Chapter 16 Owen
OWEN
MAMA brODIE: How was the show, sweets?! I follow the #OwenBrodie on the tits and the Insta.
MAMA brODIE: *The Twitter! Whoops!
POPS brODIE: Why don’t you have another cocktail, Bonnie Lyn?
DYLAN: Welp. Now I know what I’ll be talking about in therapy next week.
MAMA brODIE: Oh hush, you two. What I was saying, Owen, is that I’m seeing so many positive posts about you tonight!
MILES: For a change.
DYLAN: She follows #DylanBrodie too FYI so don’t let it go to your head or anything.
MAMA brODIE: I follow all my boys’ hashtags. And #PatrickDempsey
POPS brODIE: I will kick his feeble ass next time I see him.
ME: It was good, Mama. Can’t complain. There was a cheese poop incident right afterward, but nothing unprecedented.
DYLAN: Have I taught you nothing, bro? Never eat cheese before a live show. Serves you right.
MILES: That’s one way to ensure the hot nanny won’t have sex with you.
ME: It was Sam, not me. Assholes.
MILES: #IDoNotBelieveYou
POPS brODIE: I’m just proud of you for staying regular, son. Maybe increase your fiber intake though.
MAMA brODIE: I am mighty proud of you too, Owen. But definitely up the fiber intake.
ME: Thanks everyone. Except Dylan and Miles and maybe Pops.
POPS brODIE:
MILES:
DYLAN:
I hear a knock at the door to my hotel room.
Been waiting for a knock at my door for an hour, but what I’m hearing is so quiet it could be from down the hall.
I turn down the volume on the YouTube video I was watching on my laptop.
There’s another series of knocks, this time loud and impatient and kind of snarky.
It is, of course, a terrible idea to be alone in a hotel room with the nanny who is also my high-powered manager’s niece.
Especially after I’ve had a couple of beers and she has probably had some wine.
But I’m not exactly going to turn her away, now that she’s no doubt realized what an amazing and thoughtful guy I am.
I’ll just let her thank me from the hallway and then politely say good night.
I’m also not going to turn off the music I’ve had on ever since I got back.
It just happens to be the playlist Dylan made for me when I became officially divorced.
It’s called “Bonerific Slow Jamz.” It has some great songs on it, and I happen to like listening to it after shows. Helps me to wind down.
When I finally open the door, Frankie is already turning and stepping away.
So impatient.
“Hello. What can I do for you?”
She rolls her eyes as she steps back to face me.
She’s not wearing any makeup, and she’s so fucking pretty it hurts to look at her.
“Hello.” She waves a hand dismissively, then pushes a few loose strands of long, dark hair behind her ear.
It’s up in a ponytail again, and I want to tug on it again.
Especially when her big, brown eyes dip down ever so subtly to check out my tight, white T-shirt and gray sweatpants.
She just happens to be wearing exactly the same thing, and neither of us has got a bra on.
She clears her throat. “I just wanted to thank you for the wine.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“And for what you wrote on the thing.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest, flexing my biceps and accentuating my pecs as I lean against the doorframe. “The magazine ad of me that you used to have up on your wall when you were fourteen? That thing?”
She huffs at me, spins on her heel, and takes three angry steps across the hall.
“Come in and hang out with me.”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.”
She tries and fails to open the door with her keycard. Her shoulders drop in defeat. “Fine.”
“No, do your thing. I’m sure you’re having way more fun by yourself over there.”
She turns, frowning at me, stomps over. I move to let her pass. She walks straight over to the armchair by the window and takes a seat, staring at me hard, like we’re about to start negotiations.
In a way, I suppose we are.
I let the door close and go back to the sofa.
“Can I get you anything from the minibar or room service?”
“No thank you. I won’t be staying long.”
“Sounds good. Have a nice bath?”
“Excellent.”
I take a seat and pull my laptop onto my lap. “Cool. I was just watching your acts on YouTube again.”
Her eyes widen. “You were?”
“You’re really funny. I like this one.”
“Which one?”
“Come see.” I un-pause the video so she can hear herself. It’s the bit where she asks if any of the women in the audience had a real orgasm when they were in high school.
“Oh God, no. I hate watching and listening to myself. Turn it off!”
“No.”
She crosses over to join me on the sofa, plopping down right next to me as she reaches for the trackpad, trying to pause the video. “I’m begging you to stop!”
“Why?” I make a half-assed attempt at blocking her, but I let her stop the video.
“I told you!” She sits back and covers her face. “Why do you do this to me?”
A D’Angelo song starts up, and I see what it does to her body, almost immediately. I have never been so grateful to my little brother for anything in my life.
“I like that bit. The songs are great. They must kill.”
She lets her hands drop to her lap. “They should, shouldn’t they?” She’s smiling. I hardly ever get to see her like this.
“You’re so fucking pretty when you smile.” Shit. That was out loud. Can’t take it back now. “I wish you did it more when you look at me.”
I catch something that resembles a spark of appreciation flicker across her expression.
Just a flicker. Something genuine. A visual whisper of encouragement to keep going.
She keeps smiling, revealing a dimple, and bites her lower lip.
I want those lips on mine again, I want to hear her make those sounds again, I want to see what she’s been holding back again, and I’ve got no choice but to get out there and risk bombing.
I place the laptop next to me and turn to face her, leaning in just a bit. “You really never had an orgasm when you made out with guys in high school?”
Her eyes search mine, those lips curl up to one side, and I’m ready for any answer she’ll give me. Except: “Seriously? This is your move?”
And I’m out. “No. That’s not my move. Is that your move?” I sit back. “Do you heckle every guy who tries to make a move on you or just the men who aren’t named Justin?”
Suddenly, she’s straddling me and holding my face with both hands. I can’t remember what she said to piss me off. My hands are on her hips, and I’m staring up into lust-filled eyes.
“You’re the only man I heckle.”
“What a fucking honor.” I squeeze her hips and that small move elicits a sigh, and I’m in trouble.
Her lips smash against mine again. I guess there’s no other way for her to start kissing me, and I’m fine with that.
Her tongue tastes like Malbec and spearmint and sarcasm.
The frenzy eventually gives way to breathless kisses planted all over my face.
It almost feels like love, and I get that ache again, even though I know that’s not what this is. Not yet.
We’re just messing around, and that’s fine.
Healthy, even.
Just a little funny business between two hot, funny grown-ups who need to blow off some steam when the kid’s not around.
She starts rocking back and forth the tiniest bit.
She’s hardly even bearing down on my cock and there’s barely any friction between our sweatpants, but I’m still really hard and totally fucked.
“I never had actual sex in high school, okay? I just made out with guys. It’s not possible for a girl to orgasm just from making out. ”
“Wanna bet?”
“I’m not going to have sex with you, and our clothes are staying on.”
And the negotiations are in full swing.
This is gonna hurt.
“My hands need to go under your clothes.”
“Acceptable. As long as you don’t see anything.”
“Not a problem. But you need to keep your hands away from the hammer if you don’t want to get nailed tonight.”
“I think I can manage to keep my hands off your junk, Head Shot.”
“Famous last words. I apologize in advance for how mad you’re going to get when you find out how good I can make you feel.”
“Shut up and prove it.”
I tug on that ponytail and kiss her neck, licking up to a spot just below her ear. She goes limp for a second, whispers, “Holy shit,” and I need to slow down or I’m going to win this bet in less than a minute.
“What do I win when I make you come, Frankie?”
I drag my fingernails down her back and squeeze her ass. She shivers and grabs hold of my shirt with both hands, eyes still closed. “You’ll see,” she says in a casual, sing-song way, swaying to the music.
I’ll see.
She is so hot, and I am so fucking fucked.
I kiss her mouth and rub the smooth skin of her hips between the waistband of her sweatpants and the bottom of her T-shirt, barely touching her.
I can feel her reaction to every touch, every move I make.
So much energy. Still the slightest bit of restraint.
My thumbs make their way to her belly, slowly circling.
She’s just a little bit soft there, and I like that a lot.
She leans back, resting her hands on my knees, offering those perky tits up to me.
I massage her breasts over her shirt, kissing them through the fabric.
She moans quietly, her hands messing up my hair, and I am so fucking fucked.
As far as I can tell, if this woman is awake, she’s in the excitement stage of the sexual-response cycle. So what kind of losers did she make out with in high school if they couldn’t get her off?
“You sure you don’t want me to take your shirt off?”
“No renegotiating,” she mutters.
I bite at the fleshy part of her tit—not hard but enough to make her gasp.
If you’re gonna be like that.
I give her a little spank on that ass because she needs one, and she confirms just how much she wanted it by shuddering and catching her breath and squeezing my biceps.
She squeezes her thighs together, rocking harder and faster.
My erection is right up there between them, and I am so fucking fucked.
I slip my hands up under her shirt, tease her hard nipples with my thumbs.
Her hands cover mine. My eyes are hooded and blurry with desire, but I can’t stop watching her. She can barely keep her head up, and she’s whimpering.
I’m doing this to her.
She’s so close, and I want to feel just how wet she is for me.
I cup the back of her head with one hand, kissing her deeply as I slide the other hand into her panties.
I can feel lace and then cotton and then sweet fucking slippery warm hot heaven.
I massage her clit, and she’s already jerking and trembling and crying out.
“Baby, you feel so good.”
She lets out a little high-pitched yelp.
“This is killing me, Frankie. I need to be inside you.”
“I know. You can’t.”
She presses down on my shoulders, lifts herself up, and I let two fingers slip inside her and fuck her with them if that’s all she wants.
“That’s what you want?”
“Yeah.”
She arches back, and here she comes.
“That’s all you want?”
“Owen. Oh my God.”
Fucking hell.
“Say my name again.”
“Owen! Fuck. Oh my God, yes.”
“Yeah?”
She writhes around on my hand, grinding down on my hard cock.
“Yeah.”
She cries out.
Not my name.
Not Oh God.
Not fuck.
Just this beautiful, sexy fucking sound that nearly puts me over the edge too.
This is hotter than every experience I had with all those girls in high school combined.
I grip her waist with one hand and place my fingers flat against her clit until she finally stops bucking against me.
She goes still, and I don’t know where she is in her head, but I don’t want her to leave me yet.
“Frankie…”
“Mmmm.” Her head rolls around languidly. She rubs her lips together.
This young woman is a powerhouse of sensuality, and she hides it most of the time.
I pull my hand out just as she dips down to kiss me.
It was honestly so satisfying watching and hearing her come for me that I might be able to live without fucking her tonight.
“You win,” she whispers between kisses.
“I’d say we both did.” I probably should have kept that one in the old brain box, but fuck it. We both did.
And it seems we’re both about to win again because she climbs off me to kneel beside me on the sofa, and now her hand is slipping down under my sweatpants and inside my boxer briefs.
Fuck me, she’s giving me a slow-and-steady hand job like it’s no big deal, and I am so fucking fucked.
“Does that feel good?”
“Yeah, baby. Really good.”
I could cry, it feels so good.
She somehow knows exactly what I like. Cups the head with the palm of her sweet hand, twisting a little, and then strokes down the shaft and back up again. Alternately gentle and firm and gradually speeding things up. She moves with me like she’s into it, and that is so hot.
She leans in and catches my earlobe between her teeth and then sucks on it just as she ramps things up, and I come so hard I might go blind and it would be worth it.
Frankie fucking Hogan.
She keeps her hand there until I’m emptied out.
I was not expecting that.
“Jesus.”
I want to thank her. It would be so cheesy to thank her, but I’m so grateful right now.
She kisses my cheek before pulling her hand out.
“Be right back,” she says.
“Don’t go.”
“I said I’ll be right back.”
I watch her go into the bathroom. I hear the water run. I hear her removing Kleenex from the box. I hear the water running again. And then she comes back out with a hand towel.
“I would have gotten that,” I say, and then I’m rendered speechless because she sits next to me and uses the damp towel to clean me up. Wordlessly. Like it’s no big deal.
It’s a small gesture, I guess, but it’s been so long since I’ve felt what it’s like to have a woman take care of me like this.
Now I want to fucking cry again.
How does this woman go from being a sassy asshole to being the kindest woman I know in the span of a day?
My head is spinning.
“Owen.”
“Yeah?”
She folds up the towel and stares down at it. “I know this is a really bad idea, but I really think we should just get it over with and fuck each other right now. When you’re ready.”
“I think you’re right on both counts, and I’m ready.”
She smiles. Such a pretty smile. “Good.”
And then the Prince song that was playing on my phone through the Bluetooth speaker turns into the Jaws theme.
“Shit.”
“What is happening?”
“It’s my mother-in-law. Former mother-in-law.” I look around for my phone.
“It’s on the bed,” Frankie tells me.
I know even before I answer that Sam isn’t sleeping and he wants me to pick him up.
I look over at Frankie before answering, and I can tell that she knows it too.
I turn off the Bluetooth speaker and answer. “Hello?”
Frankie leaves the folded-up towel on the sofa, pulls her keycard out of her pocket, waves at me, and goes out the door.
I am so fucking fucked.