Chapter 15
fifteen
CLAIRE
Meowrse lay on Owen’s rug, roasting his belly in front of the log burner. He stretched out and yawned before settling those big yellow-green eyes on me. I sat on the sofa with my phone and a mug of tea while texting Shelly.
Shells: I was beginning to think you were dead or something. How’s it going?
Me: It’s actually going pretty well.
Shells: Does that mean you’re getting railed six ways from Sunday by some kilted beefcake?
Me: Well…
Shells: Shut UP! For real?
Me: Well, I’m not exactly getting railed, yet. But there is a significantly high potential for railing. The rail meter is at least in the orange zone.
Shells: Good. You’ve been due for a good seeing to for years.
Me: Shelly! I was with Marty.
Shells: Exactly. I bet he didn’t even go down on you. Not without a spritz of bleach and a cling-film shield.
Me: Marty didn’t bleach my vag.
Shells: Bet he didn’t make it wet either.
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
Shells: Speaking of the dickhead ex, he showed up here yesterday.
Me: Why?
Shells: He was furious that you were ignoring him, but I explained you hadn’t taken your phone to Otterleigh Bay. He asked for your number, but I said no. You didn’t want me to give it to you, did you?
Me: I’m glad you didn’t! What did he say to that?
Shells: Dominic came out of the bedroom naked as you like, and I thought Marty's eyes were going to fall out. He couldn’t have left any faster.
Oh my days. I would have loved to see that. Marty was such a prude when it came to anything other than his dick and some quick How’s your mother before bed. Meowrse looked up as Owen crashed about in his kitchen.
Me: Ah, well, at least Dom and his penis came in handy.
Shells: It’s VERY handy. For many things. Speaking of which, spill on your holi-date. What’s he like?
Me: His name is Owen. He owns a whisky distillery and has the cutest little eye wrinkles when he smiles, which isn’t often, as he’s a bit of a grump. But in a sexy way.
Shells: How can grumpy men even be sexy?
Me: It’s not like he’s really grumpy, just kind of a hard shell, soft underneath. He’s so unlike anyone I’ve dated before. Not that we’re dating, because you can’t really date someone who you’re only going to know for a few weeks.
Shells: OMG. You like him.
Me: Well, obviously.
Shells: No… not just want to take him for a quick ride. You like him like him
.
I swallowed, running my finger along the edge of the phone. I couldn’t deny it.
The front door clicked, and Isla crashed into the house, arms full of cake and notepads. I put my phone aside and got up, taking the upside-down Tupperware tub from her before she could drop it.
‘Hey,’ I said.
‘It’s a pleasant surprise to see you,’ she said, kicking the door shut with a heel. ‘I hope your presence means my big brother is less of a grouch than usual.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it I joked.’ I peered through the Tupperware tub’s semi-translucent walls, trying to decipher what kind of cake it was. ‘Why have you put the cake in upside down?’
‘Because then the lid acts as a plate when you take the other bit off.’ Isla led the way through to the kitchen, dumping her stationery onto the large wooden table and shrugging off her damp coat.
‘Alright, trouble?’ Owen asked, looking out some plates and a knife. ‘No Jeff today?’
‘He’s been dumped at Mum and Dad’s for Sunday lunch. Mum made pie and we’re busy, so I told him if he wanted to be fed, he could go there,’ Isla replied, already laying out slices of a delicious-looking coffee and walnut cake, before flipping open her notebook.
I took the chair beside Owen, pressing my thigh against his. He gave me a look that told me he was onto me. Still, I didn’t move.
‘No flirting at the table,’ Isla said, narrowing her eyes at Owen. ‘I’ve enough to deal with now that my phone lights up fifty billion times a day with people telling me the gross stuff they want you to do to them. I had to turn my notifications off.’
Owen shrugged. ‘You could take down the video?’
‘No, I can’t. As much as I think they are all off their rockers, sales are up for the first time in god knows how long.’ Isla stabbed her cake and shoved a forkful in her mouth. I followed suit.
‘Oh my days, Isla,’ I said. ‘This is so good.’
‘Thank you. It’s my go-to thinking cake.’ Isla flipped through her notebook and found the page she was looking for. Meowrse appeared on the seat beside me and gave a mournful little meow.
‘Hey, buddy,’ Isla crooned. Meowrse blinked at her for a moment before turning his head toward me and meowing again. I shifted my arm, and he took up residence in my lap.
Owen gave Meowrse’s head a scratch, while Isla scowled at the cat.
‘I swear he does it just to make me jealous.’ She speared her next forkful extra stabbily.
‘So the magazine wants a focused article all about you and the whisky distillery, and they are going to come to the fair with their photographer, as well as pop by the distillery. They want to do a four-page spread on bringing whisky into the twenty-first century.’ Isla spoke briskly while I lost my fingers in Meowrse’s ginger mane.
Owen let Isla very much lead the meeting. His hand slid from Meowrse’s chin to my thigh and remained there, a thumb stroking my inner knee. Focusing became a sport.
‘And then we have the influencers. Some are looking to collaborate, while others want to come visit on an access all areas sort of thing for their travel and tourism pages.’ Isla continued.
‘Do you want me to shoot a load more short reels too? It’s good to keep momentum up.’ It’s the least I could do, really, given how they’d welcomed me.
‘I don’t think they want a hundred videos of my hands,’ Owen grumbled.
‘You underestimate them.’ I laughed, and Isla nodded. ‘But we can do a mixture of reels. Some hot whisky daddy content, make some cocktail ideas, or whisky and dessert pairings? I’m sure we can come up with a load of options.’
Owen gave a long-suffering face before rolling up his sleeves. I would have pouted about the loss of his warm hand on my thigh, but the bare arms made up for it.
‘Right,’ Isla said an hour and three slices of cake later. ‘I’ve got to get home, but you guys have your reel ideas, and can post the drafts via Owen’s phone. I’ll go and finalise things with the magazine and the people who want to do content-based visits.’
‘Thanks, Isla,’ he said. ‘Don’t know what I’d do without you.’
Isla flushed at his brotherly praise. ‘Probably have more peaceful Sundays.’
‘Probably.’ Owen helped her carry all her things to the door.
She kissed my cheek and swept out into the wind.
The quiet wrapped around, alone at last.
Owen slid the bolt with a soft click. Before facing me, standing there with his hands in his pockets and looking at me like he could hear the way my pulse quickened.
‘Come here,’ he said, walking into the cosy sitting room and taking a seat in the armchair.
I followed, nervous excitement filling my stomach. My body had apparently decided obedience wasn’t a dirty word.
‘Do you still want to play, Claire?’ God, his voice had me squirming on the spot.
‘Yes.’
‘Strip.’ The command wasn’t harsh. Nor coy. And the unexpectedness of it made me bite my lip.
Heat careened down my spine. Old me would have made a joke to lessen my nerves and place myself back in control, but this me wanted to let him lead this game.
Taking my time, I slid my jumper over my head and dropped it on the floor. Owen leaned forward in the chair, his eyes fixed on me. Next went the boots, quickly followed by my tee and my jeans. Then the socks.
Being so exposed, when he sat there fully clothed, made my cheeks flush. I hesitated in my matching underwear, swallowing down a rush of anticipation.
‘Beautiful,’ Owen breathed, sitting backwards in a way that highlighted the bulge in his trousers. Damn. His face might not have given his excitement away, but the veritable Coke can in his pants did.
The log burner glazed my skin in orange warmth, and Owen’s openly hungry gaze heated me from the inside.
‘And the rest, city girl. I’m not going to be able to taste you if you’re covered, am I?’
The idea of him devouring me had me vibrating on the spot. It had been far too long since I’d had a man focus all his attention between my thighs.
I loosened my bra and dropped it, my nipples pebbling under his stare. Then the underwear. My last scrap of a barrier. Standing there nude highlighted the difference in our intimate roles. Owen was restrained control, hidden behind those hungry eyes, where I was open, eager, and vulnerable.
‘Come,’ he demanded. I was in his lap in an instant, craving his touch.
Nothing about Owen was rushed, and I quivered with need as he dragged his fingertips over my skin.
‘Do you trust me?’ He asked, cupping my jaw.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘And what do you want?’ He kissed me once, slow and thorough, emptying my head of all sense.
‘Everything.’
My breath hitched as he kissed me again, slow, decadent movements of his tongue that had my heart thundering in my chest.
Owen picked me up, and placed me on the chair, settling a cushion at the small of my back. I waited as he fetched a handful of rope.
‘I’m going to tie your hands here in front of you, and then I’m going to spread your pretty thighs wide, and tie them open. Is that all right?’
All right? Fuck me, I was gagging for it.
‘Please,’ I said softly, ‘It’s more than all right, Owen.’
A wicked grin stole over his face, and I fell in love with that smile just a little. It felt like something special he only gave to a handful of people.
‘You remember your safe word?’ Owen asked as he wrapped the rope around my wrists, tying them snuggly.
‘Driftwood,’ I breathed, before squeaking as he pressed my thighs wide. His gaze fell over my exposed pussy, and I could have died of embarrassment if it wasn’t for the way he looked at me. You’d have thought I was hoarding his favourite snack between my legs.
‘Look at you, Claire. Already soaked for me.’