Justice for Blyss

by Reina Torres

  Owen coughed to cover over his laugh. “I might remember you imitating that British chef a time or two.”

  She reached over and pinched at his thigh, but with his fitted jeans she didn’t managed to inflict any damage. It did however make him a little harder.

  A quick look through the windshield told him they were less than ten minutes from home.

  Yes, he’d noticed what she’d said at Miranda’s house. It hadn’t been something they’d discussed, but even after they’d arrested Lance Soffer at the hospital and transferred him to the prison ward for holding, Blyss hadn’t said a thing about going back to her apartment and he wasn’t going to put that thought in her head either.

  Living with Blyss was kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy. He was having the time of his life and that was without sex.

  Well, without penetration. He’d had his hands full with her. His hands on her. Whatever he could get away with and still let her get to work.

  Blyss had been cleared by her doctor, but they hadn’t made a timeline for anything as far as they were concerned and really, he just loved being with her.

  When she continued to explain the game, he gave her a quick look and saw her downturned expression.

  “I always thought that I had what Chef Ramsey calls a ‘good palate.’ I mean I eat a lot of different things, so when they brought out the baby food bottles, I thought I had it in the bag.”

  He didn’t have the nerve to tell her that the idea of eating baby food turned his stomach. A steak? Sure… but mushy stuff? No thanks.

  “But holy moly was I wrong. I thought it was peas! But it was kale. Kale? I’ve eaten that stuff in salads and I messed it up.”

  “Unless you’re planning to go on that show, it’s not that bad, right?”

  Slumping in the passenger seat of his truck, she sighed. “I guess it was just that I thought I’d do well. I don’t like messing things up.” Blyss looked out the window and a few seconds later, she turned back to him. “I did nail peaches and pears though, so I guess I’m just crap with veggies.”

  That’s when he laughed out loud and then fended off her fingers when she tried to pinch his thigh again. He folded their fingers together and gave her hand a squeeze.

  “I don’t know what’s so funny,” she groused at him, but he could hear a bit of laughter in her tone.

  “I don’t like kale, so you’re good with me. I do like peas on occasion, so maybe you’ll learn what they taste like.” He was prepared and held tighter to her hand.

  They both had a little laugh before he had to take his hand back to turn onto the road that would lead them back to the house. As he watched the road for dangers and took the turn, what Trace had said popped back into his head: baby fever.

  He’d heard the phrase before. From his mother.

  She’d talked about it, not about having another child herself, but in regard to grandchildren.

  Maybe his mother had a touch of magic in her bones, maybe she was just hinting, or maybe, as she had numerous times in his life, just tried to get him to see the truth that was right in front of his face.

  And he had no idea if Blyss had caught the baby fever that Trace had talked about. She certainly hadn’t said much about it.

  He’d just have to wait and see.

  While they were cleaning up after dinner, Blyss started stewing over the day. Ever since Owen had picked her up after the baby shower, he’d been acting strangely. Maybe it was all that gross talk about chocolate bars melted into diapers, goodness knows she’d had to hold back some of the bile that rose during that challenge.

  She wasn’t sure she’d be able to buy some of those bars ever again knowing what it looked like as a substitute for poo. Or maybe it was her whining about Hell’s Kitchen. She certainly didn’t understand her own attachment to the show. Yelling insults at people seemed like an odd way for a big-time chef to behave, but it was one of her guilty pleasures. Maybe Owen was starting to second guess having her around.

  They hadn’t exactly talked about her living arrangements and she had the lease on her apartment for at least another year. Maybe she should move back to her place. It didn’t matter that they were close. That she’d already confessed what everyone had probably known since she was a teen. A guy like Owen probably missed having his own space.

  “Hey,” Owen leaned over and kissed her cheek, “I’m going to go change my shirt.” She looked over at him and laughed. “That’s usually my after dishes look.”

  He looked down at his t-shirt and sighed. Where he’d leaned against the sink his shirt had a big blot of water. Pulling it up, he wrung it a little. “It wouldn’t be so obvious if it was a dark color, but I’m not liking the idea of getting into bed wet.”

  Wet.

  If he flashed her his abs again… who was she kidding, she’d been wet since he’d held her hand at the table during dinner. The way he’d rubbed his thumb against her palm as they’d talked had put her nerves on alert.

  And now as she dried the last plate, she hoped that she’d be able to set it down on top of the pile without making it clatter against the others.

  Being in the same room with Owen Mercier had her wet and trembling on a daily basis, but it was nice to blame it on something concrete. Just being horny for the guy you love was probably fine too, but she was starting to worry that she was taking it a bit too far.

  Goodness knows she wanted tonight to be special for them. Owen seemed more than happy to make her orgasm with his fingers and oh, yes, his mouth, and he’d been more than happy that she’d taken things into her own hands as well.

  Maybe that was the way to get him to tell her what was on his mind. Owen did like to talk while they were touching each other. She’d heard phrases in several languages in the middle of their moments together.

  Owen hadn’t closed the bedroom when he’d gone inside so she figured she was safe.

  Taking the dishtowel with her, she closed the cabinet and turned off the lights in the kitchen. Stopping at the front doors she made sure to check them as well. Locked.

  When she stepped into the bedroom, she reached into the bathroom and tossed the dishtowel in the hamper for laundry day and turned around.

  Whatever she’d expected to see, this wasn’t it.

  Owen stood in the center of the room with a notepad in one hand and a pencil in the other.

  As she stepped up behind him, she looked at the paper and saw his rudimentary boxes representing the bed and other pieces of furniture in the room. It seemed a little odd, but maybe with her talks about Hell’s Kitchen he was going to tell her his secret passion was HGTV and renovation shows.

  She didn’t care. But she was curious.

  “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t stop and he didn’t turn around to look at her. He turned the pencil and used the eraser to take out the box that looked like an old vintage dresser on the side of the room. “I can move that outside.”

  “Move what outside?”

  He turned his head for a moment and winked at her before turning back and pointing at the dresser. “That. If I put that out against the wall, by the table, we’ll still have room to move around the table without stubbing our toes.”

  “Okay?”

  He looked back at his drawing. “You don’t think so?”

  “I’m not arguing with it, I’m just not sure why you need to move that out of the room. What’s going on?”

  He went still for a moment and Blyss wondered if she’d said something wrong. Here she was again, interfering with his house. She really needed to learn to relax.

  With a soft sigh, he turned around and held out the notepad. When she took it in her hands, he slipped the pencil through the spiral wire that held the whole thing together.

  She held it in her hands and looked over the boxes on the drawing. Looking around the room, she counted the pieces of furniture. It was off.

  Looking back down at the drawing, she named the pieces of furniture and stopped at the extra bo
x which had been drawn closer to the bathroom, but in a kind of awkward place. Struggling to understand, she looked up at him. “TV? Game console?”

  He shook his head and pulled the notepad gently from her fingers. Leaning around her, he dropped it on the nightstand.

  “I’m getting ahead of myself,” he hesitated then, “and I’m sure you’re going to think I got hit in the head or something like it, but I want you to listen to me.”

  Something turned in her stomach, but instead of blurting out something, she held quiet and waited.

  “I don’t want you to go back to your apartment to live, not unless you want to.”

  She let those words process and nodded. One concern down.

  “And I want you to know that even though I wasted a lot of years on a lot of women who didn’t mean a thing to me, that’s the complete opposite of what we have.”

  Her heart was just about jumping out of her chest. “Ok.”

  “I’m crap at figuring out what the right time is for everything. You know. After all that time I wasted keeping away from you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silk drawstring bag. Tugging at one end of the ties, he managed to open it up and shook it upside down over his palm.

  When she saw what it was, Blyss felt as if the air had been pulled from the room and she was suddenly lightheaded.

  Two perfectly round pearls bound together in a gold setting and band that looked like braided vines.

  “That’s your mother’s ring.”

  Picking it up, he held it out to her. “I want you to wear this. I want you to marry me. Whenever you want. Tomorrow. Next week. Next year? A decade, okay so I’m not so okay with that, but sometime in the next couple of years I can handle.”

  She was already stunned into silence, but as soon as her fingertips touched the band of gold, she felt her heart pound and melt at the same time.

  “I-”

  “And I want babies, Blyss. Trace said you might get baby fever from the baby shower and seeing Miranda go through all of this, but since he said that I’m the one who can’t stop thinking about it.

  “I was trying to figure out where to put the crib in the room, but I guess that’s something I should get your opinion on, hmm? But I’m getting ahead of myself.”

  Still managing to hold onto one half of his mother’s ring, Owen got down on one knee. “Marry me, Blyss? Mon rêve… my dream.”

  She answered him with a kiss.

  Open mouthed and hungry.

  He put the ring on her finger and helped her open the top button of his jeans and undo his zipper. He stood almost perfectly still as she pulled them down and off of his legs, but he had his fun taking off her t-shirt and then gently brushing the straps of her bra off of her shoulders.

  “When we have more time… next time,” he amended, “I’m going to leave you like this and-”

  “Next time,” she agreed, “but I want you inside me, Owen. I need this.”

  He snapped open the release on her bra and pulled it free of her arms. “I need you too.”

  When he had her jeans down around her ankles with her panties tangled into the denim, he looked up at her body and Blyss felt more than a little exposed. She’d been naked with Owen before, that wasn’t the problem, but the idea that this man wanted her to be the mother of his children… that he wanted her to wear his mother’s engagement ring… made her feel beautiful inside and out.

  Before he stood, he placed his open hand on her belly, gently stroking her skin. “We’ll try as long as it takes, Owen.” She covered his hand with hers and watched as he stood up, feeling his warm breath on her bare skin. “Who knows,” she wondered as his lips came dangerously close to her nipple, already tight and swollen with arousal, “it might take years.” As he finally stood up before her, his hands moved from her belly to her breasts, his thumbs sweeping over her nipples making them tingle and ache with need.

  He tilted his head and drew his lips over hers. When he turned to kiss her again, he met her gaze with his own eyes shining with a burnished silver light. “I’d take odds that we get this right on the first shot.” He leaned closer and she felt the hard line of his erection pressing against her belly. “Come to bed, Blyss. Let me love you.”

  Her skin felt hot to the touch and his mouth on her lips was almost enough to make her beg for the same.

  When her hands touched his shoulders, she saw his smile and when he sat down on the edge of the bed, he pulled her with him. Together they moved in far enough to the center that she could climb on with his feet at the edge.

  She straddled his legs, her knees almost even with his and her hands on his hips. As he watched her with hungry eyes she leaned down and placed a kiss on the tip of his erection.

  Owen swore out loud and grabbed at the bedding.

  She only made it worse when her mouth closed over his head, her tongue sweeping just under it, finding his pulse.

  “Blyss, baby, stop.”

  She looked up smiling and saw the way his eyes had darkened with desire. “Why? Doesn’t it feel good?”

  She watched as his abs clenched and his breathing turned ragged. “So damn good, but later. Okay? Please.”

  Empowered. That’s what she felt. Owen Mercier, the strongest man she’d ever known wanted her. Wanted to be inside of her.

  She’d never felt so beautiful or feminine.

  And she’d never felt so needy and free at the same time.

  Powerful. Goodness, his love made her feel like she could do anything.

  Leaning forward, she braced her hands on the bed beside him and moved a little higher, prowling like a cat until her knees were even with his ribs.

  Blyss rose up over him and her legs tensed as his hands trailed up the insides of her thighs. They didn’t stop when they reached her pussy. His fingers slipped inside of her, drawing more of her liquid heat with every movement, every sensual touch. His thumbs parted her curls and then gave her enough delicious friction against her clit to make her body ache even more.

  “Come closer, Blyss.” He slipped his fingers inside of her again before drawing them out ever so slowly. “Let me fill you up.”

  How could she argue with that?

  She chased his fingers with her body, almost as if she felt his loss keenly even though he was still there. When she felt the broad tip of his erection swallowed by her sex, the sensations made every nerve ending come alive.

  Owen’s hands took hold of her hips, gently pulled her down inch by inch as her body stretched and filled with him. It was everything she’d imagined and more.

  When she felt his thighs under her and his cock fully seated inside of her, she let out a sigh of pure satisfaction. “Yes. This is what I’ve been missing all these years.”

  His laughter made her heart sing. “You know what I love most about you, Blyss?”

  She looked down at him and ground herself against his body. “What?”

  A moment later she was looking up at the ceiling, Owen’s muscular body pressing her into the mattress, the new angle of their bodies making her see stars. “You, are a force of nature, Blyss Hardy, and I don’t plan to tame you, ever.”

  Her mind was full of his words and when he braced one hand by her shoulder and cupped her backside with the other, she felt him lift her until she had her legs wrapped around his waist.

  “Hold me, just like that,” his words weren’t an order, but a plea. Either way, she would have given it to him.

  As she embraced him, he took her over and over again, his mouth swallowing her cries and drawing more of them from her.

  Again.

  Again.

  He filled her until she felt like she was floating, sailing on the waves of her desire and love for him.

  For their future.

  She felt her body tense, felt the world around her contract, and when he filled her again, everything she’d held inside of her, all the years that she’d been in love with Owen, were suddenly released.

  She heard him s
hout her name, felt him body arch against her as he emptied himself inside of her, and brought their bodies together in a tangle of limbs on their bed.

  “Blyss.”

  About the Author

  Who would have thought that I'd start off as a painfully shy child writing stories and end up as a painfully shy adult writing books and publishing them for others to read? Crazy? That's me!!

  When I was a little girl, I read every book I could get my hands on and if I didn't have one available to read, I'd get out my pencils and paper and write down stories and scenes. Waiting for my mom to finish working, I'd duck into the ladies' break room and use the typewriter. I'd feel like Jessica Fletcher, happily tap, tap, tapping away until I got to 'The End.' Couldn't quite get the flourish after that and end up tearing the paper, but it was cool and scary to sit down and read the book or give it to my friends to read.

  Now my 'typewriter' doesn't clack the same way and the I don't even have paper to pull out of it with a nod of satisfaction, but I have the joy and excitement of sharing my characters and books with people all around the world!

  I hope you'll enjoy reading my books, because I'm going to keep writing as long as the characters are feeling chatty!

  Susan Stoker’s Fan Fiction World

  Rescuing Hi`liani

  San Antonio First Responders Series

  Justice for Sloan

  Justice for Miranda

  Shelter for Viviana

  Justice for Hildie

  Justice for Blyss

  Sylvan City Alphas Series

  The Tiger’s Innocent Bride

  Too Much to Bear

  The Fighter

  Bear His Mark

  Center City First Responders

  Wild Hearts

  Mystic Mountain Series

  Winter

  Xavier

  Locke

  Three Rivers Express Series

  Always, Ransom

  Always, Wyeth