Chapter 12
TWELVE
Owen followed her up the stairs, curious about where she lived. And when he saw her space, he saw Grace. The apartment was colorful and fun, with comfortable looking furniture. There weren’t a lot of walls. It was very open, with a section in the back separated with gauzy purple curtains. He could see her bed beyond, and the thought of being so close to that, with her, made his blood head south. Forcing himself to turn away, he looked at the walls. They were covered with unique, colorful, playful art. There was a round table in one corner covered with containers of beads in a rainbow of colors. He stepped closer. There was a half finished owl on the mat, with several different shaped beads scattered around it.
Owen couldn’t help but smile at the explosion of color she was. Turning, he moved toward the kitchen, and he noticed a bare spot on the floor, with a bunch of presents pushed aside. It looked like there had been a Christmas tree there, but it was gone. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew where it had gone. Up his mountain.
“This was just open storage when I bought the building,” Grace said, reaching for scissors to cut a package of tortellini open. “My brother Baron came in and helped me put in a bathroom and kitchen. Another brother helped me with tile in the bathroom.”
She unsnapped the lid on a simmering crock pot, and the most amazing scent wafted to him. “What is that?” he asked, moving closer.
“This is a sausage tortellini soup with spinach.”
His mouth watered and he realized how achingly hungry he was. He leaned against the counter and watched her stir the tortellini into the soup, then she replaced the lid. “That needs to cook for about five minutes. Just enough time to do up some bread.”
She stepped close, smiled up at him, and reached behind him for a loaf of French bread. Owen smiled too, and didn’t move. He’d known she was going to need the loaf. “You know,” she murmured, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “I could put this all on simmer…”
Immediately, the arousal that he’d been fighting off surged back. “That’s not why I came up here,” he said, but his voice had gone even raspier than normal.
She shrugged and ran the backs of her fingers along the line of buttons down his shirt, then started to pull away. “We don’t have to. I just thou…”
Owen didn’t even realize he’d moved until he was kissing her, his fingers burrowing into her thick hair. Grace moaned and leaned into him, her hands reaching around his back to pull him close. Then those hands wandered down to settle at his hips, and Owen knew he was in trouble. She settled her hips against his, and there was no way she couldn’t feel the erection trying to punch out of his jeans.
It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, and he worried that it would all happen too fast. Dragging in a deep breath, he pulled back slightly, looking down into her dazed eyes. “It’s been a long time for me,” he told her honestly, “and there are things I haven’t told you. Maybe we should slow down.”
“Are you married? Or on the run from the law?”
He choked out a laugh. “No, to both.”
“Then I suggest we grab our fun while we can,” she murmured, lifting her face for another kiss.
Owen obliged her, but he worried that they were doing things in the wrong order. He really liked Grace. More than any other woman he’d ever been with. And he didn’t want to screw anything up. Hell, he didn’t want to fuck himself up anymore than he already was. What if they slept together, he told her about the Dogs and she dumped him?
No, he had to have faith that she wouldn’t do that.
Owen lost himself in her taste and feel. Kissing was very personal, and he couldn’t remember enjoying it more. With other women, it was kind of this obligatory thing. With Grace, he wanted to taste every corner of her mouth, and feel the glide of her tongue on his.
Her breasts pressed into his chest, and he wanted to feel the weight of them in his hands.
Grace was humming with arousal. It had started in the car, of course, when he kissed her the first time. And then Owen’s possessiveness when Walker had come to the window. She wasn’t usually one who was turned on by cave dweller behavior, and he hadn’t actually acted that way, but she’d seen the way he’d looked at Walker, like he’d tear him from her if he got too close.
Something in her had loved that feeling. Owen was a big, extremely masculine man, and she loved the thought of him protecting her.
Too many romance novels and weddings, she supposed.
There was no denying the way he made her feel, though. Her clit was pounding with her excitement and when he’d backpedaled, she’d lost some of her sense. She’d wanted Owen Black for months, and now was their chance to snatch some time for themselves. There was no hiding the huge bulge she could feel against her belly, so it wasn’t as if he didn’t want her.
And whatever he had to tell her could wait.
Her thinking was probably muddled by the endorphins from the wedding, but, whatever.
Turning, she punched a button on the crockpot. The tortellini would probably be mush by the time they got to it, but she couldn’t really care. Taking his beat up hand in her own, she led him toward the bed. Then she turned in his arms just in time for his mouth to come down on hers, hard. It was perfect.
Grace ran her fingers up into his hair. It was so soft and springy. She tried to smooth the hat ring, but it sprang right back. Smiling into the kiss, she ran her hands down his broad shoulders, then down his arms. Owen had an outdoorsman’s shape, and she could tell he enjoyed physical labor.
She started unfastening the buttons of his shirt, but he drew back. With a purely impatient, masculine movement, he reached over his head and pulled his flannel and tee shirt off, tossing them aside.
Grace stared at Owen. No, she stared at Owen’s hard body, and the cobbled abs. His chest was covered with thick, dark hair, with a heavy line going down the middle of his stomach. Her mouth literally watered at the thought of following that line of hair…
“Merry Christmas to me,” she murmured, and Owen grinned. Grace had to stop for a moment, entranced by the wide, unrestrained pleasure in that look. It was the first time she’d really seen all the worry eased from his eyes. It was probably the first time he’d done something solely for himself. At least, in a long time.
With a smile on her lips, Grace reached for the hemline of her own sweater, pulling it up over her head. She wasn’t sure exactly where this relationship was going, but she planned on having fun while she could. There was a restraint to Owen that made her think tonight might be all she would get from him, but she was willing to risk it. She’d been mooning over him for a very long time.
Maybe he would be a really bad lover…
Yeah, right...
Owen moved close, his hands raising to just barely lift her breasts. Then his thumbs rasped over her lace-covered nipples. “Oh,” she said, her voice breathy.
Owen’s touch sent a jolt through Grace, her breath catching as his thumbs teased her nipples through the thin lace. The roughness of his hands—calloused from years of hard work—contrasted with the deliberate gentleness of his movements, and it drove her wild. She arched into him, craving more, her body humming with a need she hadn’t felt in ages. Maybe ever.
“Grace,” he rasped, his voice so low and gravelly, like he was fighting to keep control. His eyes locked onto hers, dark and searching, as if he was still half-convinced this was a mistake. But the way his hands tightened on her, the way his breath hitched when she pressed herself closer, told her he was just as lost in this as she was.
She didn’t give him time to overthink it. Hooking her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, she tugged him toward the bed, her lips curving into a playful smirk. “You’re not backing out on me now, Owen Black. Not when I’ve finally got you where I want you.”
He let out a rough chuckle, the sound vibrating against her skin as he followed her lead. “Bossy, huh? Guess I should’ve known.” But there was no resistance in him—just heat and a flicker of something softer, something that made her heart stutter even as her pulse raced.
The back of her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she sank down, pulling him with her. Owen braced himself above her, one hand planted beside her head, the other sliding down her side to grip her hip. His weight pressed her into the mattress, solid and real, and she couldn’t stop the soft moan that slipped out as she felt every inch of him against her—the hard planes of his chest, the ridge of his erection straining through his jeans.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing her jaw, then trailing down her neck. His beard stubble scraped against her skin, sending shivers racing through her, and when he nipped at the sensitive spot just below her ear, her hands fisted against his sides.
Grace wasn’t about to let him have all the fun. She slid her hands up his back, nails digging in just enough to make him groan, then down to the button of his jeans. Her fingers fumbled for a moment—damn nerves—but she popped it open, her breath catching as she felt the heat of him beneath her touch. “Owen,” she whispered, her voice trembling with want, “I need you.”
He froze for a split second, his forehead resting against hers, breath ragged. “Grace, I—” He swallowed hard, and she could see the war in his eyes again, that flicker of doubt. Whatever secret he was holding onto, it was clawing at him even now.
“Hey,” she said softly, cupping his face and forcing him to meet her gaze. “Whatever it is, it’s not changing this. Not tonight.” She brushed her lips against his, slow and deliberate, pouring every ounce of her desire into it. “I want you. All of you.”
That seemed to snap something in him. With a low growl, he kissed her back, hard and hungry, his restraint unraveling. His hand slid under her bra, shoving the lace aside to palm her bare breast, and she gasped as his thumb circled her nipple, sending sparks straight to her core. Her clit throbbed, aching for attention, and she rocked her hips against him, desperate for friction.
Owen didn’t make her wait. His other hand dipped lower, deftly unbuttoning her jeans and slipping inside. When his fingers brushed over her through her panties, she whimpered, the heat pooling between her thighs almost unbearable. “Fuck, you’re soaked,” he muttered, his voice rough with awe, and the rawness of it pushed her closer to the edge.
“Please,” she breathed, clutching at his shoulders. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, finding her slick and ready, and when he stroked her clit with slow, deliberate pressure, her head fell back, a moan tearing from her throat. Owen watched her, his eyes dark and intense, like he was memorizing every sound, every shiver. “You’re killing me, Grace,” he said, his voice strained, but there was a grin tugging at his lips—wild and unrestrained, just like she’d wanted.
She was too far gone to respond. Her hips bucked against his hand, chasing the pleasure building inside her, and when he slipped a finger inside her, then another, curling them just right, she shattered. The orgasm hit her hard, waves of heat crashing through her as she cried out his name, her body trembling beneath him.
Owen didn’t let up, drawing it out until she was gasping, boneless beneath him. Only then did he pull back, his chest heaving as he looked down at her, a mix of pride and hunger in his gaze. “Merry Christmas to me ,” he said, echoing her earlier words, and despite the haze of her climax, Grace laughed.
But she wasn’t done with him yet. Not by a long shot. Reaching up, she yanked him down for another kiss, tasting the promise of more on his lips. “We’re just getting started,” she murmured, and the way his eyes flared told her he was all in.
Owen’s lips crashed back into hers, the kiss hard and desperate, like he couldn’t get enough. Grace met him with equal fervor, her hands roaming his bare chest, fingers tracing the coarse hair that trailed down his stomach. She followed that tempting line lower, slipping her hand into his open jeans, and when her fingers wrapped around the thick heat of him, he groaned into her mouth, the sound raw and broken.
“Grace,” he gritted out, his hips jerking against her touch. She stroked him slowly, reveling in the way he pulsed in her hand, hard and heavy with need. He was big—bigger than she’d expected, hoped—and the thought of him inside her sent a fresh wave of arousal curling down through her belly.
“You’re gonna ruin me,” he muttered, his voice strained as he caught her wrist, stilling her movements. His stormy eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide with lust, but there was that flicker of hesitation again, like he was teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t take back.
“Good,” she shot back, her tone teasing, but her gaze steady. “I want to.” She pulled her hand free and shoved at his jeans, pushing them down his hips along with his smooth athletic boxers. He helped her, kicking them off with an impatient grunt, and then he was bare above her, all hard muscle and taut skin, his erection jutting proudly against his stomach.
Grace’s mouth went dry. She’d known Owen was built, but seeing him like this, shields gone and unrestrained, was a whole different level. She reached for him again, but he caught her hands, pinning them above her head with one of his own.
“My turn,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. He shifted down her body, his free hand tugging her jeans and panties off in one swift motion. The cool air hit her overheated skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire in his gaze as he took her in, sprawled out beneath him, naked and wanting.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed, and before she could respond, his mouth was on her. He kissed his way down her stomach, slow and deliberate, his beard scraping deliciously against her skin. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he parted her with his fingers, and then his tongue flicked over her clit, hot and wet and devastating.
Grace cried out, her hands twisting in his grip as pleasure shot through her. He didn’t tease—he devoured her, licking and sucking with a hunger that left her trembling. His broad shoulders pushed her legs wider, and she was helpless against the onslaught, her body arching off the bed as he worked her with relentless skill.
“Owen—oh God—” Her words dissolved into a moan as two fingers took the place of his mouth around her clit, curling them against that spot that made her see stars. He growled against her belly, the vibration pushing her higher, and she felt the pressure building again, fast and unstoppable.
“Come for me,” he murmured, his voice rough against her slick skin, and that was all it took. Her second orgasm ripped through her, sharper and more intense than the first, her thighs clamping around his hand as she shattered. He didn’t stop, drawing out every shudder until she was a panting, quivering mess.
When he finally lifted his head, the sight of him—wild-haired and smug—sent a fresh spark of want through her. He crawled back up her body, bracing himself on one elbow, and stared down into her eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone half- teasing, half-serious, like he genuinely wasn’t sure she could handle more.
“I’m perfect,” she said, wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling him closer. He grinned—a rare, unguarded smile that made her heart flip—but then he pulled back, a wince crossing his face.
“I don’t have a condom,” he said. “This was not what I expected to do today,” he admitted.
“I have condoms!” she said, waving a hand at her bedside table.
Owen leaned over, and she had to admire the strength of him. He was long and lean, with very little extra fat on him. Actually, he could stand to gain a few pounds. There was a scar on his back… Before she could investigate, he chuckled, and Grace realized where she’d sent him. “Hey, a girl has to have friends.”
“Pink and purple and jeweled friends, apparently,” he laughed. But he had an unopened box of condoms in his hand. His eyes met hers for a long, considering moment before he ripped the box open and fished one out. Levering back to sit on his heels, he ripped the package open and rolled the condom down his hard length.
Grace opened her arms as he tossed the trash away, and sighed as he settled on top of her again. He felt so good to her. Like this was where he belonged.
Quite naturally, the head of him rested at her entrance. With a tiny little arch, she guided him in. Groaning, Owen pushed into her, slow and steady, stretching her in a way that stole her breath.
“Fuck,” he hissed, his head dropping to her shoulder as he bottomed out. “You feel—so good.” His voice was tight, like he was barely holding it together, and Grace couldn’t help the smug satisfaction that curled through her. She clenched around him, just to see him unravel a little more, and he groaned, his hips twitching.
“Move,” she whispered, nipping at his ear, and that was all the permission he needed. He pulled back and thrust into her again, harder this time, setting a rhythm that was deep and deliberate, like he was staking a claim. Each stroke sent sparks racing up her spine, the friction of his body against hers igniting every nerve.
Grace met him thrust for thrust, her nails digging into his back as she chased the edge again. He was relentless, his breath hot against her neck, muttering broken words—her name, curses, pleas—that only fueled her higher. “Grace—shit—I’m not gonna last,” he warned, his pace faltering as he fought for control.
“Don’t,” she gasped, tightening her legs around him. “Let go.” She wanted to feel him lose it, to know she’d undone him the way he’d undone her. With a guttural groan, he slammed into her in a quick succession of thrusts, his release hitting hard as he pulsed inside her. The heat of it, the way he trembled above her, tipped her over the edge again, a softer, rolling climax that left her clinging to him as they rode it out together.
For a moment, they just lay there, tangled and breathless, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex. Owen pressed his forehead to hers, his chest heaving, and when he finally opened his eyes, there was something raw and unguarded in them that made her heart ache.
“Still think we’re doing this in the wrong order?” she teased, her voice hoarse but playful.
He huffed a laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Maybe. But I’m not complaining.”