Forty-Nine
forty-nine
IT'S NOT YOU - HALESTORM
CALLIE - JULY 27, 2013
T hanks to Taylor taking Sara for the weekend, I’ve been able to catch up on cleaning and even have all the laundry washed, dried, folded, and put away. I can’t remember the last time that happened and it won’t last long so I’ll cherish it for the next day or so.
I’ve just finished getting ready for the concert and I am so excited. I’ve seen Halestorm in concert once before a couple of years ago and it was incredible. I went with my cousin and two of her friends. We had a blast except for getting lost on the way home.
I check myself one last time in the mirror, smoothing a hand over my black maternity tank top and adjusting my ponytail. My red Converse feel like the perfect touch—only lightly worn and showing off the signatures from the last time I attended a Halestorm concert. I think this is the first time I’ve worn them in two years because I’ve been too afraid the signatures would come off. Permanent marker is only so dependable, you know?
As I step out onto the front porch, the sticky evening air wraps around me and I’m grateful that I was smart enough to put my hair up in a ponytail instead of attempting to wear it down on this hot summer day. My naturally wavy hair would be a frizzy mess if I hadn’t put it up. It feels like only a matter of seconds before I catch my reflection in the large picture window out front and see the baby hairs that frame my face and nape of my neck have already started to curl.
There’s a nervous energy buzzing under my skin. Even though I saw him this morning, the hours apart from Owen feel like days. Last night was incredible. And I don’t know if he feels the same way but it was easily the best sex of my life. And that’s saying something because well… I was a trollop, remember?
The familiar rumble of Owen’s green Chevy S10–who I know now he’s named Trevor–pulls my attention to the end of the gravel driveway. The butterflies in my stomach must be hosting a frat party because they are most definitely drunk.
I know that I have a history of falling fast. I know that I might as well face it, I’m addicted to love–see what I did there? But seriously, there’s something about this man that tells me I’ve known him so much longer than just a few short months. I can feel it in my bones.
Owen parks and steps out of the truck, his eyes immediately locking on mine as a smile spreads across his face. There’s something so intense in his gaze, something that makes my breath catch in my throat and I actually have to remind myself to breathe.
“You look incredible,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of heat as he strides toward me. He wraps his arms around me in a hug before resting his hands on my hips and pulling back a bit to look me over again. His eyes roam over me, taking in every detail from top to bottom. There’s something in his expression that makes me feel cherished, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters to him in this moment.
Before I can say a word, he pulls me close again and his lips are on mine. It’s a kiss that’s as intense as it is passionate, a melding of emotions that words could never fully capture. His hands slide up my back, pulling me even closer until there’s no space left between us. I slide my hand onto his chest and feel the steady beat of his heart against my palm, matching the rhythm of my own racing pulse.
When we finally pull apart, both of us are a little breathless, and I can see the playful glint in his eyes. “If you’re not careful,” he teases, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks, “we might miss the concert.”
There’s a lightness in his tone, but beneath it, I can feel the depth of his warning, the way last night shifted something between us. I laugh softly, the sound filled with a mix of relief and happiness. “Well, we wouldn’t want that,” I reply, my voice tinged with the same playful energy. “Although, if I was going to miss Halestorm for anyone, it would definitely be you.”
Owen’s smile widens, and he leans in for one more quick kiss, his lips warm and reassuring against mine. “Ditto,” he says with a wink. “But I know how much you’ve been looking forward to this concert, so let’s get you out of here before you end up ass up with your face in a pillow.”
“Halestorm, who?” I tease, pretending to pull him toward the house.
His smile evolves into a soft chuckle. “As tempting as that sounds, dollface, I think we’d both regret missing tonight.”
“Speak for yourself,” I pout even though he’s right. I’ve been waiting a long time for this concert, and I love that I get to spend it with him.
“Tsk, tsk, my pretty Kitty. There’s plenty of time for that later.” He guides me toward the truck and reaches out to open the passenger door, and I can’t help but admire his movements.
“Okay, okay,” I say, lifting my hands in mock surrender. “Let’s go to the fairgrounds before I change my mind.”
As I slide into the seat, I catch a glimpse of the signatures on my red Converse and a smile tugs at my lips. The memories of the last concert rush back, and I can’t help but feel a sense of excitement.
Owen rounds the truck, grinning as he gets into the driver’s seat. He leans over to me to give me one more kiss before starting the engine. The truck roars to life, and soon, we’re heading down the gravel driveway, the excitement between us growing with every mile. The evening sun dips lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over everything as we drive toward the fairgrounds, ready to lose ourselves in the music and in each other.
The fairgrounds are alive with the hum of conversation, the distant rumble of motorcycles, and the scent of grilled food mingling with the faint sweetness of hay and freshly cut grass. Overhead, the sky deepens into twilight, a canvas painted in rich hues of indigo and violet, as the day slowly gives way to the night.
Owen is beside me, a steady presence whose warmth seeps into me with every touch. His hand rests lightly on the small of my back, his fingers occasionally brushing against my skin, sending little sparks of warmth through my body. There’s an intimacy between us now, something that wasn’t there before last night—a connection that feels deeper, more profound. It’s like the air between us is charged with something electric, something that makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
I sneak a glance up at him, my heart doing little flips at the sight of his relaxed smile. His eyes catch mine, and there’s something in them that makes me feel seen, truly seen, like he’s looking at me and seeing everything that I am, everything that I’ve been through, and still choosing to stay. Last night changed things, not just the way we touch but the way we look at each other, like there’s this unspoken understanding, a shared secret that binds us in ways words can’t describe.
As we walk, I take in the crowd around us—leather jackets, band tees, and the occasional flash of brightly colored hair. It’s a mixed group, people from all walks of life, drawn together by their love for the music that’s about to fill the air. The ground beneath our feet is a mix of dirt and gravel, crunching underfoot as we move closer to the stage where the band will perform. The excitement is palpable, a collective anticipation that makes the air buzz.
Before we get too close, Owen suddenly veers off toward one of the merch booths. “Hold on a sec,” he says, pulling me along with a playful grin.
“What are you up to?” I ask, curious as he sifts through a rack of t-shirts.
He picks one out, a black Halestorm tee with the cover art from the band’s first album splashed across the front, and holds it up for me to see. “How about this one, babe?”
I laugh, touched by the gesture. “It’s perfect.”
Without another word, he hands the vendor some cash and passes me the shirt. I pull it on over my tank top right then and there, grinning up at him as I adjust the fit.
With the new shirt clinging comfortably to me, we continue our way toward the stage. I can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement, not just for the concert but for the fact that I’m here with Owen, sharing this moment with him. It’s like everything that’s happened between us has been leading to this—this night, this concert, this feeling of being completely in the moment with someone who makes me feel like I’m more than just the sum of my past mistakes.
But then, I see him.
Adam.
The sight of him hits me like a punch to the gut, making me stop dead in my tracks. He’s standing near one of the food trucks, his arm casually draped around the waist of a tall, curvy brunette with glasses that I recognize from around town. She was a year ahead of Adam and Taylor in high school so we never went to school together–Katie. She’s laughing at something he’s said though I can’t hear them from where we are standing. The sight of him leaves me feeling paralyzed because I know he’s going to start problems as soon as he sees us.
Owen senses the shift in me and he presses his hand to the small of my back.
“What is it, babe? What’s wrong?”
I swallow, trying to shake off the icy grip of the past that’s creeping over me. “It’s Adam,” I mutter, nodding toward him, my voice barely above a whisper. Just saying his name feels like reopening a wound I thought I’d finally healed. “He’s by the food trucks. The one in the black shirt standing next to the brunette with glasses.”
Owen’s dark eyes flick in the direction of the food trucks, his jaw tightening. There’s a pause, and I can feel Owen turn his eyes back to me, protective and steady. He doesn’t say anything more, just gives a slight nod, and I’m grateful for it. I don’t want to talk about Adam right now. I don’t want him to have any more space in my mind than he already does.
But of course, the universe has other plans.
As if on cue, Adam’s eyes lock onto mine from across the fairgrounds. I see his expression shift–his jaw clenches, and the lighthearted conversation he was having with Katie and the people around him vanishes in an instant. My pulse quickens and I can feel the knots forming in my stomach. His gaze moves to Owen’s hand on my back, and the calculating cold look I know all too well takes over his face. The look has always made me feel small.
Adam stalks toward us, dragging Katie along without a second thought. She has a confused expression on her face as he jerks her away from whatever conversation she’d been having. Owen squeezes my hand three times as he takes a small step forward, putting himself between Adam and me, tense and prepared.
“I’ve got you, dollface,” Owen says, his voice low and calm, but there’s an edge to it now.
Adam’s stride is fast and purposeful–as if he’s on a mission to destroy my night. “Callie!” Adam shouts, his voice clipped as he steps away from Katie. “What the fuck are you doing here? Where is Sara? You’re supposed to be with her.” Now that he’s closer, I realize that he’s wearing a security shirt which means he was hired to help at the event. Fucking perfect. Adam knows Halestorm is one of my favorite bands. I can’t help but think he took the gig just to spite me.
Before I can respond, Owen takes a step forward, his presence commanding but calm. “You want to try that again, bud?” Owen asks, his voice steady and controlled, but there’s no mistaking the warning behind his words. It’s then I notice that we’ve gained an audience. God damn it, if we get kicked out of here, I’m going to be devastated. For so many reasons.
Adam’s gaze flicks from Owen back to me, his nostrils flaring. He’s taller, broader than Owen. But there’s something in Owen’s stance–solid and unyielding–that gives Adam pause. There’s no intimidation in Owen’s expression, just a quiet, protective resolve that makes it clear he won’t back down.
“She’s with Taylor,” I finally manage to say, my voice steady despite the twisted anxiety making my chest feel tight. “I’m allowed to have a night out too, Adam.”
Adam’s eyes narrow, a sneer creeping across his face as he sizes up Owen. “This your new thing, Callie? Letting someone else handle your responsibilities?” he jabs.
Owen’s voice cuts in again, cool and firm. “She doesn’t owe you an explanation.”
The tension is thick, and the air around us is heavy. Adam glares at Owen, his hands balling into fists at his sides, but Owen doesn’t flinch. He stands unwavering, and I can feel the weight of his stance like a shield between me and everything Adam is trying to stir up.
Adam’s eyes glance between Owen and me, and I can already feel the tension rising. Before things escalate further, Owen takes another small step forward, his posture relaxing but still protective. He extends his hand, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he makes the gesture. His jaw is clenched, and I can tell he’s working to stay calm, yet there’s a glimpse of something more sinister in his gaze—a possessiveness I definitely don’t mind.
I never thought I could be more attracted to this man, but his protective nature is definitely intensifying my connection to him .
“Let’s try this again,” Owen says, his voice steady but firm, the unspoken edge of authority clear. “I’m Owen. Nice to meet you,” he says, his tone laced with sarcasm.
Adam looks at Owen’s hand for a beat too long, his expression hardening as if he’s deciding whether to take the olive branch or twist it. He finally accepts the handshake, but there’s nothing friendly about it. His eyes narrow as they land on the sunglasses Owen hasn’t removed, despite the sun dipping below the horizon.
“A little late for shades, don’t you think?” Adam’s tone is pointed, a subtle challenge wrapped in casual words.
Owen doesn’t flinch. “I wear my sunglasses at night,” he shrugs, and the nod to the Corey Hart song has me fighting back a laugh. “Bright lights,” he quips, his voice calm but tinged with a toughness, like steel encased in velvet. Owen’s words carry no apology or respect for the man who is still technically my husband; instead, there’s a quiet confidence that I have grown to admire immensely.
“Look,” he continues, his voice steady but firm, “we don’t have to make this difficult. Maybe we can find a way to get along. And maybe you can learn to check your tone while we’re at it.”
Adam’s eyes flick toward me before slowly moving back to Owen. The sneer on his face grows. “Right,” Adam says, “I’m sure we have so much in common.” His gaze shifts toward me again, making the insinuation all too clear.
The implication hits like a slap, sending a rush of anger and disbelief surging through me. How dare he? The sheer arrogance of his words makes my blood boil. Adam’s always known how to cut deep, to twist the knife in ways that make me question myself, but not tonight. Tonight, I won’t let him have that power over me. Not with Owen here. Not anymore .
Heat rises in my chest as memories of all the times Adam made me feel small rush to the surface. My anger is right there, ready to spill over, but Owen’s presence beside me pulls me back. He doesn’t even blink at Adam’s dig, doesn’t let it get to him. Instead, he stays calm, so composed that I almost wonder how he’s keeping it together. But I can feel the tension radiating off him, like he’s a spring wound tight, ready to snap.
Owen draws in a sharp breath, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low and deliberate, each word clipped. “You treated her like garbage. I treat her like the goddess she is. We are not the same.”
And now I’m officially a puddle for this man. No one has ever shown up for me like this.
The weight of his words hangs in the air, and for a moment, everything feels suspended. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat louder than the last. Adam’s face twists as he processes the insult, his jaw working furiously as if he’s trying to swallow the bitter pill Owen just handed him. It’s like he can’t quite believe someone would stand up to him like this—especially not in front of me.
I glance at Owen, feeling the deep sense of gratitude well up inside me. He’s not just defending me; he’s dismantling every lie Adam has ever told me about myself. Every cruel word, every time he made me feel like I wasn’t enough–Owen’s obliterating it all with a single sentence.
But Adam’s silence only lasts for a heartbeat. I can see the fury building in him, the way his nostrils flare and his fists tighten at his sides. He’s calculating his next move, gearing up for another hit.
Before Adam can get a word out, I step forward, my patience hanging by a thread. My voice comes out sharper than I meant. “Katie, may the odds be ever in your favor.” The words slip out with more bite than I expected, but I don’t regret them. She has no idea what she’s getting into.
I turn to Owen, my hand slipping back into his as I force myself to breathe, trying to steady the storm of emotions churning inside me. “Owen, let’s go. I want to check out the merch booth,” I lie, my voice tight but determined. I need to put distance between us and Adam before the situation escalates further.
As we walk away, my heart is still racing, but Owen’s hand in mine is a lifeline. He gives me a reassuring squeeze, his thumb gently brushing over my knuckles as if to remind me that I’m safe now—that Adam’s words no longer hold the power they once did. And in that moment, I realize something important: I’ve finally broken free of the hold Adam had on me. Not because of Owen, but because I’ve chosen to be with someone who lifts me up instead of tearing me down.
I don’t wait for a response, just turn on my heel and lead Owen away, my heart pounding in my ears. The tension in Owen’s body is palpable, but I squeeze his hand, trying to ease some of it, trying to remind him—and myself—that Adam doesn’t get to have any power over us. He squeezes mine back three times in response.
“That could’ve gone worse,” I say, my voice light but laced with the remnants of adrenaline. I try to shake off the encounter, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of Owen’s footsteps beside me, the way his thumb traces soothing circles on the back of my hand.
Owen chuckles, though it’s a bit strained. “I didn’t take him for the type to get worked up over sunglasses.”
“Yeah, well, Adam has his own set of rules,” I reply, rolling my eyes as the tension slowly starts to drain from my body. “But don’t worry about it. He’s just being territorial. ”
Owen slows down, pulling me gently to the side, out of the main flow of people. The crowd surges around us, a wave of noise and movement, but in this little bubble, it’s just the two of us. He tilts my chin up, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks, his voice soft but firm, like he’s ready to fight my battles if I’d just let him.
I nod, this time more convincingly. “I’m fine, really. I just—” I pause, taking a deep breath, the cool evening air filling my lungs. “I just want to enjoy this night with you.”
His expression softens, the edges of his mouth curling into that smile that makes my heart do funny things. He leans down, pressing a kiss to my forehead, the warmth of his lips lingering long after he pulls away. “Then let’s do that.”
We continue walking, the encounter with Adam fading into the background as the excitement of the concert starts to take over again. The energy in the air is infectious, a collective anticipation that makes the ground seem to pulse beneath our feet. By the time we reach the stage area, the sky has darkened completely, and the lights on the stage cast a glowing halo over the sea of heads in front of us.
The first chords of Here’s to Us tear into the night, a raw, powerful sound that sends a thrill straight through me. The crowd erupts, and I lose myself in the music, in the pounding rhythm that seems to sync with the beat of my heart. Owen is beside me, his presence grounding me even as the music lifts me up, and for a moment, it’s like the whole world falls away, leaving just the two of us and the music that fills the space between. The surge of the crowd, the lights flashing in time with the beat, the raw energy of Lzzy Hale’s voice—it all wraps around us, creating a cocoon of sound and emotion.
The lyrics of the song resonate in my chest, each word striking a chord deep inside me. It’s a song about survival, about celebrating the highs and lows, the moments that define us, and the ones we choose to leave behind. I glance at Owen, and I know he feels it too—the connection, the unspoken promise that no matter what happens, we’ll face it together.
There’s a moment during the chorus when Owen turns to me. In the dim, flickering light, I see something in his eyes that sends a shiver down my spine. It’s like he’s trying to tell me something without words, something that’s been building between us since the night we first met. I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers with his, and he squeezes back, the warmth of his touch spreading through me like a promise.
As the song crescendos, the crowd sings along, voices rising in unison, and I feel like I’m part of something bigger, something more than just a concert. I’m part of this moment, this connection between me and Owen, and the thousands of people around us who are all here for the same reason—the love of music, the celebration of life, the shared experience that makes us feel alive.
When the song ends, the crowd roars its approval, and I find myself breathless, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. I turn to Owen, laughing, my heart pounding in time with the fading beat. “That was amazing!”
A few songs later, It’s Not You begins, and I can’t help but laugh at how fitting it is. The opening riff tears through the crowd, and before I know it, I’m screaming the lyrics at the top of my lungs, letting the music and words fuel me. The song’s energy surges through me, and I can’t help but think of how perfect the lyrics are for tonight’s run-in with Adam.
I glance at Owen and laugh, knowing he’s watching me jam out with a smile on his face. It’s cathartic, freeing even, to let go and belt the words with zero restraint, being exactly who I want to be, not worried about what Owen might think of my own little concert I’m throwing myself.
Between songs, Owen turns to me, his grin wide, eyes sparkling with the same exhilaration that’s coursing through me. His gaze lingers, warm and full of something deeper than just excitement. “Watching you let go is beautiful,” he says, his voice soft but filled with admiration. “And I have to say, you look damn good in that shirt.”
His words send a flutter through my chest. I glance down at the Halestorm tee he bought me earlier, feeling a sudden rush of warmth—not just from the memory of him picking it out, but from what it represents. It’s such a simple thing, a band tee, but right now it feels like a symbol of this night, of us. Of everything that’s beginning between us. Something new, something more than just surface-level attraction. I look back up at him, feeling my heart swell. “Thanks. I think I’ll keep it.”
“You better,” he teases, his voice dipping just enough to make my pulse quicken as he pulls me closer. There’s a moment, the world blurring around us, where it’s just his warmth against me, the sound of the crowd fading as I lose myself in the weight of what’s passing between us. His arm tightens around my waist, and I feel it again—that unspoken connection, as if every beat of the music is pulling us even closer together.
As the band transitions into their next song, we fall back into the energy of the crowd, the pulse of the music weaving around us like a spell. I let myself get lost in it, in the pounding rhythm and raw power of the performance, but even as I do, I’m aware of Owen beside me, anchoring me in a way that feels so right. It’s not just about the music anymore; it’s about this—us. It’s a perfect night, the kind that fills you up and leaves you feeling like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. A sense of fullness settles over me, and I know I’m not just experiencing the concert; I’m experiencing something bigger—this connection that hums between us, undeniable and strong .
The band takes a break, and as the crowd begins to disperse a bit, I notice a small line forming near the side of the stage. My heart skips a beat as realization hits. “Owen, they’re signing stuff!”
The excitement in my voice pulls a grin from him, wide and genuine. He looks down at me, his eyes full of that same infectious energy, like he’s ready to share in whatever makes me happy. “Let’s go, then,” he says, nodding toward the line.
His words are simple, but they mean more than that. It’s the way he’s always there, right beside me, ready to dive into whatever moment comes our way. And as we make our way toward the line, I can’t help but think about how easy this is with him—how natural it feels to be with someone who sees me, who lifts me up and doesn’t hesitate to be a part of my world. My heart flutters, and I know—this night isn’t just about the music. It’s about us, and this incredible thing that’s building between us.
We join the queue, and I can barely contain my giddiness as we get closer to the front. When it’s finally my turn, I am excited to see they have the gold Sharpie markers on the table and ask the band to sign my new shirt. The drummer notices my shoes and I’m thrilled to death when he says that he remembers signing those a couple years ago.
The band members smile, taking in the shoes and continuing to sign the shirt on my back. Lzzy Hale gives me a wink as she hands her bandmate the marker. “Rock on, girl.”
When I turn back to Owen, he’s watching me with this look—one that sends warmth flooding through me, making my heart flip. It’s not just the admiration in his eyes, it’s something deeper, like he’s truly seeing me. All of me. The way he looks at me, it’s as if I’m the only person in the world right now, like I’m worth more than I ever believed I could be.
No one has ever looked at me like this .
“Best weekend ever,” I say, the words coming from somewhere deep inside, a place that feels full and complete. I mean every word. There’s something about tonight, about us, that feels like it’s all clicking into place. Like this is exactly where I’m meant to be.
“Definitely,” he agrees, his voice soft but thick with meaning. He pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me in a way that makes me feel safe, cherished. His breath brushes my ear, sending a shiver down my spine as he leans in. “Now, let’s get you home so I can worship that pretty little pussy and show you what a goddess you really are.”
His words are raw, but they hit me in a way that makes my heart race, a thrill coursing through me. It’s not just the heat in his voice, it’s the way he says it—like he’s been waiting all night for this, like I’m the only one who can make him feel this way. I can feel the tension between us, the kind that pulls tighter with every second we stand there, the weight of his words making my pulse quicken. A flush creeps up my neck, but there’s no embarrassment in it—just anticipation. He makes me feel wanted, like I’m something to be adored, and it’s a feeling that wraps around me, making my skin tingle.
This is more than just desire. It’s connection, it’s intimacy, it’s the way he sees me, the way he makes me feel like no one else ever has.
The drive back home is filled with a quiet, electric anticipation. The memory of Owen’s words lingers in the air between us, wrapping around me, heating my skin. Every glance he steals, every slight touch of his hand on my thigh as he drives sends my thoughts spiraling. I can feel the tension building with each passing mile, the promise of what’s to come hanging in the space between us like a heavy, intoxicating cloud.
By the time we pull up to my house, my pulse is already racing. Owen cuts the engine, his eyes locking onto mine as if he’s been waiting for this moment all night. The air between us shifts, charged and thick with desire. There’s a silence that hangs for a beat, both of us knowing what’s coming next.
Once we’re inside, the door barely clicks shut before Owen’s hands are on me, pulling me against him. His lips crash against mine, fierce and hungry, as if the tension has finally snapped. My back presses against the wall, his body heat surrounding me, every inch of him making my skin tingle. The kiss is full of promise, full of everything he said earlier, and it sends a rush of heat straight through me.
“I’ve been waiting all night for this,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear as he trails kisses down my neck, each one sending a jolt of electricity through me. His hands slide over my hips, lifting me slightly as I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist.
“Owen…” My voice is a breathless whisper, barely holding back the anticipation that’s been building all evening.
“I told you I’d worship you, didn’t I?” His voice is low, a rumble that vibrates against my skin, full of that same possessiveness that makes my heart race. He carries me toward the bedroom, every step deliberate, as if he’s savoring the control, knowing that he’s about to make good on every word he promised.
We reach the bed, and he lays me down with such reverence, as if I’m something sacred. His hands glide over my skin, pushing up my shirt, exposing my belly, my chest. His touch is slow and deliberate, as if he’s memorizing every inch of me.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, his lips grazing over the swell of my belly, kissing every exposed inch of skin with a gentleness that makes me melt. He works his way down, his kisses trailing lower, leaving a path of heat in their wake. I can feel the anticipation building, my body responding to every brush of his lips, every glide of his fingers.
And then he’s there, between my legs, pulling off my clothes with a deliberate slowness that has me nearly trembling. His eyes lock onto mine, and the intensity of his gaze holds me captive. His desire for me is plain as day. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of my thigh, his hands gripping my hips as he leans in, his breath hot against my skin.
He doesn’t break eye contact as he murmurs, “Let me show you how a goddess is meant to be worshipped.”
His mouth finds me, and the first touch of his tongue sends a shockwave through my body. I arch into him, my hands fisting the sheets as a moan escapes my lips. He begins slowly, teasing and taking his time, his tongue delivering deliberate strokes that leave me dizzy with pleasure. It’s almost too much, the way he’s lavishing attention on me, like he’s determined to worship every inch of me the way he promised.
I’m lost in it, in him, the way he’s making me feel like I’m the only thing that matters, the way every touch, every kiss, feels like he’s pouring everything he has into me. My whole body is on fire, the tension winding tighter with every flick of his tongue, every gentle graze of his fingers against my skin.
“Owen,” I gasp, the heat building to a point where I can barely stand it. My body is trembling, every nerve alight, my hands reaching for him, needing more, needing him.
And just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he pushes me over the edge, the tension snapping as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me. My body arches off the bed, his name a breathless cry on my lips as I come undone beneath him.
As I regain my senses, Owen hovers above me, eyes filled with desire and a satisfied grin playing at his lips. He bends down, placing a gentle kiss on my mouth, and I can taste myself on him, the lingering heat between us still palpable.
“You taste so fucking good,” he whispers, his voice husky as he pulls me close, wrapping me in his arms. His breath is warm against my neck as he murmurs, “And I’m nowhere near finished with you yet.”