29. Delia
Monday morning came way too quickly, and our bubble was about to pop.
We’d briefly come up for air the night before to assure the people who cared about us that we were alive and well.
Even knowing we had to leave the house that day didn’t stop us from extending our sexual hiatus a little longer.
“Whiskey,” Owen whispered that morning, and my eyes cracked open. The sky beyond his windows was barely lightening, and a quick glance at his alarm clock told me it was barely past seven.
“Nooooo,” I moaned, not wanting to move from the cocoon of blankets and his warmth.
“I know, baby,” he said, dropping a kiss to my hair. “But we’ve got work to do.”
Work . I scoffed. “Fuck work.”
Owen chuckled behind me, his hand moving, his fingers skating across my skin, dipping lower beneath the covers. “We have to finish the distillery. Get those doors open.”
My eyes flew fully open, excitement blooming in my chest despite the ungodly hour and desire to stay here with him forever.
“The last of the furniture is being delivered today,” I said, voice still sleepy.
“And the movers are packing everything up from the barn and hauling it over,” he reminded me. “We’re so close.”
“But I don’t want to leave you,” I whined.
Owen made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat. “You think I’m letting you out of my sight ever again?”
“Just sew my skin directly to yours,” I said, burrowing deeper into him.
“Creepy.”
I giggled as I turned toward him, and he instantly captured my mouth with his. “Only way to ensure we’re stuck together forever.”
Owen pulled away a breath, his expression serious. “We already are.”
“Good,” I whispered.
“Now come on,” he said, tossing the comforter back. “We need showers. You’re a dirty girl.”
“Oh, I’m dirty,” I said, sitting up and swinging a pillow at him. “You’ve had your face buried in my pussy all weekend, QB. I’d say you’re the dirty one.”
He reached down and slipped his fingers through my slit. “And what a beautiful pussy it is. Now let me take care of it.”
We rose and raced to the bathroom, the early morning chill raising goosebumps on my entire body. Owen reached into the glass enclosed shower and spun the knobs, steaming hot water pouring from the various heads a second later.
Then he unceremoniously shoved me under the spray, following me in and hauling me against his body. As water ran in rivulets down my face, I tipped it up to him, and he slanted his lips over mine, his tongue instantly diving in. It was so easy to lose myself in him, in his lips, soft but insistent, his tongue brushing against my own, swirling it in a way that reminded me exactly what he could do with it further south.
Skating his hands up my sides, he cupped my breasts, massaging them, his thumbs flicking over my nipples. I moaned into his mouth.
“I haven’t given these perfect tits enough attention this weekend,” he groaned, dropping his forehead to mine to stare between us.
“You’ve got time now,” I said saucily.
Owen growled and backed up, jerking his head at the built-in bench off to one side.
“Sit down. Feet tucked under you.”
Anticipation danced along my skin as I did what he asked.
Once in position, the discomfort as my ankle bones ground into the tile was forgotten as he approached. His thick cock jutted obscenely from his body, and I would forever marvel at his size. I still wasn’t entirely sure how it fit inside me, but god I loved the way it did. The snugness, that burn as he first pushed inside giving way to pleasure that blanketed my limbs when I acclimated.
He was perfection, from the tips of his mid-length hair to the long toes on his giant feet.
Yeah, I didn’t think I was into feet either, but I was into everything when it came to Owen Lawless.
“Push them together, Whiskey,” he said gruffly, his hand slowly sliding up and down his length.
It dawned on me then what he intended, and I cupped the outsides of my breasts, shoving them together as he neared. Right in front of me, he tapped his head against my lips and said, “Give it a kiss.”
My tongue flicked out instantly, licking up the precum that had beaded in the slit, then swirling it around the crown for good measure.
“Gonna fuck that mouth one of these days,” he said absently. “But right now, I want to fuck these tits.”
I sat up straighter, arching my back to push my chest out, and Owen slapped each boob with his cock before we maneuvered to settle it in my cleavage. I pushed them tighter together, trapping him, and he groaned, his hand coming to my hair.
With jerky movements, Owen slid his cock up and down between my tits, his eyes closing and head dropping back as I let him use me. Heat pooled in my core, my clit throbbing, and I shifted, seeking friction I couldn’t find.
His shaft was deeply flushed, veins popping and throbbing, and I knew he was close. I wanted him to come like this, to paint my neck and my chin.
But he pulled away.
“Not yet, baby,” he said when I made a noise of protest. “Need to come inside you.”
He roughly lifted me to standing, my feet tingling as blood rushed back to them. Then he bent and hooked his forearms behind my knees, easily hauling me up and backing me into the shower wall. I was spread wide, couldn’t move my legs with his strong arms holding me open.
“Put it in,” he said and shifted his pelvis away from mine enough for me to grab him and notch his head at my entrance.
He pushed inside in a quick pulse, and I cried out at the intrusion, my head falling back against the tile.
He’d barely begun moving and already my vision was hazy. Through heavily lidded eyes, I watched him, his head bent to study the way he slipped in and out of me, water pounding his back, his hair soaking and plastered to his cheeks.
The juxtaposition of the cool tile against my back and the heat of the water and Owen’s body at my front had every nerve ending in my body lighting, my release gathering dangerously fast.
It didn’t take much to get us there. Owen’s pace was relentless as he slammed into me over and over, chasing the release he’d already denied himself once. I wanted to come with him, so I anchored one hand at the base of his neck, holding on for dear life as I slipped my fingers between us and rubbed my clit rapidly.
We came in unison, Owen’s movements turning jerky as he pumped through it, my hand clinging to him, leaving gouges with my nails in his shoulder as I screamed his name, the tile echoing it back at us.
Breathing roughly through our noses, Owen and I collided in a sloppy kiss, all tongue and teeth, desperately clinging to the connection as long as we could.
When our hearts slowed, he shifted out and set me down.
And as if he hadn’t just fucked my tits and destroyed my pussy, he grabbed a washcloth from the little stand outside the shower and lathered it with body wash, gently soaping up my entire body, caressing me. There was nothing sexual about it, simply a good man taking care of his girl.
I appreciated the sweetness more, somehow, than the sinful version of him that had taken me against the wall minutes before.
“You are a dream, Owen Lawless,” I told him as he massaged my scalp, working the eucalyptus scented shampoo into my roots.
I angled my head, and he bent to kiss me, murmuring against my lips, “And you’re better than any reality I could’ve imagined.”
I knew he wasn’t going anywhere, that we were still going to see each other and figure out everything that came next together, but it was still strange to be leaving his house that morning—even if we were leaving together. It was almost like leaving summer camp, returning to reality after spending a weekend in a magical bubble where only we existed.
Our drive from his house to Overtime where my car had sat all weekend was quiet, though he gripped my hand tightly, absently drawing circles on the back with his thumb.
When he parked, he angled himself in the seat to face me.
“Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me this isn’t over when this bubble pops. Promise me you’re still mine once you open that door.”
My heart melted to a puddle in my chest and sank to my toes. Without a word, I climbed over the center console and settled myself in his lap, clasping his face between my hands and pressing my mouth to his. Once. Twice. Three times. Mentally punctuating three words I wasn’t ready to say but definitely felt all the same. His hands tangled in my hair, holding me close as he exhaled deeply.
“As long as you promise you’re mine too,” I whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere, Whiskey,” he said. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’ll remind you every day if that’s what you need.”
“And I you,” I promised.
Before I could retreat to my seat and get out of the car, Owen’s hands settled on my hips, keeping me rooted in place.
“Let me take you to dinner,” he blurted.
“Was there a question in there?” I asked cheekily.
Owen chuckled then said, “Delia Delatou, would you do the honor of going on a dinner date with me?”
“I would love to,” I said, tapping his nose. “Name the time and place, QB, and I’m yours.”
“Friday,” he said. “Birdie’s at seven. I’ll come pick you up.”
“Absolutely not,” I protested. “You don’t have to drive all the way up there for that.”
“I would drive a million miles for you, Delia. A quick trip up the peninsula to get my girl is nothing. Besides, it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
I gave him a soft smile, my heart surely in my eyes. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve you.”
“I’m the one who should be saying that, actually,” he said, kissing me quickly. “Now you know I adore you, but I’m going to need you to get out of this truck before I haul you into the backseat and make you come so hard you forget your name.”
With a giggle and a mock salute, I scrambled off him and to the passenger seat, then gathered my bag off the floor before opening the door. The late-November wind assaulted my bare legs, my skirt back on my body after being lost to Owen’s bedroom floor all weekend, one of his oversized sweatshirts draped over my torso tucked into the waistband, enveloping me in his scent.
I was never washing it, nor would I probably ever take it off.
With a little finger wave, I got in my car and reversed out of the space. The second I was speeding down the street, Owen drove off in the opposite direction.