Chapter 29 #2
“And I’m so sorry,” I continue, reaching up and running my fingers against his stubbled jaw. “I ran because I’m so scared of how much I want you. You have no idea how bad I wanted to tell you that night on the beach…”
I stammer, my words catching in my throat.
“Tell me what?” Owen asks, his eyes flicking between mine.
I’m crying now, really crying, the kind of crying that can’t be hidden by quickly swiping away tears, but Owen doesn’t flinch.
He watches me with a look so open and unashamed that it makes it easier, makes it feel almost normal to be falling apart.
“That I love you,” I admit, my voice cracking. “I love you so much, it scares the hell out of me. I love you more than I ever thought possible. I’m so in love with you that I feel physically ill without you. And I’m so fucking sorry, Owen, because I can’t live like this… without you.”
A weight lifts off my chest as I lay my heart bare, giving him all of me.
“Meadow,” Owen exhales, at a loss for words as he shakes his head. He’s crying, too—quiet and wet tears slipping down his cheeks.
“Please don’t apologize to me,” he croaks. “You have every right to sit with your emotions and process them. But I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”
The heaviness that’s been pressing down on me since we left Costa Cay eases, just a little, and I almost believe him. I want to believe him.
It’s terrifying, the way he looks at me, the way his eyes dare me to accept a future I’ve never allowed myself to hope for.
I search his face for any sign that he’s bluffing, but all I see is the same desire and hunger that I feel in myself.
“Do you promise?” I mutter, because I need to hear it.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“I promise,” he says, swiping his thumbs along my cheeks while holding my gaze. “I fucking swear on my life. I’m yours, Meadow. Always yours.”
My lips quiver as a small smile pulls at the corners.
“Then kiss me already,” I whisper, tears rolling down my cheeks.
Before I can blink, his lips are on mine, his mouth urgent and relentless, tasting of tears and coffee.
He kisses me like he’s making up for every second we wasted, every time I closed a door or built a wall.
Kissing him is like breathing after being underwater for too long. I clutch him back, desperate, trying to drink down the taste of him, the way his hands fit against my jaw, the way he makes me feel found and wanted and absolutely, irreparably myself.
We’re still crying, but now it’s the good kind, the kind that scrubs you clean. Owen pulls back just enough to stare at me, his lips swollen and red, his pupils blown wide.
“We’re going to figure this out, baby,” he rasps. “You and me. We’ll make it work.”
And this time, I believe him.
I answer with a kiss, one that’s both an apology and a demand. I taste my own salt on his lips, knot my hands in his hair, and let myself fall without a safety net.
My legs wrap around his waist as he lifts me effortlessly and carries me to my bedroom. As he bumps the door open with his foot, I don’t panic about unmade sheets or the heap of laundry in the corner.
I just want him.
We strip off each other’s clothes in a blur before he lowers me onto the bed like I’m something breakable, and when he kisses me again, it’s a promise.
Hovering above me on the mattress, holding himself up with one elbow, Owen drags his free hand up my thigh, his eyes darkening as he rakes them down my naked body.
I moan under his gaze, running my fingertips from his hips to his ribs, smoothing over the scars and ripples covering his skin.
My neck arches against the pillow as he lowers his lips, taking his time kissing my breasts, sucking each of my nipples into his mouth, licking the slope of my stomach, and tugging my bellybutton ring between his teeth.
“This is mine,” he mumbles, looking up at me with the silver ring in his mouth. “I’ll never get over how sexy it is on you.”
A thick drop of wetness leaks from my core as he gives it a hard pull before climbing back up my body. I fist his hair and roll my hips into him, desperate to be closer, to climb inside his body if that were possible.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he says so low, it’s almost a growl.
“You,” I pant, mindlessly rocking my hips.
“Yeah?” he rumbles. “You want me to fuck you? You want to feel how much I love you?”
“Yes,” I whimper, my hand flying to his waist and tugging him to me. “God, yes.”
A wicked smile curves his lips as he moves painstakingly slow, spreading my thighs and settling his heavy cock between them. My breath hitches when he nudges his leaking tip against my entrance, but not yet pushing in.
He looks up at me, eyes gleaming, and says, “I love you.”
Before I can respond, he thrusts inside me, filling me to the hilt. My eyes roll back as he stretches me full, his cock hitting every deep, sensitive part of me.
“ Owen ,” I moan breathlessly as he starts moving his hips. “I love you. God, I love you—”
Before I can get another word out, he crushes his mouth to mine, claiming me in a searing kiss. Our skin slaps together as he fucks me relentlessly, our tongues tangling as we groan against each other’s lips.
Right as I feel my orgasm start to crest, Owen slows his pace, as if he’s not ready for this to end yet. He pauses, then starts to fuck me firm and slow, edging me… driving me fucking mad.
Each deliberate thrust of his hips is a declaration. Each strained breath that falls past his lips is a confession.
He sinks into me, again and again, his forehead pressed to mine, our tears mixing as we cry together. It’s all too much in the best way possible—the intimacy, the overwhelming, terrifying love we have for each other.
“ Owen ,” I cry out, sobbing his name into the crook of his neck at how good he feels.
“I love you,” he says against my cheek, then my collarbone, then between my breasts. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he recites, kissing every inch of exposed skin he can get his lips on.
He worships me with each repetition. I lose myself to his hands, his mouth, the confession of his body against mine.
I wrap my arms around his neck, gasping with every thrust of his hips, and my tears don’t stop, but neither does his.
He murmurs my name over and over, whispering praises in my ear that cover my body in chills.
“You’re perfect, baby,” he grunts. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
When I come, it’s like falling and flying at the same time. My body convulses, my cry is so loud and ragged it scares me, but Owen grounds me, kisses me, holds me through it.
I feel him shudder seconds later, the hot pulse of his orgasm filling me as he clings to me so tight I can hardly breathe.
He collapses on top of me, both of us sweaty, shaking, and tangled in a web of limbs and tears.
He buries his face in my hair, and I curl around him, both of us bruised and raw and impossibly whole. My eyes sting, my nose runs, but I don’t care. I just hold him and let the tears soak his chest.
He strokes my hair until my breath calms before whispering, “I love you, Meadow.”
I press my lips to his heart and let the words rise, unafraid for the first time. “I love you, Owen Brooks. More than anything or anyone.”
Hours later, after multiple rounds of sex, we’re naked and tangled in my sheets—exhausted, head over heels in love, and sticky with sweat. Owen’s breath is slow and even, his long arm draped lazily across my stomach.
I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and for once, the world doesn’t seem like it’s about to collapse.
I reach for his hand and find it instantly, his fingers curling around mine as he starts to drift off.
I squeeze his hand, and he stirs, giving me a hazy smile.
“Meadow?” he mumbles, barely awake.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He pulls me closer, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
Finally, I don’t want to run. I just want to stay here, safely wrapped in the arms of the man who loves me in a way that makes me remember why I love myself.
No longer is Owen just my best friend or coworker.
He’s my home.