Chapter Nineteen
Willa
I felt like a thousand-pound weight had lifted from my shoulders after telling Owen everything about Adelaide, her father, and the situation as a whole.
I should have known he would be his usual understanding self. I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard him get worked up about anything. Or become judgmental about the circumstances someone found themselves in.
It took me a long time not to immediately see myself as at fault for the whole situation. For sleeping with someone at work. For not looking into Chase. For ignoring red flags. For not doubling up on protection methods.
Yes, I could have done many things differently.
But I wasn’t to blame for the fact that he deliberately kept so much from me: a whole wife, kids, life.
Maybe part of it was a form of self-preservation.
I knew that as far as we had gotten in society, there were still many people who viewed single mothers through a different lens, who judged them for doing it all.
When, in reality, the men in their lives often gave them no choice.
So if I prejudged myself for all the things I could have changed, everyone else’s judgment or scorn wouldn’t sting as much.
That was why, wasn’t it, that I’d fabricated the lie about being with someone? So my coworkers wouldn’t judge me?
Luckily for me, that lie had led somewhere amazing, somewhere I never could have expected.
“Okay, she is down,” Owen said as he came back down from the nursery, where he’d been reading to Adelaide, who seemed to find his voice relaxing.
“No way. That fast?”
“She’s probably still recovering. Needs a little extra sleep. How are you feeling?”
“Good. Unloading that hot dishwasher gave me a good steam and cleared out my sinuses.”
“Glad to hear it. Now I know you can breathe when I do this.”
His hand lifted, sliding down to cup my jaw before lowering down and sealing his lips to mine.
It was just a brush at first, just a soft, sweet pressure without expectation.
It wasn’t long before my hands were sliding up to grab the collar of his shirt, my chest pressing to his, my lips slanting, silently demanding more, harder, deeper.
Owen turned me, pushing me back against the island, then closing any remaining space between us. At the feel of his hardness against my belly, a low groan worked its way up my throat and muffled against his lips.
His free hand glided down, grabbed me behind the knee, lifted my leg, and spread it wide against the cabinet. Shifting in, he ground against the center of me.
My head fell back on a moan, and Owen’s face chased the movement, his lips teasing up the column of my neck, tongue circling the fluttering, erratic beat of my pulse.
My hands grew greedy, sliding up his strong forearms, over his biceps, shoulders, chest, then downward to gather the bottom of his shirt.
He pulled back, allowing me to drag the shirt up and off, tossing it—already forgotten—to the floor.
My palms slid all over him again, tracing the contours of his muscles, delighting in the way they reacted to my touch, how his breath would catch as I explored him, how his hips would buck harder when my fingers glided over a sensitive spot.
I’d just gotten his pants unfastened and pushed the material down, my stomach tensing in anticipation of reaching into his boxer briefs to free him, when he pulled away to drop down to his knees in front of me.
His head angled back, gaze holding mine, as he reached up, grabbing the waistband of my shorts and sliding them down.
The cool air and the heat of his gaze pricked my skin, making goosebumps rise as a shiver worked its way down my spine.
I lost his gaze as his head dipped, his lips pressing to the inside of my knee, then gliding up my thigh until he reached my panties, where his tongue traced the crease until my thighs started to shake.
Then, making my breath catch, his lips sucked at my clit through my panties. A moan escaped me as my hand slapped down on his head, fingers sifting into his soft hair, then gripping. My hips rocked as his tongue worked me through the material for a moment before, finally, he pulled it down.
He waited for me to step out before he was between my legs again. Without the barrier, the heat of his tongue as it traced me had my thighs shaking as my hips rode the sensation, chasing the climax that was building inside.
My soft sounds grew to loud moans, the sound filling the empty house as Owen continued his unbearable teasing, driving me just to that edge, then retreating before I could fly over.
His hand slid between us, fingers gliding inside me, thrusting for a moment before twisting, then stroking against my top wall.
There was no way to edge me again.
Even I wasn’t prepared as the orgasm surged through me, stealing my breath and my voice, so all I could do was shake and hold him against me as the waves crashed again and again.
He slipped away after, kissing up across the triangle of my sex, over my belly, then skipping over my chest to tease my neck again.
His fingers were still inside me, thrusting lazily, somehow managing to start to drive me up again.
“Owen, please,” I begged as my hips started to rock against his fingers—needing more, needing him.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded as his teeth snagged my earlobe and tugged.
“You,” I whimpered, reaching out to cup him through his boxer briefs. For just a second, he rocked into my hand, his breath going short and shallow, his body tensing.
But then his hand slid from between my thighs so he could yank down his underwear.
While on his knees, he must have fished a condom out of his wallet with his free hand because the next thing I knew, he had the foil to his lips, nipped the edge, then ripped it open.
I watched, desire tightening, as he slid on the protection, then stroked himself down to the base so he could slide his length against my cleft, coating himself in my desire, then tapping against my throbbing clit until I was wild with desire.
Only then did he slide inside me, dragging a moan from deep in my chest as he gasped at the tight clench of my walls around him.
I grabbed his hips, trying to force him to move when he stilled as he slammed deep.
“Owen, move,” I begged, shameless with my need for release.
“Not yet,” he said, his voice tight. “I need to get control over myself.”
“No, you don’t.”
He didn’t need more encouragement than that.
He yanked up my leg, hooking it around his waist, and then he was moving—hard, fast, deep, each thrust of his hips making my whole body jolt. But I just met his movements with my own, sinking down as he slammed deep, my sounds growing until I was shaking, moaning, coming around him.
But as I came down, it was clear Owen was not done with me, not yet.
Feeling the change in me, he grabbed my hips as he slid out of me, turning me, then pressing my upper body across the island, the cool surface making a shiver rack my overheated system. But there was barely time to process that as Owen moved in behind me and slammed deep inside me again.
He reached for my arms, spreading them out in front of me. “Grab the edge,” he demanded.
Then showed me exactly why he’d made that demand as he started to move. Not fast—slow, deliberate, hard, each thrust with enough force behind it to send me up over the island if he hadn’t told me to hold on.
It wasn’t long until I was pulsing and aching, my sounds graduating from moans to cries as the desire twisted so tight, I felt about to snap.
“There,” Owen groaned, voice deep. “That’s it. Come for me. I need to feel it.”
With that, I did, crying out over and over as the waves pulled me under again and again.
Owen cursed, working me through it, then slamming impossibly deep, his body jerking as he came.
I can’t say how long we stayed there after—me flat against the cold, hard stone surface, him behind me with one hand holding onto my shoulder.
But eventually, we both decided to move at once, him sliding away, and me pushing myself back up.
By the time I turned, Owen had his pants back in place and was holding out my shorts and panties with this devilish little look he’d totally earned.
“That was worth the wait,” he said as I pulled my clothes back on.
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” I said.
Then he was reaching for me, pulling me against him, and kissing me long and deep until, inevitably, Adelaide let out a wail from up in her nursery.
“She needs to nurse.”
He nodded at that. “How about you do that, then meet me back down here for a cup of coffee to end the night?”
“Decaf?”
“Decaf.”
“Looking forward to it,” I said before rushing up the stairs to grab my baby, taking her with me to the glider to nurse.
“I know it’s early,” I told Adelaide, my voice whisper-soft, “but I think he might be the one.”
Not the one I’d planned.
Not the one who checked all the boxes I used to think were so important.
Not the one I could have seen coming.
Yet, somehow, everything I could possibly need.
No, he didn’t wear a suit to a corner office every day. But he owned his own business. He was busy and successful by most metrics. Maybe not rich, but I had every faith that he could be much wealthier if that was what he wanted. But he didn’t aspire to that.
And to be honest, the more time I spent at home with my baby, and with my family when they came to visit, the more I was seeing that maybe I’d placed a little too much emphasis on my career.
Over the years, I’d been cognizant of the fact that I was missing out on family gatherings or nights out with my friends. I told myself that it was necessary for advancement, that it would all be worth it, that at some point, I would be in a place in my career that I would have abundant free time.
I never stopped to ask myself important questions. Like why I thought it was necessary to sacrifice the joy of the present moment for some unknown, not promised future.
It was funny how a baby could really ground you in the moment. There was no future when you were in the trenches of sleeplessness, feedings, changings, and just trying to get through the next few moments when you are so tired you can barely see straight.
I mean, I wasn’t saying I was suddenly going to give up my career or anything like that.
But it was becoming much more important to me to protect my free time.
No more late nights because a client was in a different timezone.
No more working twice as hard as my peers just to get half the recognition they got.
I was seriously going to start looking for a new job once I was off of maternity leave. Something solid and well-paying without requiring more from me than I was willing to give.
I wanted to be home to see my baby for more than an hour or two before she went to bed. I wanted the flexibility to chaperone school trips, be home when she was sick, take vacations. The important things.
And those important things… they were going to include Owen.
Owen with his calm nature, his capability, his devotion, his ability to soothe my anxiety, his softness, and, yeah, his handyman skills. Which were unexpectedly hot.
“I think he will be good for us,” I told a milk-drunk Adelaide as I set her down in her crib before making my way downstairs to find Owen waiting for me.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked as we curled on the couch together.
“I was just thinking about life. The future. Changes I want to make.”
“What kind of changes?”
“A better work-life balance, mostly.”
“I feel you on that. I think it is time to seriously consider hiring some help too. Life is too precious to spend every spare moment working. I guess I didn’t notice it as much when, well, work was all there was.”
“And now?”
“Now there’s you. And Adelaide. And Tuna,” he said as the dog sighed loudly, like he knew he was being excluded. “And I’d much rather spend my free time with the three of you than fixing a leaky sink.”
“I retain the right to use your leaky sink skills as needed.”
“Pro bono,” he said as he leaned forward to put his empty cup on the coffee table.
I set mine on the end table, then moved to straddle him.
“Well, I can think of some ways to pay you back…”