Chapter 48
Lucy - Present
The photobook lays open on the bed as I walk back into the bedroom, towel drying my hair, having washed off the day.
I pull on my underwear and stare at it, biting my nail.
I’m tired of letting my past dictate my future.
I hate it when he’s right. I’ve been doing exactly that for years.
Years I’ve put it in a box, years I’ve not dealt with it.
Years it’s been this shadow casting darkness onto me.
There was absolutely good in between the shit—I mean sure, not the teacup ride for me—but even though James was a horrible piece of shit, there was goodness between.
He was a father to begin with. But I’d spent years remembering the bad, letting it taint me, taint Maria, hell, taint my memory of Owen.
I have to remember the good. I have to accept the past so that I can move forward and be the person he needs me to be in this moment.
Not broken Lucy, not broken Kara. But me, unapologetically me. A new version.
And to do that, I have to find closure with what happened.
I sit on the bed and work my way through the book, focusing on the good memory of each picture. The gratitude of that day.
The positive, not the negative.
Us at the theme park, together as a family. Us, standing near the pond. Me in front of a birthday cake, smiling. Me, surrounded by butterflies as we walked through a greenhouse.
Me and Owen, together, happy.
Because we found happiness and solace in each other, just like we do now.
I run my hand over a picture where Owen is talking to me, a moment captured forever. I’m around thirteen, Owen fifteen, who’s leaning forward, trying to grab at me. We are both laughing.
I close my eyes, trying to remember who took the photo. James was deep in the drink by then, so it had to be Maria—or maybe one of our friends.
Whoever it was, the happiness is there. I feel it in the warmth that floods my chest, the flutter in my stomach.
Even then, I was in love with him. Thirteen, but older in all the wrong ways. Laughing together, even in the dark.
Owen loves me. And staring at the snapshots of our broken childhood, searching for something good, I realise I don’t have to look far.
It’s right here, between us.
Just like it always was and always will be.
Fuck me, I’m stupid.
Even now, I’m pushing him away by walking away from him.
What am I even doing?
Why am I trying to protect my heart from something that happened years ago? I loved that man as a child, I loved that man as a teenager, and still I love that man.
I walk to the bedroom door and yank it open. Owen’s on the sofa now, his bare feet tipped up on the coffee table, laptop in his lap, glasses still on.
Yup.
The glasses.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt.
He meets my eyes, which I’m sure are slightly feral looking as I cross to him and sit down next to him. I grab the laptop and place it on the side as Owen removes his feet from the table.
“Okay…” he says, eyes squinting, the frown line masking his forehead.
“I just, you’re right. I’ve been pushing you away because it’s easier to push you away than admit that I’m a fuck up.”
“Luce—”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “No, please, let me get this out. I am a…fuck. A complete and utter headcase. I mean, I must be, right; I kill people and feel zero remorse for it. I tell myself they’re bad people, but what the hell do I know really?
They could be the future Noble Peace Prize winner.
Then there’s me, gun in hand, and POP.” I make the movement with my hand.
“Dead. And I feel nothing. I’ve felt nothing but emptiness since the day I walked out of that house fifteen years ago.
I’ve buried any kind of emotion since, and then you came back into my life, and I felt it all. ”
My heart races, but Owen says nothing. He watches me silently, assessing, waiting for me to confess my truth.
“I feel it all. Everything I’ve suppressed, everything I’ve ignored. It’s smacking me right in the face, and it’s like I’m on the brink of losing my mind.”
I start pacing as Owen sits forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
“And I know you’re right. Everything you’ve said, everything about me, you’re spot on.” I pause and look at him, the corner of my mouth tugging into a soft smile. “You can always see right through my bullshit, even now.”
“It’s not bullshit, Luce. It’s trauma.” His voice is quiet; eyes fixed on me like he wants to take all the pain away.
“No, I know. But come on,” I say, throwing up my arms with a hollow laugh. “We are in the midst of chaos, and here I am, having a personal fucking meltdown.”
My head drops, a slow shake.
“You’re right, I need to get a grip.”
“I didn’t—”
He stands and runs his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean get a grip.”
“You did, and it’s totally fine. Because you’re right. And I know you’re right. There, I said it. You’re right. I’ve not changed enough for you to know how much I hate saying that, right?”
He grins at me, and it reaches his tired eyes making my chest ache and I laugh.
“I love you, you know.”
I look at him, really look at him. Take every single part of him in, drinking in the moment, and letting him see me, see everything I mean bone deep.
“Always have, always will. I want you to be my past, present and future.”
He sucks in a breath like I’ve winded him, and his expression softens, lips parting as his eyes go glassy, emotion rippling through every line in his face.
“I’ve no idea what comes next.” I admit. Because I don’t. Not one fucking clue. I reach for him, my fingers trembling as I take his hand in mine. “But whatever it is, it’s me and you, like it always was, like it will always be.”
“Because nothing about us is insignificant.”
“Not one single thing,” I whisper, hooking my little pinkie around his. “I love you, Owen King.”
“And I love you, Lucy Cook. With all my past, present and future.”
Our mouths crash together, his tongue delving straight between my lips as he devours me in a branding kiss. My hands are in his hair, gripping at his roots, as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me tighter.
We are hands, lips, teeth, gripping, pulling, sucking.
It’s feral.
It’s carnal.
It’s everything that I thought this moment wouldn’t be. I thought it would be all romantic, and slow.
But this.
This is animalistic.
Savage.
He’s pushed me onto the sofa and is already pulling down my underwear that I had only just pulled on moments before.
His head is between my legs as his tongue runs up my inner thigh to my waiting pussy that is already embarrassingly wet.
But I’m not embarrassed, not in the slightest. I grab Owen’s head and pull it between my legs—not that he needs the encouragement. His tongue is already pushing between my folds, feasting on me like he’s a man starved.
Or possessed.
I arch into him, pleasure unfolding from between my legs working its way through my body, making me hot and needy.
“I fucking love this cunt,” he says as he pulls back and looks up at me. His lips coated in all things me; his eyes lust-filled.
“This is mine,” he says, slapping it, sending a jolt of pain between the pleasure.
“If I remember correctly, you did something to me last night.” His eyes darken, if that’s even possible, and I smirk.
I don’t move my eyes away from his, even as he pushes a finger followed by another deep into my pussy, and angles them perfectly.
Fuck me.
My eyes roll back into my head, as he chuckles.
“Such a greedy little cunt.”
“Your mouth,” I mutter between moans. He leans in and nibbles my clit.
“Oh fuck.”
I’m gone.
“Do that again.”
“No,” he says, slapping my pussy again, and I moan. He pulls his fingers from inside me and walks them towards my arsehole.
“Now you know I enjoyed this last night, and I’m not going to lie, Luce, I’ve been having some filthy thoughts today.
Will you like it? How tight will it feel?
How loud will you scream?” He runs his fingers that are coated in me around my puckered hole, dives back into my pussy to get more, then returns to my arse.
He’s kneeling on the floor, my legs on either side, I am completely laid bare to him, all the while he sits in his grey joggers, giving me his full attention.
“Would you love my fingers diving into your tight bud?” He slips one finger in, and the invasion, its foreign, tight. I’ve done a lot of things, I’ve explored many things, anal though, never done it for me. Maybe it was because of James, and that he’s taken it from me.
But now.
As Owen pushes his finger past the tension, and whispers relax to me, I try to. Because I want to wash away the past of James having this. I want to enjoy it as much as Owen did.
I want to give him this.
“I’ve never—not since.”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” His eyes flash.
I lean up onto my elbows. His eyes are glaring into mine, his finger holding still in my tight hole. “Wash it away, take the bad and replace it with us.” I whisper.
“You’re sure?”
I nod. “I’m sure.”
“At any point you need me to stop, you tell me. Or put me on my arse.”
I grin, and he leans up on his knees and kisses me. It’s slower. His tongue plays with mine as he pulls his finger out from my arse and pushes it back into my pussy.
Will I get thrush?
What the fuck am I thinking?
I kiss him back, and a low groan comes from the back of his throat as he continues to work me with his fingers. Relaxing me before repeating the previous action. Coating my hole with my wetness, he pulls back and watches again as he slowly enters my tight hole.
“Breathe, relax. I’ve got you, baby.” He closes the distance and kisses me deeply, at the same time, he slowly pushes his finger in deeper.
Its foreign, it’s uncomfortable, it’s taking everything in me to relax, but as the sensation of his finger in my tight space, as his tongue plunges into my mouth, I relax.
And I moan.
Fuck.
I like it.
It feels so…I’m not even sure how to describe it. Heat rushes up into my neck, down my arms, into my stomach as I’m on the edge of being confused and hating it, but he hits something, and it feels like heaven.
“Oh God,” I say on his lips, and he pulls back.
“You have the most amazing flush on your tits.” He buries his head into my breasts and licks a path to my neck, and sucks.
My hips start to undulate against his movement, and I want more. I want more of him.
“Fuck me,” I say, breathless. “Fuck me there.”
“Oh, Cookie, I will. But not tonight.”
“Please. Please, Owen,” I plead, my head dropping back as I start to climb. He repositions himself between my legs and starts feasting on me again, and I can’t handle it.
My legs pull together, and he tuts against my clit before taking it between his teeth and biting gently.
And I’m gone.
It comes out of nowhere.
Pure, undulated ecstasy as a wave of pleasure explodes into every limb, every blood vessel. I scream out his name.
“Yes, baby. Fuck my face. Ride it. Ride the wave.” He pulls his fingers out and starts to rub my clit. “I want one more, Cookie, give it to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can, and you fucking will.”
He continues to work me, continues to fuck my arse, to lick and suck on my clit, and I fall again. It’s no less powerful, everything is oversensitive.
“Cock. In me,” I say between breaths, and it’s the only invitation he needs.
He’s up on his feet, pulling his trousers down, before spinning me round, pushing me sideways on the sofa, grabbing my hips, pulling me up, and pummelling into me.
I’m trained in mixed martial arts, and the move he just pulled off was a rival to some of my best moves. The man is a menace. He flipped me to how he wanted me like I was a rag doll and weighed nothing.
He glides into me and falls forward, his chest flush against my back.
“This is going to be hard, and fast, and you’re going to be screaming my fucking name.”
“Yes, Mr Politician,” I say, grinning. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as my muscles tense, ready for the onslaught that will be all Owen.
He pulls out, teases in slowly, then wham. His balls slap against me, his hips piston into my arse, and then he slowly pulls out, teases, and wham.
Just when I’m about to goad him for being a pussy, he lets go.
He repositions, grips my hips, and pounds relentlessly into my pussy. I wish I could see it. I wish I could have an out of body experience and watch the moment Owen King loses control with me.
Because he has. His grunts and groans fight to take over my own moans and screams.
My shoulder smarts, my body aches, my stomach hurts from how deep he is, but in between all of that, the feeling of fullness and the pleasure he milks out of me, is something that takes my breath away.
This isn’t about me, though; this is about him.
Taking what he needs from me, and I’ll give it to him.
Every. Single. Time.
Because Owen and I… there is nothing insignificant about us.
And we are in this now together, past, present and future.