8. Aurora
CHAPTER EIGHT
Aurora
A few drinks later, I was relaxed.
I hadn't planned on staying this long, but somehow, between the laughter, the teasing, and Owen making sure my drink was never empty, I lost track of time.
The girls—Lila, Samantha, and Morgan—had a way of making me feel like I belonged, and it was easier than I expected to just lean into it.
Samantha was wickedly funny, quick with sarcasm, and sharp observations. Morgan had a dry humor I appreciated, and Lila? Lila was the kind of person who made you feel like you’d been friends forever, even if you’d just met.
We were huddled at the table, half watching the game and half caught up in our own conversation, when Samantha nudged Lila with her elbow.
“Hey, speaking of high standards,” she said, eyes glinting with mischief, “how are things with your men?”
Lila’s mouth quirked up. “They’re good.”
My brows furrowed. “Your men?”
Lila glanced at me, then at Samantha, as if debating something. Finally, she shrugged. “Yeah. Colt, Jaxon, and Ryan.”
I blinked. “As in three men?”
Morgan snorted. “Oh, here we go.”
Lila didn’t seem offended. If anything, she looked amused. “Yep. Three.”
For a second, I thought I had misheard. Maybe she meant something else. But no. She was completely serious.
I tried to play it cool, taking a sip of my drink. “And you're all together?”
Lila nodded, the picture of ease. “Mmhmm.”
Samantha smirked. “She shocked you, didn’t she?”
I hesitated. “I mean… yeah. I’ve just never seen that before.”
Lila tilted her head, watching me. “I hadn't either. Not until them.”
Something about the way she said it, the quiet certainty in her voice, made my stomach do something strange.
Morgan leaned forward, propping her chin in her hand. “It’s kinda beautiful, actually.”
Lila hummed in agreement. “It is.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Because in all the ways I expected her to describe it, I didn’t think beautiful would be the word.
But looking at Lila, at the way her eyes softened when she talked about them and the family they had created. She seemed so sure of what she had that I believed her.
Samantha grinned at my expression. “It’s messing with your head, isn’t it?”
I let out a breath. “A little.”
Lila laughed. “That's okay. I get it. It’s not for everyone.”
I nodded slowly, still wrapping my head around it. But I couldn’t deny, something about it did sound wonderful.
And that thought?
It scared me more than I wanted to admit.
The night blurred in a haze of warmth, laughter, and the easy comfort of belonging. Something I hadn't expected.
But eventually, the bowling alley emptied, and reality settled back in.
Morgan and Samantha said their goodbyes, and Lila gave me a knowing smile before slipping off into the night. I watched her go, still thinking about what she’d said—about them —but I didn’t have the energy to unpack it right now.
Owen stood beside me, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.
“Come on,” he murmured. “I'll walk you home.”
I hesitated, then shook my head. “I’m not ready to go back to the inn.”
He studied me for a beat, then nodded, like he understood exactly what I meant. “Then come with me.”
I should have said no. Should have gone home, slept off the drinks, and pushed down the feelings clawing their way to the surface.
But instead, I followed him, ignoring all the reasons I had not to.
Owen’s apartment was above the garage at Grady's Auto, separate from the main building. It was small but cozy, all dark wood and warm lighting. Masculine, but not in an overdone way.
I took it in as he shut the door behind us, my fingers running over the edge of his kitchen counter.
“You live alone?” I asked.
He leaned against the doorframe, watching me. “Yeah.”
There was something in his stare, something unreadable but intense.
My heart stuttered, and suddenly, the space between us felt small .
“You want some water?” he asked, his voice rougher than before.
I shook my head. I didn’t want water.
I didn’t want anything but this .
I took a step forward.
So did he.
I wasn’t sure who moved first, but it didn’t matter.
One second, we were staring at each other, tension thick and unspoken. The next, his hands were on my waist, and his mouth was on mine.
The kiss was nothing like I expected. It wasn’t hesitant or soft. It was hungry, like he’d been holding back all night and finally decided to stop.
I let out a quiet gasp as his grip tightened, pulling me flush against him. His body was solid, warm, right .
He tasted like whiskey and something darker, something dangerous.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I should pull away.
But when his teeth scraped against my bottom lip, when his hands slid up my back, when he growled low in his throat.
I melted.
I dug my fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss, losing myself in the way he felt, the way he made me feel.
Wanted.
Desired.
Special.
And when I finally broke away, breathless and wide-eyed, he just stared at me, his chest rising and falling like he was barely holding himself together.
“Aurora,” he murmured, his voice wrecked.
I swallowed. “Yeah?”
He exhaled sharply, like he was deciding something. Then, slowly, his lips brushed against my forehead.
“Stay.”
And damn me.
Because I wanted to.
Owen stood there, watching me, his chest rising and falling in steady, deep breaths. His eyes—those stormy blue eyes—burned with something I wasn’t ready to name, something dark and smoldering.
Something that sent a shiver down my spine.
He was waiting.
Not pressuring. Not demanding. Just waiting for me to make the next move.
So I did.
I reached for the hem of my top, peeling it over my head and letting it drop to the floor.
Owen’s breath hitched. His gaze dragged over my bare skin, lingering on the lace of my bra, the curve of my waist. Jaw flexed, his hands twitched like he was fighting every instinct to grab me, to claim me.
I didn’t want him to hold back.
I stepped closer, closing the space between us until the heat of his body seeped into mine. Until my fingers traced the firm ridges of his stomach through his shirt.
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Aurora.”
I tipped my head up, brushing my lips over his jaw, his pulse hammering beneath my touch. “What?”
His control snapped.
With a growl, his hands finally found me, rough and sure as he gripped my waist and lifted me effortlessly onto the counter. My legs spread, and he stepped between them, his body pressing against mine, his heat sinking into every inch of me.
Then his mouth was on mine again, and this time, there was no hesitation.
His lips were demanding, his tongue sweeping inside, taking, exploring, owning. His hands roamed my body, sliding up my back, fisting in my hair, tilting my head so he could deepen the kiss until I was dizzy from it.
I moaned into his mouth, gripping the front of his shirt and yanking, desperate to feel his skin.
He tore it over his head, tossing it aside, and my breath hitched at the sight of him—lean muscle, firm chest, scars I wanted to trace with my tongue.
I bit my lip, my hands trailing over his skin, his body trembling under my touch.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick, raw. “You're driving me crazy.”
“Good,” I whispered, dragging my nails down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath me.
His hands moved to my thighs, his grip firm as he spread them wider, pulling me flush against him. I gasped when I felt him, hard and straining through his jeans, pressing right where I needed him.
Owen’s lips found my throat, sucking, biting, dragging down to my collarbone, my shoulder, the tops of my breasts. Each touch sent a spark of electricity through me, coiling low in my belly, setting every nerve on fire.
I arched against him, needing more.
“Tell me what you want, Aurora,” he rasped against my skin, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my jeans, teasing. “Tell me.”
I whimpered, rolling my hips against him, chasing friction. “You. I want you.”
That was all he needed.
In one swift motion, he unbuttoned my jeans, dragging them down my legs before his hands found my thighs again, spreading me open for him. His breath hitched as he took me in, his fingers ghosting over the lace between my legs, teasing, torturing.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured, eyes dark with hunger.
Then he was on his knees.
A sharp gasp escaped me as his mouth found the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, his tongue tracing lazy circles, teasing me with what was coming.
“Owen,” I breathed, my fingers tangling in his hair, tugging.
His smirk was wicked, full of promise. “Patience.”
And then his mouth was on me.
I cried out, my back arching, my legs trembling as he licked, sucked, devoured me like he was starving. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me still, his tongue flicking, teasing, until I was panting, writhing, desperate.
He worked me with ruthless precision, bringing me higher, closer, until pleasure coiled tight in my core, ready to snap.
“Owen,” My voice broke, my whole body tightening.
“Let go,” he commanded, his voice thick and rough. “Come for me, Aurora.”
And I did.
A sharp cry tore from my lips as pleasure crashed over me, wave after wave, his tongue never stopping, never easing, until I was shaking, breathless, spent.
Before I could catch my breath, Owen stood, his hands gripping my hips, dragging me to the edge of the counter.
“I need you,” he murmured, his voice ragged. “Now.”
I nodded, dazed. “Yes. Please.”
His lips crashed against mine as he unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them down just enough before he lifted me off the counter, wrapping my legs around his waist.
He pressed me against the wall, his breath hot against my neck, his body aligning with mine, and then…
He thrust inside me, stretching me, filling me, making me his.
A strangled moan escaped me as he buried himself deep, his grip tight, possessive. He stayed there for a moment, forehead resting against mine, his breath uneven, his body trembling.
“Fuck, Aurora,” he groaned. “You feel incredible.”
I whimpered again, rolling my hips, urging him on. “Owen, move.”
He did.
His rhythm was slow at first, teasing, making me feel every inch of him, every slow drag and deep thrust. But as I dug my nails into his back, urging him on, his restraint shattered.
He fucked me against the wall, hard and deep, each thrust hitting something devastating inside me. His name fell from my lips over and over, his grip tightening, his pace relentless, worshipful.
I was lost in him.
The way he held me. The way he moved inside me. The way he whispered my name like it was sacred.
And when I shattered again, clenching around him, dragging him over the edge with me, his groan was raw, broken, beautiful.