16. Zoe
CHAPTER 16
Zoe
I smile and wave at a few familiar faces as I head into the event room of the hotel. It’s been a long day of panels and lectures, but my conference has gone off without a hitch.
Some of the country's most brilliant minds and innovative experts in therapy are in attendance, and it’s been a productive day. I feel like I’ve learned more in the last eight hours than I have all year, and it’s been the perfect distraction after what happened with Gregory last week.
While I’m grateful the cat is happily living with me—Luna taking care of him while Owen and I are here in Charleston—I still can’t shake the foreboding feeling clinging to my skin. Spencer had crossed a line beyond harassment to downright threatening, and even though I reported it to Jim at the police station, I understood the limits of the law. Owen had been right, there isn’t a hell of a lot they can do without an actual crime being committed.
Which sucked, because it felt like tempting fate, waiting for Spencer to do something more drastic in order to get an arrest. It’s a shitty feeling, constantly analyzing and worrying, despite feeling safe with Owen at my side. But my conference is keeping me so busy, it’s a welcome distraction.
And now, after all the panels are completed, it’s nice to switch off for the day, heading toward my designated table where dinner will be served.
Owen follows behind me, never more than an arm’s length away, somehow looking as delightful as ever in a pair of black slacks and a black button-down, the top of his collar undone, showing off a peek of the ink that decorates his skin. I know he’s still carrying the gun, but he’s hidden it somewhere that isn’t obvious, likely so my guests don’t spot it and worry.
And beyond that, he looks content despite following me around all day, listening to lectures that pertain to my career field, not his.
“Still happy that you agreed to come with me?” I ask as we take our seats at a round eight top, a few other therapists and their guests seated around it.
Owen smiles softly at me. “Are you kidding me?” he asks. “Watching the way your brilliant mind works is one of my absolute favorite pastimes. I can't comprehend half of what all these experts were saying all day, but the way you speak on the subjects? The insight that comes out of that beautiful mouth of yours?” He lays a hand over his chest, breathing deeply. “Riveting.”
A giddy sensation bubbles beneath my skin, and there's no way I can stop the grin that shapes my lips. If it’d been anyone else, I might have called sarcasm, but I knew Owen well enough to know when he’s being serious, and the compliment sinks deep into my heart.
“I don't know how to thank you for what you just said,” I admit, taking a sip of my water.
“You don't have to,” he says with a shrug. “It's just facts.”
I study him as a server comes to our table, explaining the two meal options we have to choose from before taking our orders. I hate that there's still so much confusion about Owen and myself and what it is exactly that we're doing.
Not that I knew where we stood when we were texting as complete strangers, but now that we've been sleeping together? I can't help but wonder if that's all it is? That and the job he’s been hired to do?
My heart says no, but my brain—logical and analytical as it is—reminds me that we’ve never had any defining conversations.
And that's fair.
Honestly, this could be a convenience thing for Owen. His literal job is staying close to me to protect me. It’s a bonus that I happen to be physically and mentally attracted to him enough to sleep with him on the reg right?
That line of thinking leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and I know for a fact I'm not giving Owen enough credit.
I think it’s more fear putting awful thoughts in my head, but it's also my fear that's keeping me from asking him about it. He said it himself numerous times that his job has prevented him from having an actual relationship, and I understand why. Being gone for months at a time would hinder things, and just the thought of not seeing him for that long? It puts a heavy weight in my stomach.
The reality of that emotion brings me up short, and I do my best to ground myself in the present, listening to the idle chatter that the guest on Owen’s right has started up with him.
“What are the odds that I ended up at your table, Dr. Casson?” a familiar masculine voice says, drawing me out of my thoughts as he drops into the empty seat on my left.
I smile and shake my head, looking at my ex. “What are the odds, Dr. Katz?” I ask, doing my best not to roll my eyes. This is my event, and I’d made sure he’d been placed at a table far away from mine. He must’ve seen that earlier and swapped seats with someone.
“I can't be mad about it,” he says, leaning back in his chair as he looks me over. “What's it been? Five years?”
“Seven,” I correct him.
We dated in college for a year, and we'd ended things amicably. It’d never been ultra serious between us, but I could never get past his brand of humor, which included passive aggressively berating me for his own enjoyment.
“That's right,” he says, tapping the table. “I forget that you're always right.”
I do my best to give a fake laugh and sip my water, suddenly questioning my choice to allow him an invite to this conference. He was a prestigious therapist though, and it never felt right denying anyone access to this conference when so many skills could be sharpened and new ones learned from it.
Owen shifts next to me, likely hearing the fake laugh as his attention falls on me.
“Dr. Carl Katz,” Carl says as he reaches across the table, extending a hand toward Owen with a smug smile on his face that I'm not even sure he realizes he constantly wears. “And who are you to our Zoe?”
I shift awkwardly in my seat. I haven't been our anything to Carl in seven years. Where the hell does he get off?
Owen shakes his hand, glancing from me to Carl and back again before releasing his hand. “A friend,” he answers, shifting out of the way as the servers start to bring our dinner plates, setting them gently before us and thankfully breaking up some tension that has no business being here.
The rest of the table is still chatting around us, the entire event space filled with conversations and music that filters in through speakers positioned throughout the large space. There’s a makeshift dance floor, though all the previous dancers have returned to their tables now that food is being served. And I gratefully start taking bites of mine, anything to not acknowledge the sizing up that's happening between Carl and Owen. I roll my eyes, not understanding the competitiveness even a little bit.
“I was hoping I'd run into you,” Carl says after we've all eaten for a little while. He cuts into his steak again, taking a bite while eyeing me. “It's really been too long, Zoe. We should catch up.”
A laugh bursts from me, and I do my best to reel it in. “I'm sorry,” I say quickly, taking a drink of water. “I thought you were joking. We haven't spoken in seven years. I'm glad to see and hear you're doing well, but is there really more catching up we need to do?”
Owen is silent at my side, but shifts just slightly beneath the table, his thigh brushing mine. All my thoughts narrow to that touch, a heat pulsing through me that I hope no one else can see.
Carl smiles at me. “I'd say we have a lot to catch up on,” he says, reaching for his scotch, and from the way his eyes are glazed, I’m certain it's not his first. “We did have some marvelous times didn't we, Zoe?”
I furrow my brow. “College certainly was an interesting time,” I say, almost pitying him.
We were never that serious to each other, and never exchanged I love yous, but from the way he's acting you’d think we had. I suddenly wonder if the relationship he seemed so aloof about meant more to them him than he ever let on, but I'm equally grateful we parted on good terms.
There's no animosity here, just utter confusion. This man is a stranger to me now, but maybe his drinking combined with seeing a familiar face is making him nostalgic.
“More than interesting,” Carl says, finishing off his scotch and waving his empty drink to a passing server. “Some of the best times of my life really,” he says, and leans forward a little bit. “Time and distance can make you appreciate a thing. Like I said, I came here hoping to see you. Hoping to reconnect like we used to.”
I scoot back in my chair. The way he's leaning toward me is a little too close and the look in his eyes leaves nothing to the imagination about what kind of reconnecting he's referring to.
“Are you part of a practice now or do you run your own?” I ask, doing my best to steer the conversation to a strictly professional curiosity.
“Oh, don't be like that, Zoe,” Carl says, shaking his head and taking the refilled scotch from a server passing by. He takes another long drink. “There's no need to play acquaintance with me.” He leans closer still, his breath reeking of alcohol. He places his free hand on the table, leaning against the edge as if he needs it to steady himself. “There were times I knew the most private pieces of you,” he says, his voice a little lowered. His eyes fall to my breasts, the look lingering and making me feel like the simple black dress I wear is more revealing than it is. “Those are parts I'd love to get reacquainted with.”
He shifts closer, leaning harder against the table, his arm slipping from it enough that he almost topples into me.
Before I can move or react or even blink, Owen is up and around me, lifting Carl to his feet, holding him by the lapels of his suit jacket. “That's enough,” Owen says, his tone low and sharp.
Carl shifts against Owen’s hold, unable to break it. “Back off, man, you said you were her friend.”
“I am,” Owen says. “Which means you don’t get to fall on top of her because you’re wasted. Drink some water and sleep it off.”
“Fuck you,” Carl says. The scene is now drawing eyes of not only our table but the ones neighboring us. “I’ll go sleep it off.” Carl's eyes fall behind Owen and back to me. “With an old friend.”
Owen jerks Carl up a little bit harder, making him shake?—
“And we're done here,” I say, quickly rising from my chair and reaching for Owen's forearm, gripping it slightly.
Owen immediately releases Carl, stepping back at my urging, allowing me to interlace my fingers through his as I tug him away from the prying eyes of the event hall, down the hallway and into the elevator that will take us to our room.
Owen is silent the entire ride up, and even more stoic as we enter our hotel room. Every silent second winds me up that much more, and the second the door closes behind us, I whirl on him.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, my heart racing.
“It's my job to protect you,” Owen says, looking down at me with hardened blue eyes. “Not from him ,” I say, looking at him incredulously. “He's not a threat.”
“He almost knocked into you,” he counters in a growly tone. “I have instincts when it comes to you. I couldn’t just sit there?—”
“You looked like you were about to throw him into the table for merely speaking lewdly to me?—"
“I'm sorry,” Owen says shaking his head. “I didn't mean to embarrass you or your friend?—”
“He's nobody ,” I cut him off. “We dated for a little bit in college. I haven't seen or spoken to him in years. He’s not a friend and you didn't embarrass me.”
“Then why are you angry with me?”
“I'm not angry with you,” I say, and blow out a breath because I can see where he's coming from. The adrenaline crackling through my veins definitely hints at anger. “I just... I didn't want you to waste your energy on someone like him. Not when you have an actual person to worry about when it comes to protecting me.”
“I'm sorry, okay?” he says, pacing the length of the bed in the hotel room. “I overreacted.”
“Hey,” I say, a bit softer, putting myself in his path to stop his pacing. “Owen, I didn’t mean to upset you, I just didn’t want you to feel obligated over someone like him.”
“I didn’t react that way because of obligation or my job,” he says, drawing closer to me. “I reacted that way…because you feel like mine . And that's how I respond when someone I love is threatened.”
Lightning strikes through me at his words, a gasp whispering from my lips at the possessive declaration.
“Owen—"
“Fuck,” he cuts me off. “I shouldn't have said that.” A low growl rumbles in his chest. “Look, I've told you I’d be the worst person to get into a relationship with because of my job, but the idea of not being with you...” His voice trails off and he shakes his head.
Emotions rise and clash in my chest, my heart screaming at me to return the declaration, but my mind stomps the instinct.
It's still so soon between us, and despite the overwhelming feelings I have for this man, I can't possibly utter those words right now, can I?
Owen gently grips my chin, tipping my head to meet his gaze. “Did I ruin this night for you, Kitten? Did I ruin things between us?” There's an edge of desperation to his tone that only makes me melt for him that much more.
I shake my head, my voice still tangled beneath all of the combative emotions roaring inside me. “You didn't,” I finally say. “Promise.”
I slide my hands up his muscular chest, gripping his shirt and pulling him down to my level. I brush my lips over his, softly at first, then amping up with more intensity as his arms glide around my body and yank me to him.
“Owen,” I sigh between his kisses, my entire body shivering with warmth and a pulsing, aching need.
I kiss him harder, nipping at his bottom lip, and I'm rewarded with a growl and his powerful hands squeezing my ass in just the right way.
Yes. This is what we need. This is safer. My body can speak the words I can’t.
“Turn around, Kitten,” Owen says, his voice drenched in need and leaving no room for argument.
I turn liquid in an instant and I do as I'm told.
One of his hands brushes my hair over my shoulder while the other drags down the zipper of my dress, and then he's sliding it off my body, the kiss of fabric hissing against the floor as I step out of it.
I bend to remove my heels, but Owen stops me with a hand. “Leave the heels on,” he says, and a warm shiver skates down my back.
I hear him shuffle behind me, and seconds later a strong arm wraps around me from behind, dragging my spine against his chest as he looks down at me.
His other hand glides over my lace-covered breasts, over the softness of my stomach, dipping between my thighs to tease me over the lace there. He kisses my neck, his other hand at the base of my throat, tipping my head back to give him better access.
I’m a bundle of sensation, my mind and body completely in the present with every touch and kiss from him.
I rock into his touch, gasping as he moves the lace to the side and strokes me with his fingers. I'm a trembling, coiled mess of need, completely at the mercy of his touch.
He shifts behind me, hooking his fingers into my lace and dragging it down my legs, silently urging me to step out of it. I do, and shiver as he spins me around to face him, finding him delightfully bare as well.
His eyes are molten blue as he drags them over my body, not missing an inch as I unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor, now wearing nothing but the heels. His smirk turns devilish as he bends slightly, hefting me to his eye level until I have to lock my ankles around as back.
His kiss is hungry and passionate, and we’re a frenzy of tongues and lips and teeth as he walks us across the room, pressing me against the nearest wall without breaking our kiss.
“I want to feel those heels bite into my skin,” he growls against my mouth, shifting me to drag his hard cock through my sensitive heat.
I grip his shoulders, my thighs clenching around his hips in an attempt to get him right where I need him.
“Owen,” I say as he continues to tease me by dragging his thick head through my wetness. “Please,” I beg. “I need you.”
Another low rumble sounds from his chest, and he slants his mouth over mine at the same time he sinks his cock inside me to the hilt.
I moan against his lips, my body sparking with sensation at the way he fills me, stretches me.
He gives me a few moments to adjust, his hands gripping the globes of my ass before hefting me up, dragging himself out of me only to thrust home again.
I claw at his back, my heart racing as he pumps into me, slow and torturous, making me slick and needy as I gasp for breath.
“Owen, God, you feel so good,” I say, sliding my fingers into his hair, gripping it slightly as I cup his cheek with the other one. “Harder,” I demand, never losing his gaze. I want this man to consume me, to make me his just like he said. I may not be able to say the words back to him, but I want to show him how devoted I am to him.
His eyes flare, his grip on me tightening. “Hold on tight,” he says, and I clench my thighs, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders as I keep my eyes on his gorgeous face.
And then he unleashes himself on me, pumping into me hard and fast, every thrust, every connection pushing me right up to that sweet, sharp edge of release.
I’ve completely submitted to him, trusting him with every inch of my body, my pleasure, knowing he won’t let me down. It's the most cosmic type of connection and trust, something I've never experienced before I met him, and I am wholly addicted.
“Fucking take my cock so good,” he growls as he pounds into me, my pussy fluttering around him as my release crackles to life at the base of my spine. “Fucking made for me.”
“Owen, God, I'm... I'm...” I can't finish my sentence, can't speak or breathe around the pleasure thrashing beneath my skin, held by a string that Owen controls.
“Say it,” Owen demands, pumping into me with harder, longer strokes that have me trembling around him. “Say it, Kitten.”
Every time our bodies connect, he hits my oversensitive clit, and I gasp as my orgasm barrels through me.
“I'm coming,” I say on a released breath, my body clenching around his as he continues his pace, relentless and demanding as he drags one orgasm right into another, my head spinning, my breaths quick and my body rippling with pleasure.
My nails dig into his back, clinging to him as he prolongs my release, finding his own pleasure inside of me as he comes too.
My head falls limp against his shoulder, my body exhausted and pleasure-wrung as he gently maneuvers us to the bed, cleaning us up before tucking me against him.
I trail my fingers along the hard line of his jaw and through his hair, simply drinking in the way he looks.
A comfortable quietness settles between us, a space filled by soft touches between the two of us, sweet and explorative and comforting in a way that has my heart pounding with those three little words that I can't find the courage to say out loud.