Chapter 8
Slade
MORNING LIGHT FLITERS THROUGH the shades, painting golden stripes across Owen’s sleeping form.
He’s still nestled against my chest, one leg thrown over mine, his breathing deep and even.
The weight of him anchors me to the moment—to this unexpected reality where I’ve spent the night with a man I met two days ago.
His hair is tousled from sleep and our activities, his full lips parted.
In slumber, his face carries none of the self-consciousness or uncertainty from yesterday. He looks peaceful. Claimed.
I shift, not wanting to wake him as I take inventory of the marks I’ve left on his body.
The pale column of his throat bears several purpling bruises—evidence of my mouth, my teeth, my need to mark what’s mine.
More bruises dot his collarbones, his chest, the inside of his thighs.
My fingerprints are stamped into the flesh of his hips, where I gripped him while taking him apart.
I’ve always been gentle with the women I’ve been involved with, restraining my impulses out of fear of hurting them. With Owen, I released those inhibitions and embraced the part of myself I had always kept under control.
The sight of him now rouses something primal in me—satisfaction mingled with the faintest edge of guilt.
I’ve marked him, perhaps too thoroughly for someone still navigating the shock of this new desire.
My fingertips trace a dark bruise at the juncture where neck meets shoulder.
The skin there is warm, slightly raised.
Owen stirs at my touch, his breathing pattern changing as consciousness reclaims him.
His eyelids flutter, then open. For a moment, confusion clouds the blue of his eyes—then recognition, followed by a smile.
“Morning,” he murmurs.
“Morning,” I reply, my hand continuing its path along his shoulder, down his arm. “Sleep well?”
“Better than I have in months.” His fingers find my chest, tracing idle patterns through the light dusting of hair there. “Though sleep wasn’t the priority last night.”
A low chuckle escapes me. “No, it wasn’t.”
We lie in comfortable silence, hands exploring each other’s bodies. My fingers map the topography of his back, the ridges of his spine, the smooth planes of his shoulder blades. His touch mirrors mine—curious, appreciative, learning.
“I marked you pretty hard.” I brush my thumb over a bruise on his collarbone.
“I know.” There’s a lazy satisfaction in his voice. “I like it.”
“No regrets?”
Our eyes meet.
“None. You?”
I shake my head. “Just wondering if I was too rough with you.”
“You didn’t hurt me. Well, not in any way I didn’t enjoy.” His hand slides lower, tracing the line of muscle along my abdomen. “I’m a little sore, but in the best possible way.”
“I’ll be gentler next time,” I promise, then realize the assumption I’ve made. Despite what we said to each other yesterday, I need to hear it from him now, in the morning's clarity. To know that we’re on the same page. “If you want there to be a next time.”
“I do.” Owen’s expression shifts. “Do you?”
“Yes,” I admit. “I don’t want this to end when the weekend does.”
Relief softens his features. “Good. Because neither do I.”
“It won’t be simple,” I warn him, my hand coming up to cup his jaw. “We live in different cities. Neither of us has been with a man before. I’ve never…felt this way about anyone.”
“Me neither.” His fingers trace the outline of my lips. “Not even with Maia. Not even close.”
The mention of his ex should irritate me, but it doesn’t. Instead, I feel a strange gratitude toward her—if not for their relationship and its end, Owen might never have stumbled drunk into my bed that first night.
“We’ll figure it out,” I tell him, meaning it. “Distance, logistics, all of it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” I seal the word with a kiss, soft and lingering.
When we part, his eyes are darker, hungrier. “So about that next time…”
“You’re not too sore?” I raise an eyebrow, unable to keep the hint of smugness from my voice.
“I am sore. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want more.”
My body responds to his words, blood rushing south. “Right now?”
“Right now,” he confirms, his hand sliding beneath the sheet to find me already hard.
I dip my head to his neck, nuzzling the warm skin there. My beard scrapes against the marks I left last night, drawing a gasp from him.
“Sensitive?” I murmur against his throat.
“Yeah,” he admits, arching beneath me as my teeth graze his earlobe. “You’ve turned my entire body into one giant nerve ending.”
I chuckle. “Good. I like knowing I affect you this way.”
My mouth travels lower, following the path of bruises I created. Each one receives attention—a gentle kiss, a swipe of tongue, the lightest scrape of teeth. Owen writhes beneath me, his hands fisting in the sheets.
“Slade,” he breathes, my name a plea on his lips.
“Patience,” I murmur against his chest.
Unlike last night’s frantic coupling, this morning calls for something slower. I want to worship every inch of him, learn what makes him gasp, tremble, and beg.
The knock on the door comes just as my tongue circles one of his nipples. We both freeze, eyes meeting in mutual disappointment.
“Ignore it,” Owen whispers, his hands threading through my hair, urging me to continue.
I do, dropping my head back to his chest, teeth closing around the hardened nub. Owen’s back arches, a soft moan escaping him.
The knocking comes again, louder this time.
“Owen? Slade? Are you guys awake?” Ava’s voice carries through the door.
I lift my head, resignation setting in. “We should answer.”
“Pretend we’re asleep,” Owen suggests, pulling me back down.
The third round of knocking is accompanied by Bryce’s voice. “Guys, Ava’s about to have a meltdown if you don’t join us for breakfast.”
Owen groans, dropping his head back against the pillow. “They’re not going away, are they?”
“Not likely.” I press one more kiss to his jaw before pushing myself up. “Stay here. I’ll handle them.”
I slide out of bed, searching for something to cover myself with. The room is a disaster—sheets tangled and disheveled, the unmistakable scent of sex hanging in the air. I grab a bedsheet, wrapping it around my waist, and crack the door open just enough to see Bryce and Ava standing in the hallway.
“Finally,” Ava sighs. “We were beginning to think you two died in there.”
“We’re fine,” I assure her, keeping my body positioned to block their view. “We’ll meet you at breakfast.”
“Nope,” Bryce says with gleam in his eye.
Before I can stop him, he pushes the door wider, forcing me to step back.
They both enter, scanning the room like two amateur sleuths.
They take in the rumpled single bed, the discarded clothes, and focus on Owen, who’s clutching the blanket to his chest in a futile attempt to hide the evidence of our night together.
Ava’s eyes widen, her jaw dropping. “Oh my god,” she breathes, glancing from Owen to me and back again. “Oh. My. God.”
“I knew it!” Bryce looks too pleased with himself. “I told you, babe. I fucking knew something was going on between these two!”
Owen’s face flames red, the flush spreading down his neck to his chest. I move to position myself between him and our unwelcome visitors.
“Could you give us a minute?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.
“Holy shit, Owen,” Ava ignores me, her eyes fixed on her brother. “Are those…did Slade…are those hickeys?”
Owen drops his head into his hands with a groan. “Ava, please.”
“Oh, they’re definitely hickeys,” Bryce confirms, his grin widening. “And bite marks. Jesus, Slade, did you maul my future brother-in-law?”
Now my face is heating. “Can we discuss this after we dress?”
“Discuss what?” Zara’s voice comes from the doorway, where she stands with Naya. “Whoa, what’s happening in here?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Ava says, gesturing toward the bed where Owen is attempting to become one with the mattress. “Apparently my brother and Slade have been—”
“Having sex,” Bryce supplies. “Enthusiastically, from the looks of things.”
“Oh my,” Naya breathes, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “I knew it. I felt the special energy between you two.”
“What’s going on?” Maia’s voice joins the chorus as she appears in the doorway with Jace. “Why is everyone crowded in here?”
“Owen and Slade are fucking,” Zara announces.
Maia’s eyes widen, her gaze darting to Owen, who’s now pulled the blanket over his head. “Owen? Is that true?”
A muffled “Kill me now” comes from beneath the blanket.
“It’s true,” I confirm, deciding to take control of the situation. “Now, if you all don’t mind giving us some privacy—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Ava interrupts, holding up her hands. “We need details. How did this start? Owen, I didn’t even know you liked men!”
“Neither did I,” comes the muffled response.
“This is perfect,” Zara muses, leaning against the doorframe. “I was getting serious friend vibes from Owen. No offense,” she adds, addressing the lump.
“None taken,” Owen replies, emerging with his hair sticking up in all directions. “Look, can everyone please leave so we can get dressed and join you for breakfast? We’ll answer your questions then.”
“Fine,” Ava concedes, “but I want the full story. Don’t leave anything out.”
“We’re leaving plenty out,” I assure her.
“I’m happy for you both,” Naya says. “Your auras are so complementary—deep indigo and vibrant gold.”
“Thanks. I think?” Owen mutters.
Maia lingers in the doorway, her expression still shocked. “I just…I never expected…”
“Breakfast. Fifteen minutes. We’ll see you there.” I guide her toward the hallway.
Jace, who has remained silent through the entire exchange, finally speaks. “So wait, Owen’s gay?”
“Out,” I order, placing my hand on his back and pushing him out.
“My matchmaking radar was right after all!” Ava declares as I herd the rest of the group toward the door. “I knew something amazing would happen this weekend. I just had the wrong pairing in mind.”
“Congratulations on your success,” I say dryly, finally getting everyone into the hallway.
I close the door and turn the lock for good measure. When I turn back to Owen, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands.
“Well.” I drop the sheet and sit beside him. “That could have gone worse.”
He lifts his head, giving me an incredulous look. “How exactly could that have gone worse?”
“They could have walked in last night when you had my—”
He groans, but there’s a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “God, did you see Ava’s face?”
“I was more concerned with Bryce’s expression. He’s never going to let me live this down.”
Owen leans against my shoulder. “So much for discretion.”
“Does it bother you that they know?”
He’s quiet for a moment, considering. “Weirdly, no. I mean, the way they found out is mortifying, but…” He shrugs. “They were going to find out eventually, right? If we’re planning to make this work after the weekend?”
The tension I didn’t know I was carrying eases from my shoulders. “Right.”
“So,” he says, turning to face me, “we have fifteen minutes before we need to be at breakfast.”
“Fourteen now,” I correct, glancing at the clock.
His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. “Not enough time to finish what we started.”
“Not nearly enough,” I agree. “But maybe enough for this.” I lean in, capturing his mouth in a kiss that holds all the promise of what’s to come—later today, tomorrow, beyond this weekend.
When we part, his eyes are bright with something that looks like happiness. “We should get dressed.”
“We should,” I agree, making no move to do so.
His smile transforms his face. “Later?”
“Later,” I promise, sealing it with another brief kiss. “We have all the time in the world.”
The End