22. Delia
Owen and I talked late into the night, both of us falling asleep without ever deciding to do so. An undercurrent of sexual tension pulsed through the entire interaction, every touch heightened, every glance setting my skin on fire. It scared me, how much I wanted him, how badly I wanted to shove him back into the couch cushions, straddle his lap, and have my way with him. But in the same way I wouldn’t want anyone to touch me after an emotional purging like the one he’d endured, I refused to let us go there. For his sake and mine, I wanted us both clear-headed when we took that final step.
Still, when I woke the next morning wrapped in the cocoon of his body, I felt safe. Cherished. Like a woman worthy of this man who had absolutely no idea how good he was. I was officially making it my job to remind him of that, to make him see himself the way I did. Even if another part of me practically begged on her knees in my mind to let him fuck me.
Shifting slightly, I pulled back enough to look at him. His brow was smoothed in sleep, his hair sticking up in a thousand different directions, his full mouth slightly parted, each exhale blowing light puffs of air against my forehead. I grinned as I buried my face against his chest again, not wanting to get up quite yet.
Only, Owen’s alarm had other ideas.
“Nooooo,” he groaned sleepily, his arms wrapping tighter around me. “Do we have to?”
“I’m afraid so, QB,” I said. “Or did you forget you have to get all pretty and have your picture taken today? And then we’ve got the charity gala tonight!”
The trip to New York had been fortuitous on that front, allowing Owen to accept an invitation to a charity function supporting at-risk youth across the country. I’d never known that particular struggle myself, and I knew Owen hadn’t either, but with platforms as large as ours, we couldn’t in good conscience not support something so underfunded and vital to the survival of our society.
Owen’s hand swept down my spine, his fingers sinking into my ass hard enough that I yelped as he growled, “Don’t call me pretty.”
“Don’t grab my ass.”
His eyes flew open, and apparently I’d faked discomfort better than I thought, because his hand was gone in an instant.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, trying to snake his other arm out from beneath my body. “I wasn’t thinking.”
I locked my fingers into the front of his shirt to hold him still, to keep him near, a laugh bursting free. “I was joking, QB. I kinda like it when you get all possessive and squeeze my ass like that.”
Owen made a deep, low sound in the back of his throat that rumbled over my entire body. Once again, his palm settled over one of my cheeks, the tips of those long, thick fingers lightly digging into the bare flesh around my underwear. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Whiskey.”
“Why not?” I asked, my voice going breathy as my heart rate sped.
He responded by sliding his hand down to the back of my thigh and hooking it over his hip, slipping his own between my legs. A breath away from my core, the insistent throbbing of my pulse in my clit begged for friction. The hard length of his cock pressed between us, and my mouth went dry. Even through his boxer briefs, his size was evident.
Fuck, how badly I wanted to shed my panties, pull his shorts down, and shift until he could slide inside me. It was obvious he wanted me equally as bad.
“We don’t have time for all the things I plan to do to you.”
His words sent a shiver through me, goosebumps raising on my skin, and his answering chuckle was nothing short of wicked.
Before I did something rash like make him prove it, I shoved hard on his chest, his hold on me breaking and sending me tumbling off the couch to the floor. I was back on my feet in an instant, collecting my clothes and rushing to the door and out into the hall, Owen’s dark laugh following me the whole way.
I thought distance from Owen during the photoshoot would quell the desire coursing through my veins .
That was before I realized said photoshoot would vastly consist of him being shirtless and posing in underwear that hugged his ass and…other things.
It all started out innocent enough. They had him pose in an array of tops and pants, tugging up the hem of a tee up here and there to display the iconic waistband of the brand’s underwear, offering me tantalizing glimpses of his abdomen.
At one point, he’d donned a cowboy hat, jean jacket, and those favored pair of scuffed boots he wore everywhere, and I swore I got pregnant in that moment. It was so easy to imagine him exactly like that on the Lawless Ranch instead of the set, his skin golden brown and glistening with sweat under the sun instead of the bright artificial lighting.
This was yet another place where Owen slipped into a new persona seamlessly, but it didn’t bother me as much as it would have before. After last night, I had a clearer picture of who he was beneath the many hats he wore, and I had to admit— that man, the one with demons and scars he tried so hard to keep from everyone, was just about the sexiest thing I’d ever laid eyes on.
I was falling harder for him every day.
Especially when he disappeared behind a curtain and emerged moments later clad in nothing but black boxer briefs, exactly like the ones he always wore. I wondered if he received a lifetime supply or if he loved them so much he bought them in bulk.
Either way, the man was a goddamn specimen, with every muscle on his large body perfectly defined, honed from years of hard work and showing no signs of softening. I must’ve made an audible sound at all that skin on display, unable to tear my eyes away from his pecs and the sandy hair that dusted them and the valley between, because one of the assistants standing nearby nudged me with an elbow.
“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?”
“Easily the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on,” I agreed.
“Are you his girlfriend?” she asked, and I didn’t miss the annoyance that tinged her words.
“No,” I said, which wasn’t technically a lie. Although, I wouldn’t mind that label. I wouldn’t mind a lot of things where he was concerned. “His business partner.”
“What kind of business?”
“We’re opening a distillery back in Michigan,” I said. “He invited me out here with him to do some market research and get some inspiration for our design scheme. I’m just tagging along to this,” I added, swinging my arms around at the space, which was actually a mostly empty apartment on the third floor of an industrial building.
“That’s cool,” she said, though her tone implied she felt the opposite.
From my peripheral, I studied her as best as I could. She was a few inches shorter than me, with wispy blonde hair, high cheekbones, and porcelain skin.
My best guess was that she’d rather be the one in front of the camera, but something prevented her from doing so. As an assistant to the photographer, I assumed she felt some sort of ownership over the models and other celebrities that came across her path. I could easily imagine her getting off work, going out for drinks with her girlfriends, and spilling all the tea—maybe even making up little scenarios of things that never happened to make herself look and feel more important while those friends gushed over her.
All that to say, I didn’t appreciate the way she’d been glued to my hip since Owen and I arrived, like I was an interloper here.
And okay, maybe I was. But that man? The one currently sprawled out on crisp white bed sheets while the photographer hovered over him, the shutter on his camera going wild?
He. Was. Mine.
When shooting paused for a moment so Owen could change into different underwear, these ones bright orange with the logo printed in black on the band, I stepped away from the assistant to move closer to the action.
Owen must’ve clocked me, because he glanced up as I approached, shooting me a smirk as my eyes once again strayed to his chest.
“Like what you see, Whiskey?”
I shrugged, the portrait of nonchalance. “Not bad for an old man.”
“He has aged like fine wine,” the photographer, an obvious Frenchman by his accent, said as he fiddled with his camera, switching out one lens for another. He looked up at me then, eyes widening. “Who are you?”
I pointed a finger into the center of my chest. “Me?”
“Yes, darling,” he said, stepping closer, his gazing sweeping me from head to toe. It wasn’t lecherous or uncomfortable. It was simply an artist examining a subject. “Who are you ?” He pointed at Owen, who watched us curiously. In fact, everyone in the room had their attention on us. It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. “ Do you know him?”
“He’s my business partner,” I said, anxiety flaring in my chest. What was with the third degree?
“Partners? Ah, but that is perfect!” He clapped his hands together excitedly, like a child being presented with his favorite treat. “Sonya, we brought women’s wear, yes?”
“Yes, sir,” the woman who’d been speaking to me earlier said, rushing up to join our little powwow. “But surely you can’t…” She trailed off, cutting me a glare, as though she didn’t want to finish what was surely about to be a rude comment right in front of me.
Because doing it behind my back was so much better.
“I can,” the photographer said vehemently. “And I will.” He turned to me again. “What is your name?”
“Delia,” I said. “Delia Delatou.”
“Delia Delatou and Owen Lawless,” he sing-songed. “A match made in heaven. I am Felix Alain, and I am quite pleased to meet you.”
“You as well,” I said, a bit dumbstruck as I shook his proffered hand. “But…what exactly is happening?”
“Oh, my dear, you are too cute,” he said, tapping my nose with his pointer finger. “You’re going to feature in this ad campaign with Owen!”
“I’m going to what ?” I asked, incredulous. “But I’m not a model!”
“Neither am I,” Owen reminded me. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”
“ Fun ? I’ve never done this before, QB! I have no idea what I’m doing!”
Owen prowled toward me, his steps tentative, as though he expected me to bolt at any second. Truthfully, I considered it, but then he was in front of me, settling those big hands on my shoulders. The man had no right to be so commanding dressed in only underwear.
“You can do this,” he assured me. “You take photos all day long. So pretend you’re one of your subjects. Felix Alain here is going to make this as painless as possible for us.” He stared deep into my eyes, imploring. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course,” I said without hesitation.
“Good,” Owen grinned. “I promise it’ll be okay. Plus, I’ve always thought you were too hot to be hiding behind the camera. This is your moment to shine.”
I couldn’t help but choke out a laugh, the knot of nerves in my chest unraveling and melting away instantly. Heaving a deep sigh, I nodded. I could do this.
With Owen at my side, I could do anything.
On shaky legs, I followed a petulant Sonya to a bedroom in the back corner of the apartment. Unceremoniously, she threw a bra and panty set onto the bed and chirped at me to get dressed before leaving the room again.
I quickly stripped out of my clothing, goosebumps raising on every inch of my exposed skin as I stepped into the intimates. The bra was lightweight cotton with a scoop neck that matched the same orange of Owen’s shorts. There was a wide, white band across the bottom with the brand logo stitched in black, and the panties matched. Before leaving the room, I took a moment to twist and turn in the full body mirror resting on the floor in the corner, deciding I looked amazing. The bright fabric popped against my olive skin, the cut of the panties making my legs look miles long, my modest chest perked up in the sports bra. I felt sexy, and excited anticipation mixed with nerves pricked at my skin. I sent a silent prayer up to whatever unseen force nudged me to get an emergency wax and take an everything shower before this trip. As it was, everything below my waist was smooth as silk.
With a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped out into the bright living space.
Immediately, the hair and makeup team descended on me, running a brush through my mane and dabbing powder along my t-zone. Thankfully, I’d been blessed with dark, thick brows and lashes, and per Felix Alain’s instruction, I wasn’t allowed to wear any makeup but a little highlighter on my cheek and collarbones.
When I’d gone into the room to change, Felix Alain had been directing Owen toward a white leather chair, but when I stepped onto the set, the heat from the lights instantly warming my skin, Owen was once again positioned on the bed. He was in the center of it, upright on his knees, hands on his hips while he waited for me.
God, give the man a cape and he’d be a fucking superhero.
“You are breathtaking, my dear,” Felix Alain said, settling a hand on my lower back and ushering me deeper onto the set. “Now I want you to get up there next to Owen. With two of you, we are going less for sexy and more for sensual. Romantic. A couple waking up and lazing the morning away in bed. In fact…”
He trailed off, spinning and snapping his fingers at another assistant. “You. Get me one of the denim classic button downs for Miss Delatou.”
“I’ve got it!” Sonya shouted, rushing across the room and hurrying over with the shirt, unceremoniously throwing it at my head despite obviously wanting to get in Felix Alain’s good graces.
God, I wanted this to be over if only so I could get the hell away from her negative energy. I was already nervous enough, both at the thought of being on camera, posing for photos that would appear in an international ad campaign , and also over doing this with Owen. I’d barely kept my hands to myself this morning, and now I was being given permission to put them all over his chiseled body?
Lord help me.
I stuffed my arms into the denim shirt, grateful for the small amount of modesty it provided me. I wasn’t ashamed of my body in the slightest, but I’d never put it on display like that before. Where everyone in the room was watching me, analyzing me. Surely Sonya’s little brain was spinning, critiquing every inch of my skin.
My pulse reached cardiac event levels as I knelt on the bed and shuffled over to Owen, though the nerves instantly receded when I looked into his eyes. Their ocean depths were calming in a way that nothing else in my life was. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, Owen reached out, resting one hand on my hip, the other dragging the collar of the shirt back to reveal one strap of the bra, my bare shoulder, and my chest down to the barest hint of my ribs along my side. Distantly, I heard the shutter of the camera going off as Owen danced his fingertips across my exposed flesh.
Goosebumps raised in their wake, and I sucked in a breath.
“It’s just us, Whiskey,” he whispered. “Remember how you felt about me this morning? Just imagine we’re back there.”
Pretend? I could do that.
“I wanted you so badly.”
“Yeah?” he asked, voice rough. “What did you want from me exactly?”
My core turned molten, heat pooling between my legs. “I wanted you to move my panties to the side and slide your fingers through my pussy.”
Owen groaned, barely loud enough for me to hear. “Would you have been wet for me?”
“Soaked,” I breathed. “And I wanted you to kiss me.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to let me.”
Then he moved until his lips were centimeters away, until my exhales became his inhales, until a simple, slight shift forward from me would have us locked together.
But not here. I didn’t want that first time to be in front of a crowd of people, all of whom were being paid to watch our every move.
Still, the world had melted away so completely as we cocooned ourselves inside that bubble that I practically jumped three feet in the air when Felix Alain’s voice rang out.
“Are you sure you two are not more than business partners?” he crowed. “My camera is on fire! This is going to be a wildly successful campaign, I can feel it. These photos are…” He pinched his fingers together and brought them to his mouth, pulling them away with a “muah!” “ C’est magnifique !”
“I’m sure,” I croaked, and Owen only smirked.
“Well, you should be,” Felix Alain said. “The way you two look at each other? The chemistry? It is explosive. ”
“One day,” Owen said, loud enough for everyone to hear, though his gaze never left mine. “One day she’ll be mine.”
I only smiled mildly. I wasn’t about to correct him—to tell him I already was.