Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Meadow
“ Owen …” I moan into the dark morning as my hand works viciously between my legs.
His name slips out on instinct, quiet enough that only I can hear. Owen’s asleep in the other room, and the last thing I want is for him to know how desperately I need him.
All I’ve been able to think about is what he said at dinner last night.
The intensity in Owen’s gaze when he looked at me from across the table, not a doubt in his mind when he said I should pursue writing. He made me feel like I could do something meaningful with my talent, not just work for a corporate machine where my manager treats me like shit.
And somehow, that’s hotter than anything else Owen’s ever said or done.
Sexier than the flirting and the teasing.
Just the simple fact that he believes in me.
It sparked a new fire in my chest, one that refuses to die down, burning right alongside every other feeling Owen has managed to wake in me.
Which is how I ended up here, at five-thirty in the morning, with my hand between my thighs, unable to get him out of my head.
My eyes roll back as his heart-stopping grin flashes through my head.
“Mmm,” I hum, rolling my hips.
When I think about Owen’s broad chest and sculpted arms, my stomach muscles stretch and tighten.
I bite down on my bottom lip as I picture the dark trail of hair that starts beneath his defined abs, disappearing behind his swim trunks like a daring invitation.
Fuck.
I rub two fingers over my sleep shorts, my hips rocking against the bed as I draw little circles against my throbbing clit.
Needing more friction, I quickly slip my fingers into the waistband of my shorts and panties, shoving them off in one swoop. I’m bare from the waist down, wet and aching for release.
It physically hurts how bad I need to come right now. If this is what blue balls feel like, I genuinely feel sorry for any man I’ve ever done this to.
Bending my legs up towards my hips, I graze one hand down my belly before settling my fingers over my needy core.
“ Shit ,” I groan as I push two fingers in between my slit, gathering up my juices before I bring my fingertips back to my swollen clit and rub in slow, long circles.
“God, that feels so good,” I mumble as I use my free hand to lift my tank top and free my breasts.
I immediately find my nipple, erect and tight, begging to be touched. I pinch it between my fingertips, rolling the peaked bud as I massage my clit at the same time.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend that it’s Owen touching me—him biting my nipple and sucking it between his teeth as he massages my pussy with his calloused fingers.
But still, it’s not enough.
I need more.
I’m dying for more.
I arch my back as I push one finger inside my pussy, finding myself utterly drenched. I know that this is nothing compared to how good Owen would feel inside me, but it eases the throbbing ache, just barely.
I thrust my finger in and out, removing my other hand from my breast to claw at the sheets as I shamelessly ride my fingers.
I’m right there, on the edge of seeing stars. Close enough to feel the little fireworks starting to burst low in my belly. That’s when I add a second finger, stretching my slick channel and hitting my G-spot with perfect precision.
“Oh, fuck,” I whimper, turning my head into the pillow to stifle my moans.
I scream into the cotton cloud, letting myself go as my inner walls spasm and quiver with an explosive orgasm.
“Oh, God. Oh, God ,” I cry out as my entire body jerks, riding out the last of my release.
For what feels like an eternity, I just lay there and stare at the black ceiling. My chest rises and falls with ragged breaths as sweat sticks to my naked skin.
“What the hell was that?” I mutter to myself.
It was mind-shattering… The way my hand and a phantom version of Owen could unravel me right down to my core. Literally and figuratively.
I’ve never come that hard in my entire life.
Needing to get a hold of myself, I sit up and flip on the bedside lamp. When I look down between my legs, I immediately see the huge wet spot staining the sheets.
Good lord.
How is all of that from me?
I’ve gotten myself off countless times in bed, but I don’t ever remember leaving an actual puddle of my own cum. I don’t know if I should be impressed or ashamed of myself.
I make a mental note to call housekeeping before Owen wakes up and ask them to bring me clean sheets. I would be mortified if he saw the mess I made from just my fingers and the fantasy of being fucked by him.
Even though it’s barely six in the morning, I know there’s no chance I’m falling back asleep. Not after that.
I give up on sleep and throw the covers off, deciding a shower might help clear my head while I clean myself up.
I scoop my discarded shorts and panties off the bed, peel my tank top over my head, and toss them onto the growing pile of laundry in the corner before flicking the lamp back off out of habit.
The second I step into the bathroom, I freeze in front of the mirror. I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me. She looks, dare I say... sexy.
I look like a disheveled mess, in the best way possible.
My cheeks are a rosy shade of red, and my lips are swollen and plump, looking like I’ve been freshly kissed. I run my fingers through my dark curls, taming the wild waves.
My breasts are heavy and flushed, my nipples tender and satisfied.
The bare space between my legs is slick, shiny beneath the fluorescent bathroom light. The evidence from my orgasm is still dripping down my inner thighs.
I groan and shake my head.
“You’re down bad, girl,” I whisper to my reflection.
I tear my gaze away from the mirror and step into the luxurious shower. It’s sleek and modern with floor-to-ceiling glass walls, but frosted just enough to blur everything into discreet shapes and shadows. Since Owen and I are sharing a bathroom, it’s nice that the shower is mostly private.
The tile chills the bottom of my feet as I slide the door shut behind me.
I reach for the handle, my fingers curling around the metal as I prepare to turn the water to full heat.
But right before I crank the handle, I freeze—my entire body paralyzed by the soft click I just heard.
The bathroom door creaks open.
No.
No. No. No. No.
This can’t be happening right now.
I’m buck-ass naked!
My heart drops to my ass as I slowly turn my head toward the glass wall. Through the blurry panel, a tall silhouette with wide shoulders moves lazily into the room. Even through frosted glass, I would recognize that body anywhere.
From what I can see, he’s wearing no shirt and boxer briefs.
Owen.
Because of course it’s Owen.
This is just my luck. The one freaking morning I decide to shower at six o’clock, Owen walks in at the exact same time.
Panic spikes through my chest as my skin grows slick with sweat.
He definitely thinks I’m asleep. There’s no way he would just barge in here if he thought otherwise.
Owen shuffles across the tile, completely oblivious, before stopping right in front of the toilet, which is like a foot away from the shower.
Shit!
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Do something, Meadow!
I scramble to the farthest corner of the shower, pressing myself flat against the wall and praying like hell that he won’t notice me. Maybe he’s half asleep and will have no memory of even coming in here.
A choppy breath slips past my lips, so I clamp a trembling hand over my mouth to keep from making a peep.
From where I stand in the corner, all I can see is his back—a hazy vision of his broad shoulders and sleep-mussed hair. I push down a sigh as I watch him stretch his arms over his head, his muscles shifting in the most delicious way.
Screw him for looking like that at six in the damn morning.
Ugh, I can’t believe this is happening.
Oh my God.
He’s lifting the toilet seat.
My nose scrunches up as I hear the very obvious, very unfortunate sound of Owen peeing less than three feet away from me.
He’s taking a piss… right in front of me. I squeeze my eyes shut, not interested in watching. Not my thing. Not now. Not ever.
How did I go from having one of the most sexy mornings of my entire life to the least?
Please finish. Please finish. Please finish.
Relief floods my veins when I finally hear the toilet flush.
Thank you, God.
Crisis averted. Owen will wash his hands, be on his merry way, and I’ll pretend this never happened.
Wait.
Why is he still standing there?
Why is he…
Oh no.
Oh no no no—
Through the blurred glass, I watch in slow motion as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband and slides his boxers down his legs.
My eyes go wide as all the color drains from my skin.
WHAT. THE. FUCK.
What is he doing? There is no way he’s about to—
Before I can move, before I can breathe, before I can even think, the shower door swings open and cool air rushes in.
I almost pass out as Owen steps straight inside.
On pure instinct, I slap one arm across my chest and the other down low, backing into the corner like a skittish animal caught in a spotlight.
“OWEN! What the hell!” I shout.
His whole body jerks backward in shock as he whacks the back of his skull against the glass.
“Ouch, fuck!” he hisses, grabbing the back of his head.
Then, he looks up and sees me.
His face goes completely blank as his brain forgets how to function. He has a full system shutdown as his eyes go wide and his mouth parts.
For a few seconds, he just stares, his body rooted in place. My blood heats with adrenaline as his traitorous eyes betray him and sweep down my body before snapping back up to my face.
My pulse flutters against my neck as I see his gaze darken, a mixture of shock and unmistakable lust.
Who am I to judge? Because I’m staring right back.
My eyes lower, mapping the span of his strong shoulders before dropping down his chest.
My God.
His chest is all smooth muscle and sun-kissed skin, rising and falling with choppy breaths.
My throat goes dry as my gaze drifts down, raking over the clean lines of his stomach and perfect abs. I secretly fantasize about what it would feel like to run my tongue over each ripple.
Desire swirls low in my belly as my eyes fall further, following the dark trail of hair that leads to his—
Right before I get to the main event, his hand shoots down to cover his cock.
Damn him.
“Meadow!” he shrieks. “Jesus Christ! What are you doing in here?”
I gape at him.
“What do you mean, what am I doing in here?” I snap. “The bathroom is literally in my room. What are you doing in here? It’s six in the fucking morning, Owen!”
“I woke up like half an hour ago and couldn't fall back asleep,” he rushes out. “So I figured I’d go for an early morning run. I didn’t know you were in here, I swear to God. I thought you were asleep. That’s why I didn’t knock—”
“Go for a run?” I interrupt. “Who takes a shower right before sweating their ass off?”
“Me, apparently,” he defends. “I like taking cold showers in the morning. They wake me up.”
“You’re a psychopath,” I shoot back. “A certified psychopath.”
“I’m the crazy one?” He snorts. “This is a routine morning for me. I always get up early for runs. What the hell are you doing up? Taking a shower at six a.m. on vacation feels way more suspicious than my run.”
I hesitate, mouth open and closing as my brain tries to come up with an excuse.
Thinking about you.
Fantasizing about you.
Literally riding my fingers as I moan your name.
Yeah. Absolutely not.
“I’ve been up,” I say nonchalantly.
He raises a skeptical brow. “Doing what?”
“Are we seriously doing this right now?” I blurt. “Having a full conversation while we’re both completely naked?”
Owen’s eyes flick back down my body before slowly dragging them up. A wicked grin tugs at his mouth.
“I mean...” he shrugs, “I’m not complaining.”
My stomach does a round of backflips.
The fucking audacity. The confidence. The sexy as hell, unfair charm of this man.
“Get out, Owen!” I screech, wishing I had a free hand so I could chuck a shampoo bottle at his stupid head.
He laughs, freaking laughs , as he stumbles backward out of the shower, nearing slipping on the tile.
“Wanna join me for my run?” He smirks, his head the only part of him peeking back through the door.
I gape at him.
“I swear to God, Owen—out!” I hiss, mortified.
“Okay, okay! I’m going,” he chuckles, shaking his head as he finally slides out and pulls the door closed.
Just before I see his tall frame exit the bathroom, he mutters one last thing that almost melts me into a puddle on the shower floor.
“Hell of a way to start my morning, by the way,” he teases, his tone flirty. “We should do that more often.”
We should do that more often.
I’m incapable of doing anything but staring as he leaves me alone, standing there naked, frozen in place with my heart beating out of my chest.