward me. I wrap my arms around her and give her a slow and tender kiss. She instantly relaxes in my arms and melts into my chest. In turn, I relax a bit too.
“I've wanted to do that all day,” I murmur into her ear as she holds me tight.
“Mmm…me too,” she replies. “Wait…” Olivia pulls back from me and turns to look behind her. “Did you bring me something?” she asks with a tinge of giddiness.
“I did,” I say, pulling the long-stemmed fuchsia peony from behind my back. “This is for you. Thank you for inviting me tonight.”
Olivia smiles wide and takes the flower from me. “That is so sweet. Thank you, Owen,” she says, looking up at me through her lashes. On her tiptoes, she gives me a brief kiss. “I'm going to put this in a cup of water from the bathroom. I ordered steaks and some other stuff. They're on the table over there. Go ahead and sit down and pour us some wine?”
I nod while Olivia goes off to get her flower a drink. I shrug out of my jacket and place it on the back of the desk chair before pulling the cork out of the open bottle of wine to fill our glasses. Olivia steps out of the bathroom, her face a little flushed. It's become my favorite color on her.
“It smells delicious. I'm starving,” I tell Olivia as she places the flower in the middle of the table for us to both enjoy.
“Good, because there's a lot of food here.” Olivia takes a seat and places her napkin on her lap while I round the table.