Forty-Four
forty-four
TALK DIRTY - JASON DERULO FEAT. 2 CHAINZ
OWEN - AUGUST 28, 2014
T he smell of cinnamon and sugar pulls me out of sleep, dragging me from the comfort of the covers. Before I can fully process the scent, the door creaks open, and Ruby toddles in on wobbly legs, clutching a crumpled piece of paper in her tiny hands.
“Dada!” she babbles, her voice high and sweet as she climbs onto the bed with determination.
Sara follows behind her, clutching her blanket in one hand, rubbing her eyes with the other. “Happy!” she says, her words clearer but still tinged with sleep. “Birfday!”
“Thank you, ladies,” I say, sitting up and catching Ruby before she tumbles forward. “What’s this?” I take the paper from her tiny hands, careful not to crumple it further.
“Card!” Sara declares proudly, climbing onto the bed beside me.
“It’s from all of us,” Callie says, leaning against the doorway with a mug of coffee in hand.
She’s still in pajamas, her hair in a messy ponytail, and somehow, she looks better than anyone has a right to at this hour.
“Best card ever,” I tell Ruby and Sara, holding it up. It’s covered in colorful scribbles, with Sara’s tiny handprints stamped in blue and purple paint across the bottom. Callie’s neat handwriting reads : Happy Birthday, Daddy!
Ruby claps her hands, letting out an excited squeal that makes all of us laugh.
“It’s perfect,” I say, setting Ruby on my lap as Sara snuggles into my side.
Callie crosses the room, sitting on the edge of the bed with a soft smile. “The girls insisted we make cinnamon rolls last night,” she says, brushing a hand over Sara’s hair.
“Cinnamon rolls?” I ask, grinning.
“Bacon!” Sara pipes up, her face lighting up.
Ruby babbles something unintelligible, pointing toward the door as if to confirm Sara’s announcement.
I laugh, shaking my head. “You two are spoiling me.”
Callie leans in, her voice low and teasing. “That’s the point, birthday boy.”
The workday starts like any other—except my phone buzzes nonstop as soon as I pull into the site. I shift into park and sigh, already smirking. There’s only one group of people who would be blowing up my phone this early.
I pull it from my pocket and glance at the screen.
Luke:
Happy birthday, old man.
Will:
Yeah, congrats on surviving another year of pretending you know what you’re doing.
I shake my head, pushing open the truck door. The cold morning air bites at my skin as I step out, boots crunching against the gravel. Sunlight filters through the steel framing of the unfinished building, casting long shadows across the site.
Inside the mechanical room, the familiar scent of metal, oil, and cut pipe lingers in the air. I don’t even have to look up to know Will’s already here. His steel-toe boots are propped against the wall, his chair tilted back at a dangerous angle as he scrolls through his phone, looking way too comfortable for someone who’s technically on the clock.
“You’re really going to roast me in the group chat when we’re sitting in the same room?” I call out, setting my thermos on the workbench with a dull thud.
Will doesn’t even look up, his thumbs still moving across the screen. “Of course I am,” he replies easily. “It’s more fun this way.”
My phone buzzes again.
Hunter:
We should get him a cane. Or one of those pill organizers.
Vince:
Or a hearing aid. Can you even hear this notification, Owen?
I shake my head, grinning as I type back.
Me:
Real original, guys. I’m only 33, not 73.
Will:
Could’ve fooled me.
“Asshole,” I mutter, grabbing a dirty rag from the workbench and launching it at his head.
Will’s reflexes are quick—he ducks just in time, and the rag smacks harmlessly against the cinder block wall before flopping to the floor. He grins, smug as ever. “You’re gonna have to work on your aim if you’re gonna make it to forty, old man. Otherwise, these young bucks are going to take you out.”
“You’re only a year younger than me, dickhead,” I shoot back, shaking my head as I reach for my tool belt.
“Yeah, but it’s a good year,” he taunts, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. He stands, stretching his arms overhead before grabbing a wrench from the toolbag beside his chair. “What’s on the agenda today?”
I gesture toward the half-assembled piping near the back of the room. “We need to get the return lines run and strapped in before lunch.”
Will nods, rolling his shoulders before heading toward the pipes. I follow, grabbing a tape measure as I crouch beside him. We work in silence for a while, the only sounds are the hum of drills and the occasional clang of metal against concrete.
Just as I finish securing a clamp, my phone buzzes again, but this time it’s not the guys.
My Wife:
Happy birthday, handsome.
Before I can even type back, another message comes through. This one is a picture.
I glance up to make sure Will’s still busy, then open it.
Heat licks up my spine.
Callie—sprawled across our bed, my blanket barely covering her. Her bare legs are tangled in the sheets, smooth thighs on full display. The deep red lace of her panties peeks out from beneath the fabric, and her tank top is loose enough that I can tell she’s not wearing a bra. Her hair is messy, spread out on my pillow like she’s been rolling around, and the way she’s biting her lip?
Fuck.
My Wife:
I can’t wait until you get home, Daddy.
I swallow hard, my grip tightening on my phone.
Me:
Are you trying to kill me?
My Wife:
I just thought I should send you a little birthday treat.
I shift my stance, adjusting myself because suddenly my jeans feel too damn tight.
Me:
This is more like torture.
My Wife:
Oh, baby. I haven’t even started torturing you yet.
I exhale through my nose, dragging a hand down my face.
Me:
You better still be in that bed when I get home.
My Wife:
I will be. Maybe I’ll still have these on too.
[Attached: A close-up of red lace barely covering her hips.]
Jesus Christ.
I run a hand over my head, my whole body coiled with tension.
Me:
If you want me to walk out of this job without embarrassing myself, you need to stop.
My Wife:
Where’s the fun in that?
Me:
Keep it up and your lingerie isn’t going to be the only thing red you’re wearing tonight.
My Wife:
Don’t threaten me with a good time.
Me:
Please see if your mom can watch the girls tonight.
My Wife:
Yes, Daddy.
Me:
That’s my good girl.
The day drags on, each task blending into the next. I tighten another bolt, my thoughts drifting to Callie and the messages we’ve exchanged. The anticipation of getting home makes focusing on work nearly impossible.
“Earth to Owen,” Will’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I glance up to see him smirking, wiping grease from his hands. “You’ve been on autopilot all morning. What’s up?”
“Just thinking about getting home,” I admit, trying to shake off the distraction.
Will chuckles. “Ah, newlywed life. Must be nice.”
I grin, not bothering to deny it. “It is pretty great.”
He shakes his head, amused. “I can tell. You walk around with that dumb look on your face all day, like a guy who hit the jackpot.”
“Because I did,” I say easily, tightening another fitting. “You’ll get it one day.”
Will snorts. “Doubtful.”
I shrug. “You say that now, but trust me, it’ll sneak up on you when you least expect it.”
His scoff comes quick, automatic, but for a split second something flickers across his face, and it makes me wonder. I know Will’s been checking in on Sabrina more lately, making sure she’s okay, but the way he dodges any talk about his own life makes me think he’s not ready for that conversation. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just him looking out for her. Or maybe there’s more to it—something even he hasn’t figured out yet.
We work in silence for a while, but my mind keeps wandering. Sabrina and Will? I shake it off and pull out my phone during our lunch break, hoping for a message from Callie. Instead, a notification from our group chat pops up.
Luke:
What are the birthday plans? Family dinner? Or is Callie taking you out for prune juice and bingo?
Me:
Keep it up, Olsen. You’re next.
Hunter:
We doing Black N’ Gold tonight for the birthday boy?
Will snickers, and I see his thumbs moving quickly over his phone as he types back his response.
Will:
He’s probably too tired. Old people need their rest.
Luke:
Let’s do it. I need a beer.
Me:
Can’t. Hoping my new mother-in-law will take the kids so I can have some much-needed alone time with my smoking hot wife.
Vince:
Sounds like someone’s whipped.
Me:
Damn right I am. And I win. Enjoy your sad little dude night.
Hunter:
Yeah, yeah. We get it. Callie’s gorgeous.
Luke:
Still think you could join us for one beer, though.
Me:
Not a chance. I haven’t been home enough lately, and I plan on making it up to my wife all night.
Will:
Alone time, huh?
Me:
Yeah, Will. Alone time. Unlike you, I don’t spend my nights with gas station snacks and poor life choices.
I glance up from my phone and sure enough, Will is leaning against the workbench, chewing on something suspiciously chewy-looking. His other hand is casually tucked into his lunchbox, rifling around for what I can only assume is more sugar-filled garbage.
His jaw slows as he realizes I’m watching him.
Will:
I take offense to that.
Vince:
Don’t pretend you aren’t holding a bag of gummy worms right now.
Will’s hand freezes mid-dig. His eyes flick to me, then to the guys’ messages, then back to me as if he’s trying to figure out if I sent them a separate text telling them Will was eating candy. I didn’t. He’s just that predictable.
Will:
…Mind your business.
I shake my head, laughing as I tuck the phone back into my pocket. “Enjoy your gummy worms, man. I’ll be enjoying my wife.”
Will shrugs, popping another gummy worm into his mouth like he’s got no shame. “You know what, Klein? Some of us don’t have a wife to go home to, okay? Some of us just have–” he lifts the bag, shaking it lightly “--this. Let me live.”
“That and your right hand,” I laugh before we return to finish our work day.
At the end of the day, Will grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as we walk toward the trucks. “You sure you don’t want to let loose tonight? One beer wouldn’t kill you.”
“I’m sure,” I reply, sliding into the driver’s seat of my truck. “Callie is at home waiting for me. No way I’m trading that for your bad jokes and overpriced bar food… Don’t tell Hunter I said that.”
Will leans on my open window. “Your secret is safe with me.” He steps back with a laugh, raising his hand in a mock salute. “Enjoy your prune juice, old man.”
I flip him off and pull my phone out to text my wife, still in awe that I get to go home to her every day.
Me:
I’m on my way home, Kitty. It’s time for me to dish out some spankings for my birthday.
My Wife:
Mom just picked up the girls. We have the house to ourselves until tomorrow morning.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, heat rushing straight to my groin. Fuck. This is going to be a long drive.
Me:
You’re telling me I have you completely alone for the first time since our wedding night?
My Wife:
Mmhmm. And I may or may not still be in that red lace you like… or less.
A curse slips out under my breath, my pulse picking up.
Me:
Callie…
My Wife:
What, Daddy? Something wrong?
Me:
Yes. I’m still at this job site when I should already be buried inside you.
My Wife:
Mmm… then you better hurry home. I’ve been waiting all day for you. Touching myself, thinking about how good you feel… but it’s not enough. I need you.
My jaw clenches as I drag a hand down my face, fighting the very real urge to run every red light between here and home.
Me:
Hands off until I get home. You don’t get to come until I say so.
My Wife:
Then get home and take care of me.
Me:
Oh, I will. You’re not getting a damn second of sleep tonight.
My Wife:
That’s what I’m hoping for.
What the fuck am I still doing here? I start the truck, my body already thrumming with anticipation.
Me:
I love you. Always. And I’m about to ruin you.
My Wife:
Then quit texting and get your ass home, birthday boy.
I don’t need to be told twice. Hell, I shouldn’t have needed to be told once. I’ve missed this—the teasing, the build-up, the way Callie knows exactly how to get me worked up with nothing but a few words.
As I drive home, my grip tightens on the wheel, but my mind drifts—back to where it all started. The late-night conversations that blurred into morning, the way she’d look at me like she saw right through every wall I’d ever put up. How I swore I’d take things slow, only to fall for her so fast it left me breathless.
Back then, I thought I knew what love was. Then I met Callie, and she rewrote everything.
The house is silent when I step inside, the refrigerator's low hum the only sound in the stillness. The faint glow from the bedroom spills into the hallway, soft and inviting, and with every step closer, anticipation coils tighter in my gut. I know she’s waiting for me.
I push the door open, and fuck—I barely keep my grip on the handle.
She’s stretched out on the bed, wrapped in deep red lace that barely covers a damn thing. The delicate fabric hugs every sinful curve, sheer in all the right places, her bare skin teasing through it. One strap has slipped off her shoulder, and her hand is resting on her stomach, fingers grazing the lace between her thighs. She looks up at me, eyes dark, hungry, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smile.
“Happy birthday, handsome.”
I swallow hard, my pulse slamming through me. “Jesus Christ, Kitty.”
She tilts her head, dragging her nails lightly down her stomach. “What?” she purrs. “You don’t like your present?”
I kick the door shut so hard the walls shake.
“Baby,” I murmur, yanking my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. “I haven’t even unwrapped it yet.” Her breath hitches as I strip out of my jeans, my body already burning just from looking at her.
“You know,” she murmurs, her fingers teasing the edge of her panties, “I got bored waiting for you.”
I don’t even let her finish. I’m on her in an instant, pressing her down into the mattress, my hands framing her face as I crash my mouth into hers. She moans soft and needy, her legs parting beneath me, welcoming me between them like she’s been waiting for this all damn day.
“You’ve been teasing me since noon,” I rasp against her lips. “You ready to pay for that?”
She grins against my mouth, her hands sliding down my back, nails digging in. “Depends,” she breathes, rolling her hips up against me. “You gonna make me beg for it?”
A low growl rumbles in my throat. I grab both of her wrists, pinning them above her head. Her breath catches, pupils blown wide.
“You like that, don’t you?” I murmur, dragging my lips down her throat, biting just hard enough to make her arch.
Her fingers flex under my grip. “Yes,” she whispers.
Goddamn.
I slide my free hand between her legs, pressing my fingers against the lace, feeling how wet she already is for me. She gasps, her body shuddering as I drag my fingers over her, slow and teasing. “Tell me,” I rasp, nipping at her jaw. “Tell me how bad you need me.”
She tilts her head back, breathless. “Owen, please.”
“Please what?”
Her hips roll up into my touch, desperate, needy.
“I need you inside me,” she whimpers.
Fuck.
I let go of her wrists, dragging her panties down her thighs, kissing every inch of skin I expose. She shivers beneath me, body begging for more.
And then I show her exactly how much I missed her.
I part her thighs and press my mouth to her, licking slow and deep, teasing her with my tongue until she’s writhing beneath me. She lets out a broken moan, her hands flying to my hair, fingers tangling and tugging, guiding me exactly where she wants me.
“God, Owen,” she pants, hips rocking against my mouth, voice shaking.
I keep going, lapping and sucking until she’s coming apart, trembling and gasping my name, her entire body tensing around the pleasure. When I pull back, she’s wrecked—lips parted, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.
But I’m not even close to done with her yet.
I shove my boxers off, pressing my body over hers, feeling her heat against me.
She lifts her hips, rubbing against me, teasing us both. “Daddy,” she whispers, biting her lip. “Fuck me.”
I groan, gripping her thigh, hitching it over my hip. And then I’m inside her, filling her deep, slow, making her feel every inch. We both moan at the same time, the stretch, the heat, the overwhelming rush of finally being where we belong. Her nails drag down my back, her body clenching tight around me, pulling me deeper.
“God, you feel so good,” she breathes, rolling her hips against me, taking me even deeper.
I grip her waist, thrusting slowly at first, savoring it.
She feels so goddamn perfect.
She lifts her head, nipping at my bottom lip, whispering against my mouth, “I want it harder.”
A rough groan rips from my throat. I grab her hips, pinning her down, giving her exactly what she asked for. I drive into her deeper, faster, harder, my name spilling from her lips like a prayer. Her fingers claw at my shoulders, legs wrapped tight around me, holding me exactly where she wants me. I feel her getting close again—her body tightening, tensing, trembling beneath me.
“Come for me, Callie,” I murmur, thrusting deep. “Be a good girl.”
She gasps—her whole body bowing beneath me, shattering, breaking, falling apart around me. When I feel her clench tight around me, pulling me deeper into her release, I lose it. I bury my face in her neck, growling her name as I follow her over the edge, my body shaking, emptying into her, completely lost in the way she feels.
Later, she’s curled against my chest, her body still humming beneath my fingertips. I press a kiss to her bare shoulder, my hand tracing lazy circles over her hip. For a long moment, we just breathe together, tangled and warm. Then, softly, she says, “You know, we’ve been talking about making changes, about what’s next for us.”
I let out a quiet huff of laughter, pulling her closer. “You’re bringing this up now?”
She lifts her head, resting her chin on my chest. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”
I study her, brushing my hand through her hair. “What are you thinking?”
She shifts, propping herself up on her elbow, her expression thoughtful, a little nervous. “What if we didn’t wait until next year? What if we moved to Darling Ridge before the end of this one?”
I watch her, my heart still pounding from everything we just shared.
I reach up, cupping her cheek.
“How’s November sound?” I murmur, kissing her slowly.
She smiles, her eyes bright, full of everything I love.
The warm glow of candlelight flickers from the nightstand, casting soft, golden shadows over Callie’s bare skin as she leans across the bed, reaching for something. The sheets are tangled around us, her body still pressed against mine, warm and soft, the scent of us lingering in the air.
When she turns back, she’s holding a small, neatly wrapped box, the blue paper slightly crinkled, the bow a little crooked.
I raise a brow, shifting onto my elbow. “What’s this?”
Her lips curl into a knowing smirk as she nudges it toward me. “Just open it.”
I hesitate for a second before tearing into the wrapping, peeling it back to reveal a sleek leather tool belt—the same one I’ve been eyeing for months. My chest tightens. “Callie…” My voice catches, and I don’t know if it’s from surprise or the sudden rush of emotion.
She watches me closely, biting her lip, like she’s waiting for my reaction.
“You didn’t have to,” I say, my throat thick as I run my fingers over the smooth, high-quality leather. It’s not just a tool belt—it’s the exact one I wanted.
“I wanted to,” she says softly, shifting closer. Her body presses against mine, warm and inviting, her fingers tracing slow, absent patterns along my ribs. “You work so hard, Owen. For me, for the kids, for everything. Let me do this for you. You deserve it.”
Her words hit me square in the chest. I set the box aside and pull her into my arms, holding her tight, burying my face in her still-damp hair. “Thank you,” I murmur against her skin, my voice rough with emotion.
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, her hands coming up to frame my face, her thumbs brushing lightly over my jaw. “Happy birthday, handsome,” she whispers, her lips brushing mine in a slow, tender kiss.
I slide my hand down her back, fingertips tracing the curve of her spine before tilting her chin up, kissing her deeper. Her sigh melts into my mouth, her body pressing closer as I roll her beneath me again, the tool belt forgotten for now.