Chapter Twenty-Four #2
The emotional impact of that nearly knocks the air out of me. Like some part of him genuinely believes I’ll be here waiting when he looks up. My chest aches around the realization. Without thinking, I fly down the steps, moving closer to the glass.
Owen’s mouth curves slowly at one corner as warmth floods straight through me.
“Yep,” Vivian shouts from behind me. “That man is absolutely gone for you.”
I’m pretty sure I’m just as gone for him.
He pulls off one giant goalie glove and waves at me. I wave back as the family section starts emptying toward the private hallway that leads to the down elevators, everyone gathering purses and jackets while talking over one another about the game.
As I head up the stairs and follow them out of the suite, I glance toward the ice one last time.
I’m not waiting for Owen to fail anymore.
I’m finally letting myself believe in him.
* * *
By the time we return to Owen’s condo in Serenity Shores after the game, the adrenaline has finally started to wear off.
Not completely.
The energy of the arena buzzes faintly beneath my skin. The crowd roaring after his saves. The sight of his teammates swarming him after the win. The look on Owen’s face every time he glanced toward the family section and found me there waiting for him.
But underneath all of that now is something softer. Warmer. Safer.
Shutout greets us at the door like he’s been abandoned for seven years instead of only hours. Owen bends automatically to scratch behind his ears while the dog nearly folds himself in half, wagging.
“Traitor,” Owen says when Shutout immediately abandons him to lean against my legs instead.
I laugh softly and run my fingers through the dog’s fur. “He has good taste.”
Owen’s eyes lift to mine then, and the breath stalls in my lungs. God. He looks so happy. No emotionally barricaded, or tense and waiting for impact.
Just… happy.
The realization hits me harder than I expect. Because I’m starting to understand how rarely Owen probably gets to feel this way.
He straightens slowly, still damp-haired from his postgame shower at the arena, dressed in gray sweats and a black T-shirt that stretches tightly across his chest. There’s a faint pink mark along his jaw from where somebody caught him with a stick earlier during the game.
Without thinking, I reach up and brush my thumb lightly across it. Owen goes completely still. Instantly attentive in that way he always gets when I touch him gently.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
His mouth curves slightly. “Yeah.”
But his eyes soften in a way that says the real answer is: Better now. The intimacy of that nearly undoes me on the spot. Sliding my hand slowly down the center of his chest, I feel the steady rise and fall beneath my palm. His heartbeat feels calmer tonight. Grounded.
“You were incredible out there,” I tell him. “I might have screamed a time or two.”
A faint flush creeps into his cheeks immediately. That still surprises me sometimes. Owen can stand in front of twenty thousand screaming hockey fans without blinking, but sincere praise turns him shy in under three seconds.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I know.” I step closer. “I mean it. Seeing my man excel at what he loves trips my trigger. Who knew?”
His throat works hard. The vulnerability in that tiny movement pulls at something deep inside me. Because for all his size and intensity and strength, Owen still reacts to kindness like he’s slightly suspicious of it.
Before I can overthink it, I take his hand and guide him backward toward the couch.
His eyebrows lift slightly. “Remy?”
“Sit.”
A slow smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he drops onto the cushions. “That sounded dangerous.”
“Good.”
The warmth in his expression grows immediately, but there’s uncertainty underneath it too. Like he’s trying to figure out what I’m doing. All I know is that tonight I don’t want to hold myself apart from him anymore. I don’t want to analyze him, manage him, or protect myself from feeling too much.
I just want him.
Owen spreads his knees slightly as I step between them, his large hands settling automatically on my hips. Heat curls low in my stomach immediately at the familiar weight of them there.
“You’re looking at me weird,” he says.
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
I smile faintly and slide my fingers into his hair. “You take care of everyone else all the time.”
His expression shifts instantly at that. Softer. More guarded somehow. “Remy—”
“No.” I stroke my thumb lightly along his jaw. “Tonight I want to take care of you for a change.”
His breathing changes first, then his grip tightens slightly against my hips while something raw and almost overwhelmed flickers across his face. For a second, he looks like he wants to argue. Or maybe like he doesn’t quite know how to accept being wanted this gently.
“Owen,” I say quietly, “you don’t always have to hold everything together.”
His eyes close briefly. The reaction is small, but it feels enormous somehow. When he opens them again, there’s so much emotion sitting there naked and unguarded that my pulse stumbles hard in my chest.
Then he looks up at me and says, very softly, “You have no idea what that does to me.”
The look on his face makes my chest ache a little. He’s not used to being cared for this way, and it genuinely means something to him.
I lean down and kiss him slowly, letting my fingers slide through his hair while his hands spread wider against my hips. He kisses me back immediately, deep and warm and slightly unsteady already.
“You don’t have to do anything for me,” he says against my mouth.
“I know.”
I kiss along his jaw slowly, feeling the rough scrape of stubble against my lips while Owen’s breathing starts to deepen beneath me. My hands slide down his chest, over hard muscle warm from the game, until I hook my fingers beneath the waistband of his sweats.
His stomach tightens immediately.
“Remy,” he says quietly.
There’s a warning in his voice, or maybe vulnerability. Probably both.
I look up at him as I slowly tug the fabric downward. “What?”
His eyes search my face for a second, like he’s trying to make sure I really want this. God. The fact that he still checks destroys me. How can he not know?
“You sure?” he asks softly.
Instead of answering verbally, I sink slowly to my knees between his legs.
The sound that leaves him is almost painfully rough. “Damn.”
Heat floods low through my stomach at the reaction.
Because Owen is expressive in the best possible way.
Every feeling moves across his face openly when he stops trying to hide it.
Desire. Emotion. Vulnerability. It all lives right there where I can see it.
And right now, he looks undone before I’ve even put my mouth on him.
I pull his cock free slowly, and my mouth actually waters a little at the sight of him. Thick and hard and flushed at the tip, already leaking slightly.
Owen’s head falls back briefly against the couch. “Remy,” he says again, this time sounding almost helpless.
I wrap my hand around him gently and stroke once, and his entire body jolts. Okay. That’s useful information. A tiny smile pulls at my mouth before I lean in and press a soft kiss below the head of his cock.
“That’s my emotionally functional goalie,” I say teasingly.
He lets out a wrecked sound that makes me smile against his skin.
“Seriously, though.” I stroke him slowly again. “I’m proud of you, Owen. It makes me want to do things to you. All the things.”
Owen curses under his breath immediately. “Fuck.”
The rawness in his voice sends heat straight between my thighs. I look up at him again before taking him slowly into my mouth. The second my lips close around him, his hand flies to the couch cushion hard enough to wrinkle the fabric beneath his grip.
“Oh, my God.”
The sound that comes out of him is completely unfiltered, like he forgot how to hide what he’s feeling.
I nearly moan around him from how much I like the sound.
Taking him deeper gradually, I let my tongue slide along the underside while my hand strokes what I can’t fit into my mouth.
Owen’s breathing grows rougher with every movement, his chest rising and falling hard beneath his shirt.
“You look so hot like this,” I say before taking him back into my mouth. “I love your cock, Owen.”
The compliment absolutely ruins him. His head tips back fully now, throat exposed, muscles tight with restraint.
“Jesus Christ, Remy,” he says hoarsely. “You can’t just say shit like that while doing this.”
I smile slightly against him and hollow my cheeks deliberately.
The broken sound that tears out of him goes straight to my pussy.
Now I understand why Owen likes taking care of me so much.
There’s something incredibly intimate about watching someone unravel safely beneath your hands.
About knowing they trust you enough to let go.
Owen’s hand slides uncertainly into my hair before immediately stilling there. The tenderness of it nearly undoes me emotionally.
I pull back enough to breathe and stroke him slowly while looking up at him through my lashes. “You okay?”
His laugh comes out strangled. “You’re on your knees with my cock in your mouth, and you’re checking on me?”
“I like making sure.”
Something shifts in his expression at that. Softer. Almost overwhelmed again. Then his thumb brushes lightly across my cheek while he looks down at me like I’m something precious.
That look feels more intimate than the sex.
“O-kay,” Owen says shakily a few minutes later. “I’m going to need you to come up here before I completely lose my mind.”
Laughing softly, I kiss the inside of his thigh before pulling back. The muscles beneath my lips twitch immediately.
Owen reaches for me the second I straighten, large hands sliding firmly around my waist as he pulls me onto his lap. His mouth crashes against mine instantly, all heat and desperation.
“You’re evil,” he says against my lips.