Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
MAYA
The sun hasn’t even considered rising yet.
The room is still cloaked in that grey-blue wash of early morning, but there’s just enough light to trace the lines of Owen’s body sprawled beside me.
He’s on his back, one arm flung over his head, mouth slightly parted, his soft snores a gentle rumble against the quiet.
He looks peaceful. Ridiculously handsome. And far too clothed for my liking.
I bite my lip, propping myself up on one elbow as I shift under the covers. Last night still lingers on my skin, the ache between my legs delicious, my body heavy in that post-orgasm haze. But I’m greedy. I want more.
Quiet as a cat, I ease the duvet down, exposing his torso, the covers pooling at his hips. His skin is warm, golden in the faint morning light. I press a kiss to his chest, just above his heart, and feel it thump against my lips.
He shifts but doesn’t wake.
Good.
I trail lower. Another kiss, then another. My hand slides beneath the waistband of his boxers, palming him gently. He’s already semi-hard. I grin.
“Morning, Owen,” I whisper, just as I lower my mouth onto him.
He groans, half-asleep, hips twitching beneath me. “Jesus...”
I hum around him, slow and deliberate, taking my time. My tongue swirls, teasing the tip, then I sink lower, letting him hit the back of my throat. His hand shoots down, fingers burying in my hair.
“Fuck, Maya...” he rasps, voice gravelly with sleep. “Are you…is this real?”
I pull off with a wicked smile. “Happy Sunday.”
He blinks at me, eyes heavy and stunned, like he’s not entirely sure he’s awake. I wrap my hand around him again and lower my mouth, picking up the pace. He groans louder this time, hips rolling up to meet my mouth.
“Gonna kill me, baby,” he mutters.
I glance up at him, deliberately letting my tongue drag along his length. “Then what a way to go.”
He swears, the word lost in a gasp as I take him deep again, working him until his thighs are trembling. I can feel how close he is. His breathing’s ragged, his grip on my hair tightening.
But before he tips over the edge, I pull away.
He groans like I’ve wounded him. “Maya...”
I crawl up his body, straddling his hips, and lean down to kiss him slow and filthy, letting him taste himself on my tongue.
“You want me?” I murmur against his mouth.
His hands grip my hips like he’s trying to ground himself. “Always.”
I sink down onto him in one slow, slick motion, gasping as he fills me. We both freeze for a moment, locked together, eyes on each other.
Then we move.
It starts slow, my hips rolling with lazy confidence, dragging pleasure out of both of us. Owen’s hands are everywhere; my thighs, my waist, my breasts. He thrusts up to meet me, the rhythm building fast.
“Fuck, Maya,” he groans. “You’re so wet. So, fucking perfect.”
I throw my head back, moaning as I ride him harder, chasing the edge. The slap of skin on skin is loud in the quiet flat, and I’m only half-aware of the time. We’ve got maybe fifteen minutes before Lila wakes up. Maybe less.
But I’m not stopping.
He sits up suddenly, arm wrapped around my waist, mouth on my chest, sucking hard at my nipple. I cry out, clenching around him. It’s dirty and frantic now, teeth and nails and sweat.
He flips us, slamming into me with a growl, one hand tangled in my hair, the other gripping my thigh to hitch my leg higher.
“You’re gonna make me come so hard,” he growls against my throat.
“Then do it,” I pant.
That does it. He snarls my name as he drives into me, thrust after punishing thrust until I feel him stiffen, buried deep, coming with a groan so filthy it pushes me right over the edge with him.
We collapse in a heap, tangled in sheets and sweat and panting breath.
I press my face into his neck, grinning like a woman who just got exactly what she wanted.
“Well,” he murmurs, “that’s one way to wake up.”
“Mm. Breakfast duty’s all yours.”
He laughs, still breathless. “Deal.”
And we lie there, hearts racing, basking in the mess we made. Before too long, we’re both snoozing.
I wake up to the sound of a small hand patting Owen’s cheek.
“Bear. Bear. You snore like a lawnmower.”
I blink blearily, half-buried under duvet and Owen. Lila’s standing by the bed in her dinosaur pyjamas, holding her stuffed rabbit like it’s a clipboard.
Owen cracks open an eye and grins. “I was told I sound like a tractor, actually.”
Lila narrows her eyes. “You said you’d make breakfast.”
“Better than that,” Owen croaks, easing himself up. “How do you feel about bear-shaped pancakes?”
She gasps like I’ve offered her a pony. “Can they have chocolate chip eyes?”
“Obviously.”
Lila and Owen head into the kitchen while I turn over and pretend to be asleep. I lay there listening to their conversation.
“Right,” Owen says, “You’re sous-chef. What’s the first rule of pancake making?”
Lila responds all business like. “Don’t lick the spoon unless no one’s looking?”
“Correct.”
By the time I stumble into the kitchen, they’ve got a plate stacked with bears and a floor dusted in flour.
I stop in the doorway, hair wild, Owen’s hoodie hanging off one shoulder, smiling like I’ve walked into a dream.
“What’s going on here?” I ask.
“Breakfast bears,” Lila says proudly. “I’m the soupy-chef. Bear’s the chef-chef.”
I head over and kiss Owen’s cheek. “Smells amazing.”
“Tastes even better,” he says, handing me a plate. “Guaranteed to make you fall in love with me all over again.”
My brow lifts. “All over again? Bold of you to assume it stopped.”
That earns me a kiss on the nose.
After we clean up, meaning I mop flour off the cabinets and Lila “helps” by smearing it around with a dish towel, Lila looks up at Owen, chocolate smudged on her cheek.
“What do we do now?”
Owen nudges her nose with his. “How would you feel about making protein bars for the team?”
“Like what the big muscle men eat?”
“Exactly.”
“Do they like chocolate?”
“They like anything when it’s made by a sous-chef with strawberry aprons and dinosaur pyjamas.”
That seals it. She claps her hands. “Let’s bake!”
An hour later, the kitchen looks like a protein bomb exploded.
They’ve got three kinds of bars in progress; peanut butter oat, chocolate almond, and something Lila invented that’s mostly marshmallows and crushed cornflakes.
“Owen,” I say from the doorway, arms folded, “did you let her open the cocoa powder?”
“She opened it with intention.” He hold up his hands, which are sticky with honey. “We’re in the zone.”
Lila’s on a sugar high, dancing around the kitchen with oat paste in her hair.
“Protein power!” she yells, doing a lap around the table with a wooden spoon held like a sword.
I lean on the counter, smiling in that quiet, awe-filled way. “You’re really doing this,” I say softly.
“What? Turning your child into a protein bar entrepreneur?”
“No,” I say, walking over, brushing flour off his cheek. “All of it. Us. Her. This.”
He kisses me before I say something else stupid. Lila shouts “GROSS” and chucks a raisin at us.
Owen catches it midair and eats it. “Five second rule.”
We finish the morning sticky, exhausted, and high on sugar. The bars go in the fridge. The dishes get sort of washed. Lila curls up on the sofa, rabbit in one hand, and knocked out cold.
I tuck her in, then slips my arms around Owen from behind as he loads the last tray.
“You know,” I say, chin on his shoulder, “you’ve ruined all my standards forever.”
“Happy to be the last man you ruin them for.”
I laugh into his back. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “I’m staying.”
Because if this is what forever looks like, flour in the floorboards, pancakes shaped like bears, and a happy daughter, then I want it all.