30. Delia
The week passed in a flash, a blur of deliveries and staging, of stocking shelves and sampling spirits, of keeping my hands as much to myself as possible whenever Owen was within a twenty yard radius. We hadn’t made it a secret that we were together now, but we were attempting to be professional at work.
Personally, professional could get fucked—and not in the good way.
I wanted his hands on me at every opportunity, and by the time Friday evening rolled around, I was damn near coming apart at the seams, desperate for some alone time with him.
Only, I frowned when we parked around the back of Birdie’s instead of the main street.
“Why aren’t we going in through the front?”
“You’ll see,” he said, hopping out and coming around to help me out.
Fingers laced together, he led me inside, guiding me down a hallway that bisected the kitchens from the restrooms and out onto the main dining floor.
The entire place was empty.
“What the fuck?”
Owen chuckled but didn’t answer me, instead pulling me toward a circular table in the center of the room. At its side, a bottle of Chateau Delatou sparkling wine sat on ice in a bucket, and candles flickered on its surface, suffusing the area in a warm glow.
“Where is everyone?”
“I assume the chef and our waiter are in the kitchen,” he said.
“I mean patrons, QB,” I said, glaring at him.
“I closed Birdie’s down tonight. I wanted you all to myself.”
“You can’t do that!”
“I can, actually,” he said. “I own the place, remember?”
“You are…insane.”
“Insane about you, yes,” he agreed.
My heart lodged in my throat as my gaze swept the room. The lights were low, the space lit mostly by tealights and the dimmed wall sconces.
Owen’s eyes sparkled as I caught his gaze, and inexplicably, my nose stung with unshed tears.
“This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me,” I told him, almost embarrassed by that fact.
“There’s more where this came from, my girl,” he said, winking at me.
Before I could respond, the waiter appeared from the back, carrying two goblets and a bottle of Chateau Delatou Merlot, which happened to be my favorite of ours.
“How did you know?” I asked, forehead creasing as I gestured at the wine.
“You mentioned it once in passing a long time ago,” he said.
“And you remembered?” I asked, incredulous. “I don’t even remember telling you!”
“I remember everything, Delia. Every word. Every like and dislike. Every outfit, every smile and glance and touch.” He tapped his temple. “It’s all right here.”
I rose from my seat and moved to his side, plopping down on his lap and throwing my arms around his neck. Leaning in to kiss him, I whispered, “Thank you.”
There was a world of things I wasn’t saying encompassed in those two words, and Owen must’ve been able to read it all on my face. He simply said, “You’re welcome.”
I returned to my chair as our waiter brought out the appetizer course.
As usual, dinner was exquisite. We started with crunchy bruschetta topped with a diced tomato and onion mixture, then had a fall-inspired salad with butternut squash, avocado, more tomato, and roasted mushrooms on a bed of warm quinoa. The main course was surf and turf, though Owen ended up eating his entire steak and half of mine. We chatted the entire time, mainly surface level things that revolved around the distillery. We were nearing the finish line, and should be able to open the doors shortly before Christmas.
When the waiter cleared our main course plates and we waited for dessert to come out—though I wasn’t sure where I’d put it; I was already damn near bursting—Owen met my eyes and said, “We need to have a serious conversation.”
Icy dread rolled down my spine, but when Owen reached for my hand, his warm fingers heating my chilled ones, I calmed instantly.
Jumping to conclusions wouldn’t do anyone any good.
“Okay…” I said slowly, the word scraping my throat on the way out.
“I haven’t had a serious girlfriend in a long time,” he started.
“Temperance?” I asked, raising a brow.
“Yes, her,” he said. “But…I’m falling for you, Delia. Hard and fast. Actually, I think I’ve been half in love with you for months. I realize we only just started this thing together, but I want to do it all with you. Business partners. Life partners. The whole fucking thing. I want to take you to Dusk Valley to meet my family. I want to wake up with you every morning and fall asleep with you in my arms every night. I know you’re younger than me, so maybe that’s not something you want right now, but…I’m old enough to know I want marriage and babies and the white picket fence. Fuck.” Dropping his gaze, he punctuated the curse with a squeeze of my hand, and I couldn’t help but giggle at his rambling. “I’m insane, aren’t I? You’re going to run screaming now, right?”
“No,” I said quietly, and he looked up at me, the panic lining his face softening as he took in the tears lining my eyes. “I want all of that too, and I want it with you. I’m twenty-seven, Owen. I’m not some young adult just embarking on the rest of my life. I know who I am and what I want, and I want you . I want to take your last name and have your babies—one day.”
He frowned. “One day?”
I reached out and prodded the corner of his mouth until it curved in the opposite direction. “We’re endgame, QB. I just don’t want to rush things. How about we start with ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ labels before we go slapping on any others?”
“I can do that,” he said, grinning. “Though ‘girlfriend’ is a woefully inadequate way to describe what I feel for you.”
I squeezed his hand tighter. “And you’re not exactly a boy friend, either. Are you sure you’re ready for this, though? For…me? I’m not exactly the easiest woman to love.”
Owen lifted a hand to cup my chin in one of his palms. “I have waited my whole life to love you, Whiskey. And if I wanted easy, I wouldn’t be here right now. I made a career of taking hits from guys twice your size and getting back up. Nothing you can say or do is going to break me. Throw whatever you need at me. Let me be your safe place.”
My vision blurred as tears filled my eyes, and I sniffled. I’d forever marvel at whatever force brought this man into my life, and forever wonder what I did to deserve him. But I’d spend the rest of my life proving worthy of his love and the safety of his arms.
“As long as you remember that you can do the same, QB. I know you’re all macho and hate talking about your feelings unless it’s with your therapist, but if we’re doing this, you need to know you can talk to me too. Let me be your safe place.”
Owen swallowed hard and nodded. “Whatever you want, Whiskey. It’s yours.”
I nodded and gripped his hand tightly. “Now tell me something.”
“Anything.”
“Why do you really call me ‘Whiskey’?”
Owen swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from me, and I was surprised by the slight blush that crept into his cheeks. At last, our gazes collided again. “Your eyes.”
“My eyes?”
“They’re the exact shade of top shelf whiskey, and I swear I’ve gotten drunk staring into them more times than I can count. Everything about you intoxicates me, Delia, but those eyes? Fuck, I should’ve realized I was a goner that first time you came to my office and looked at me.”
This man . Soft and sweet beneath that hard body of his, his gentle words the antithesis of his rough touches in the bedroom.
“I’m obsessed with you, you know,” I said on a laugh, shaking my head. “It’s not normal.”
“The feeling is mutual,” he replied, leaning forward to kiss me.
I was gripped by the sudden need to be connected to him right now, to seal our promises to each other with more than holding hands and kissing. To properly thank him for all he’d given me.
So I withdrew my hand from his and tossed my napkin onto my plate, then slipped out of my chair and ducked under the table.
“What’re you doing?” he hissed.
“Showing my appreciation,” I whispered back, settling between his legs and reaching for the fly on his dress pants.
“We can’t do this here!”
“Somehow, I don’t think the boss will mind,” I quipped, pulling down his zipper and reaching through the opening in his briefs to extract his cock. Apparently, feelings talk turned my man on something fierce, because he was a steel rod in my hand. I circled him in my grip and squeezed. His hips jumped toward me, a strangled groan leaving his mouth.
“You wicked, filthy girl,” he said, and it sounded like his teeth were gritted.
“You can punish me later, daddy,” I said, then closed my lips around him.
“Fuuuuuuck,” he moaned.
A moment later, I heard the waiter approach again, the china clinking as he set what I assumed was our dessert on the table.
“What happened to Miss Delatou?” he asked.
“Bathroom,” Owen gritted out, and I chuckled around him. His length twitched against my tongue with the vibrations, and I flattened it, breathing deeply through my nose as I sank him deeper into my mouth.
“You can actually take off,” Owen told him. “Tell Chef as well.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive!” Owen yelped when his head hit the back of my throat and I gagged around him. “I can clean up.”
“Okay,” the waiter said. “Thank you, Mr. Lawless. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
“You too,” Owen replied tersely, and I felt his entire body slacken the moment the man was gone.
“You are going to pay for this,” he said, digging his fingers into my scalp and holding me to him as he pushed his chair back from the table, dragging me with him.
I only hummed, circling my palms at his base and pulling off with a pop , chasing my mouth with my hands. Saliva trailed from my mouth to his head, and he broke the connection by dragging his thumb along my bottom lip.
“Get up here,” he said .
I shook my head, brushing his hand out of the way as I dove back in, my hands and mouth working in tandem as I drove him higher. Eventually I gave up keeping the pace, letting him loose to fuck my face, his fingers anchored in my hair as his cock branded my throat over and over.
“That’s right, pretty girl,” he said, as I looked up at him, eyes watering slightly, surely sending my mascara running in dark rivers down my cheeks. “You like choking on this big cock?”
Unable to verbally respond, I merely nodded, swirling my tongue along his length as he pumped in and out. I knew he was close when his hips began moving erratically, and at last he shoved deep inside and held me there. I breathed steadily through my nose, fighting off my gag reflex as he spilled in long, warm spurts down my throat.
I swallowed every drop.
“Fucking hell, Whiskey,” Owen said when I pulled off him, sinking back into his chair, boneless. “That was…”
“I know,” I smirked, licking my lips, his saltiness lingering on my tongue.
After tucking himself away, he stood and drew me to my feet, our dessert forgotten to desire as he pulled me from the restaurant.
“Your place or mine?” he asked once we were safely ensconced in his truck.
“For what?”
“For your punishment.”
God, the promise in his words sent electricity sparking across my skin.
“Mine,” I said. “Might as well be comfortable. ”
“Might as well,” he agreed wickedly.
He made good on his promise to punish me, taking no mercy on me as he stripped me naked and repeatedly drove me right to the edge with his fingers and tongue before stopping just as I was about to blast apart. When he finally shoved his cock inside me, I swear to god I blacked out for a second, the pleasure emanating from our connection taking me the fuck out. It was too much.
And with one hand wrapped around my ankle, holding my leg straight against his torso, and the other thumb circling my clit, Owen pounded into me relentlessly. He set a punishing rhythm, and I could do nothing but hold on, waiting for that wave to crash and take us both out with it. It was like my orgasm was the goal line and the game was on the line. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—stop until he broke the plane and sealed his victory.
My release built rapidly thanks to Owen’s previous torture, my nails digging into the hand he’d anchored on my thigh, holding me wide for him, as he drove me higher and higher.
At last, I shattered, my entire body shaking. My back bowed off the bed as my climax claimed me. Owen came with a roar a beat later, the clenching of my walls around him triggering his own release.
Every limb was deliciously wrung out and exhausted when I returned to my body, though my heart still beat wildly in my chest. When he withdrew and laid down next to me, pulling me against his chest, I could feel Owen’s doing the same against my back.
Satiated, I hovered in that ephemeral place between awake and asleep, content and cozy in Owen’s arms .
“I love your house,” he said suddenly, pulling me back from the slumber I was about to drop into.
“I worked really hard on it,” I told him, voice thick with fighting sleep.
“It feels like a home,” he mused. “I think, maybe, when the time comes…I’d like to live here. If you’ll have me, of course.”
“And give up your place on the lake?” I asked, eyes still closed, though my heart thumped rapidly at the idea of building a home— this home—with him. “What about privacy and security?”
“Apple Blossom Bay is different from TC, Whiskey. And like you said, you worked hard on this place. There’s plenty of room for us both, and I don’t want you to have to give it up.”
“I would for you,” I said, rolling over to face him. “We could find a place that’s ours.”
Owen shook his head. “Not necessary, my girl. This is perfect.”
I burrowed deeper into his chest, sighing contentedly as I once again drifted off.
There was something so soothing about him calling me “my girl,” a sense of belonging I hadn’t experienced in my life up to that point.
“I think I love you,” he said quietly, his lips in my hair, dropping a kiss to the top of my head.
“I think I love you too,” I whispered, then promptly fell asleep with a smile on my face.