Chapter 18 #2
He moves the sweater farther out of reach. “The only thing you’re ruining here is your sweater. The floor’s sealed. Lynne’s got it.”
He stands, grabbing my hand and pulling me up before towing me behind him.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, the impatience and anger in my tone evident.
“To rinse out this sweater before it does get ruined.”
“Golden boy always has the answer.”
He looks over his shoulder with a lifted brow, but stays quiet. He’s so damn steady, his hand anchoring me even as my emotions roil, looking for an outlet.
Owen leads me into a full commercial kitchen off the ballroom. He turns on the water at one of the massive sinks, flicking his fingers under the stream until he deems it warm enough, then methodically rinses my sweater and hangs it up.
I spend the entire five-minute process prowling the kitchen like a tiger in a shitty zoo with way too much energy for the small cage I’ve been forced into.
He leans on the counter, drying his hands on a dishcloth. “What’s wrong?”
“Pretty sure that’s none of your goddamned business,” I reply with a sarcastic smile, and feel a twinge of regret when the corner of his mouth pulls tighter.
This is me at my worst. Mean and angry and unable to stop my own self-destruction. He thinks he wants me, but he doesn’t know me. This is the real Thea, and it’s the one that will scare him away for good. At least I’ll give Addy a clean break if no one in this family wants anything to do with me.
He runs his tongue over his teeth, nodding.
“Does it become my business when you slam into me—still waiting on that apology, by the way—spill coffee all over the floor, and then strip in front of me?” I glance down, remembering then that I’d put nothing underneath the thin white tank top this morning, assuming my sweater would keep me covered.
“I’m so sorry for degrading your lovely family home with my near nakedness.”
He flicks the dishcloth over his shoulder and crosses his arms. “Never said I was complaining.”
I stop pacing, pinning him with a hard stare. “Why are you being so fucking nice to me?”
His head tilts to the side, his eyes soft. “Because you’re clearly upset.”
“I’m being a bitch.”
His lips twitch, but he wrangles them back into a straight line. “Your words, not mine.”
I run my hands up into my curls, tugging at the roots. “I had an argument with Addy.”
His eyes soften. “Want to talk about it?”
“No,” I say harshly, continuing to pace. “I don’t want to deal with any of this. I had this wedding thrown on me and now I’m fighting with my sister, and I don’t know what I’m doing and the last thing I want is to talk about it.”
“Then what do you need?” he asks, so strong and steady it makes me want to scream. Is he always so fucking composed? I practically snarl, and he grabs my hand to make me stop in front of him. “What do you need, Thea?”
I brace for the pity I expect to find on his face, the same magnanimous look I’ve gotten from friends and foster parents. Poor Thea, she can’t handle her emotions. Instead, all I see is patience, like he’s willing to wait me out while I work through it all.
And suddenly, another emotion floods my veins. Need, for him to be close, to feel and experience that solidity. To know I have someone behind me, even though I’ve spent decades telling myself I’m fine on my own.
My fingers dive into the soft strands of his hair, yanking his body closer to me, and my lips seal over his. He lets out a surprised groan, his hands coming to my hips and squeezing, hard, before he remembers himself, lightly pushing me back.
“This isn’t what you need,” he says hoarsely.
“It is.”
I step closer, running my lips up his throat. He’s exactly what I need, what I’ve needed since I set eyes on him again. I’ve only denied myself because Addy didn’t want me to pursue it, but why should I make my decisions based on her when she hardly considers me family?
“You don’t want this. I understand why you don’t want this. It would be a mistake.” His words rumble against my lips, the vibrations moving through my body and making me ache in the most delicious way.
“Maybe. But I still need it. I need you.”
He pulls my lips from his neck, dropping his forehead to mine. His eyes flutter closed as he lets out a shaky breath.
“I don’t want to be something you regret, Thea. I can’t be something you regret.”
My heart squeezes, emotions I can’t name lighting up inside me. “There isn’t a moment with you I’ve ever regretted,” I whisper across his lips.
His eyes blink open, heat and longing in the swirling colors, and then he kisses me, soft and gentle, until I escalate it with a nip to his bottom lip. He groans into my mouth, rough hands yanking me more firmly against him.
I pull back from the kiss, panting. “Take me somewhere.”
“My room. Now.”
He pulls me toward the exit, but I yank back.
I know what will happen if we go to his room.
He’ll kiss me sweetly, lay me out across his king-size bed, and make love to me.
But I’m not that girl, the one you bring breakfast in bed the next morning and who shows up at your mother’s house with homemade cookies for brunch.
I need to make sure he understands and accepts that. That I understand and accept that.
“Too far,” I say.
He stares at me for a beat, then groans and drags me in the other direction, through the kitchen until we reach a large walk-in closet filled with cleaning supplies. He softly shuts the door behind us, sliding the lock into place.
“If you get us caught, we’re both dead. Can you keep quiet, Thea?” he asks while stalking toward me, my back knocking into the shelves behind me.
“Won’t be a problem. Unless you think you can make me scream,” I taunt.
He huffs out a laugh, bringing his lips to my ear. “Don’t be a brat.”
Everything inside me goes tight. This side of Owen, the one I got a glimpse of when he kissed me in the hallway, is going to make me lose my mind. He runs his lips down my neck, following the line of my collarbone, not kissing me but giving enough pressure to drive me wild.
“Owen, if you don’t kiss me in the next ten seconds, I’m going to walk out that door.”
He pulls back, a smug smile plastered on his face as he looks deep in my eyes. Shit, cocky Owen really does it for me. “You know? I don’t think you will. I think you’ll let me torture you as long as I want.”
I push his body back until he hits the opposite set of shelves, and the small flair of panic in his eyes that I might leave feels like a victory. But walking away right now is a physical impossibility.
He’s so sturdy, always there for everyone. Who takes care of him, looks out for his needs? I want to play that role, even if for a short time, so I go to my knees in front of him, my hands coming to the button of his pants.
“And if I want to torture you?”
His hands come to my biceps. “This is for you. You don’t need to do that.”
“This is for me,” I say.
“Thea,” he says as his fingers tighten enough on my arms to pull me back to standing. “It’s fine.”
I groan. “Stop being so polite.”
His brow furrows. “Since when is treating you with respect a bad thing?”
“It’s not respect when I’m telling you what I want—when it’s what you want, too—and you’re denying both of us for some patriarchal sense of gallantry.”
“Thea,” he says cautiously.
He’s so used to prioritizing everyone else, he doesn’t even know how to accept putting his desires first when it’s offered. But it’s inside him. I could see it at the bar that night, the way he watched me. If he can stick with me through my rage, I can help him see he deserves this.
I grab either side of his face, forcing him to look at me.
“Do the things you were imagining while I was on stage. It was all there in your eyes. The way you watched me?” I moan, feeling a rush of arousal at the memory.
“Like you wanted to climb up there and do unspeakable things to me. I want that, too.”
He lets out a shuddering breath.
I lift my chin, letting my lips drift over his with each word. “What do you want, Owen? Do you want me to walk out that door and let you keep your perfect golden-boy persona, or do you want me on my knees for you so you can fuck my mouth?”
“Fuck,” he growls right before he wraps a hand around the back of my neck.
The word lands like a lightning strike between my legs.
He’s never said it—not around me, at least—and seeing this perfect gentleman unravel at my goading is a fantasy brought to life.
I want to take him apart piece by piece.
His mouth crashes against mine, everything about this kiss bigger than our first. His tongue delves between my lips, a delicious sweep.
I moan into his mouth, and he spins us so I’m pinned to the shelves instead, grinding against me in a way that tells me exactly how he’ll treat me in bed if he lets go.
Sparks shoot behind my eyes, and I think this may be the fastest I’ve ever gotten this close to coming, and all without a single piece of clothing removed.
He pulls back, and I chase his mouth with mine until a tightened pressure on my neck causes me to open my eyes.
Owen’s gaze is dark, all colors except those rings of navy swept away by his pupils. And when he speaks again, everything in my body goes weak.
“Get on your knees, Thea.”