by Annie Kelly
“Let’s get out of the water,” he mutters. He pushes himself up onto the ledge, then pulls me up on top of him. I’m straddling his thighs, and Owen doesn’t waste any time. He slides my bathing suit bottoms to the side and plunges a finger deep into my pussy.
“Oh, fuck . . .”
I bite down so hard on my bottom lip that I can taste the coppery tinge of blood, and I couldn’t give a shit less. Instead, I writhe on his hand as one, then two fingers enter my wet pussy.
“God, you’re slick as hell, baby.”
I don’t say anything to that. Instead, I reach over to the towel on the side of the pool and pull the wrapped condom I’d put there earlier out from underneath it. I tear the package open with my teeth just as Owen is yanking my bottoms completely off my legs. We’re driven to this point—driven by desire and lust and something else. Something I can’t possibly name, but that feels as strong as any emotion I’ve ever known.
“I can’t wait to feel that tight pussy sliding up and down my cock,” Owen growls into my ear. His dirty talk—so unexpected from this buttoned-up, put-together guy—feels even hotter because of how unlikely it feels coming out of his mouth. I reach down and slide the condom over his rock-hard dick, then press my soaking slit along his sheathed cock.
“You sure you want this?” I ask him, a coy little smile playing at my lips.
Owen doesn’t even respond. He just drives his cock upwards—fast and hard and fully—into my wet pussy. I gasp at the intensity, the warmth and slight edge of pain I feel as he enters me.
“Fuck . . . yes . . .”
My words dissolve into sounds. Moans. A keening, high-pitched breathiness that is less human and pure pleasure.
“God, Rainey. You are fucking amazing.”
He continues to pump his hips upward, but I adjust to his thrusts and begin to undulate body along with every move he makes. As I do, Owen’s eyes almost cross as he closes them.
“Yes, baby,” he murmurs.
He anchors a hand in my hair at the nape of my neck and pulls me down over and over again, his thick hardness spearing into my wetness again and again. There’s a slight bite of pain as he twists his fingers in my hair, but I love it.
I love every fucking second of it.
I stare up at the ceiling as my orgasm begins to overtake my body. There’s a shiver, a chill in the air as I ride Owen with abandon—completely unashamed and completely free. I shatter into a million pieces as my orgasm spreads over my body. Seconds later, I can feel Owen shudder beneath me. I’m falling back down to earth, my breathing slowly becoming more and more normal as I look back down into Owen’s eyes.
“That was . . .” I trail off. Owen cracks a smile, then leans forward and presses an almost chase kiss against my mouth.
“Fucking awesome,” he finishes, leaning back to grin at me. I’m about to move, to go fishing for my bathing suit bottoms and try to make this as non-awkward as possible, when Owen clasps my wrists lightly and pulls me down into him.
“Wait,” he murmurs into my hair. “Just sit with me for a second.”
It feels weird at first. I have a hard time relaxing, but after another long minute of listening to our breathing and the sound of the pool filter’s trademark gurgle, I begin to relax into Owen. I feel his hand stroking my back and I stare out through the darkness.
I never saw Owen coming. Something about that feels completely terrifying and totally exhilarating all at once. Regardless of which emotion is stronger, nothing could possibly pull me from his arms at this very moment. I thought I’d felt like I’d found that sense of home before, when Charlie and I were reveling in the new Safe Spaces conference room transformation.
Is it possible I could find that same feeling twice in one night?
Part Three
Chapter Thirteen
“Nothing?” I ask Shannon as I come back through the door from picking up lunch. She shakes her head.
“Nope. No mail at all today so far.”
“Okay, thanks.”
For the past few weeks, I’ve gotten myself psyched up every day for the mail to arrive, and every day there’s nothing. Most of the grants I applied for have already been awarded, but we’re still waiting to hear on a few. Especially now that we’ve got about fifteen regular Safe Spaces attendees—we need to get that grant money ASAP. For now, they’re making do with the conference room and its meager offerings, but they deserve better. They’re sharing lockboxes and they’re always polite and grateful, but I want to offer them more.
We haven’t had any other interactions with Charlie’s stepfather, but I’m holding my breath and waiting for him to show back up. Smith reported back that he’s got a clear record, but that he’d keep an eye on things for me.
I decide to go talk to Owen and see if he’d be willing to talk to the city funding office. I’ve asked him half a dozen times already, but I come bounding toward his office anyway, only to stop in my tracks when I see Jenn standing in his doorway, sorting through some papers.
“Oh—hi. Is he in yet?”
She shakes her head, half-absorbed by the papers in her hands.
“He’s late. He’s on his way.”
“Hmm, okay . . .” I frown, then shrug before turning around and heading back to my office. I was so ready to have a knock-down, drag-out debate that feels a little sexier than it probably should. Instead, it will have to wait. I can’t help but be a little disappointed.
I’ve been working for about an hour when my phone pings.
Owen: Be at work in ten. Wanna meet in my office in a few minutes?
Immediately, I feel like my body is zinging with electricity. I bite down hard on my lip, but the smile breaks through it anyway. Ever since our motorcycle ride out to the harbor lookout, Owen and I have been business associates in public and anything but business in private. His office. The locker room. Hell, even a custodial closet—they’ve all been secret rendezvous points for us during the workday. We haven’t done much outside of work, save a meal with a bunch of the staff last weekend, but it doesn’t stop us from finding time together when we can.
I try to work, but that lasts for maybe a minute. I settle for pacing in my office and grinning like an idiot. After a few minutes, I hear him talking to Shannon and my heart skips a beat or ten. I try to wait patiently. I did actually have a genuinely good reason to talk to him. What was it about?
Oh, funding. Right.
God, this man fries my brain.
As I walk over to his office, I force myself to maintain my breathing. I need to appear unflustered, even unaffected by Owen when we’re at work. Of course, that’s easier said than done—especially when I see him. He’s wearing dark jeans and his uniform polo shirt. His toffee-colored gaze lands on mine and he grins, then schools his expression.
“Can I talk to you about a few budget concerns?” I ask from his doorway. I know Shannon can hear us talking. She’s the gossip queen of BYC anyway—it would be better for her not to have any clue of what’s happening behind the scenes.
Owen nods slowly, then rises from his desk chair.
“Of course. Come on in.”
He closes the door behind me, and, almost imperceptibly, I hear the lock turn. For a long moment, we stand feet apart, staring at each other and breathing hard. Then, all hell breaks loose.
Owen’s lips come crashing down onto mine. He is anything but gentle. He maneuvers my mouth open with his, then plunges his tongue inside. I’m pinned up against the wall of his office with his body. My back bows and I press my breasts into his chest. I can only whimper as he dives back in. He grabs my ass hard, squeezing a handful of my flesh for good measure, then lets that same hand coast up my body to the nape of my neck.
“All I could think about for the last hour of my stupid meeting was you,” he’s saying now in my ear, his tongue and teeth coasting over my lobe. “I’
d like to bend you over my desk and fuck you nice and hard and deep.”
The moan that comes from my mouth is far more animal than human.
“Please,” I whimper.
“I like hearing you beg,” he growls in my ear.
I’ve got my hands in his hair as he plunges his hand down under my jeans. When his fingers hit my wetness, I’m done for and I know it. I’m keening and he’s got one finger inside me while another strokes my clit with a maddening rhythm.
“That’s right, fuck my hand. You know how bad you want it. Let me give it to you. Come for me.”
I feel the wave crash and froth over me, a physical force. I’ve never in my life had an orgasm this powerful. I rock back on my heels and I practically collapse against the wall behind me.
Jesus. Owen Marshall is redefining who I am, how I do things, and I’m caring less and less. Now, I’m hardly able to breathe, let alone walk. And it isn’t even lunch yet.
***
“Owen, come on. Don’t be such a pussy.”
He raises a brow at me, then leans back in his desk chair. I sigh and shake my head.
“Look, all I’m saying is this—I want to see the county or city pony up some money for Safe Spaces. They should want to. So many teens are participating already and we’ll only grow with time. All I’m asking is that you present the idea to them. See if they’ll do it.”
He inhales hard, then exhales loudly. It’s almost an exasperated groan.
“Look, if we don’t hear anything from the grant boards by the end of the week, I’ll let you come up with a proposal.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. But until then—could you refrain from calling me a pussy?”
I smirk at him as I stand up. “I don’t know. I guess I could try.”
“Thanks a lot.”
As I head out of his office, Owen clears his throat. I turn around and raise an eyebrow.
“Since I’m willing to do something for you, think you might do something for me?”
I turn around fully and cross my arms over my chest.
“Perhaps. What do you need me to do?”
He stands up and comes closer.
“I was thinking that maybe we could go out for dinner tonight—like, actually out to a restaurant instead of back to my apartment or yours.”
Now both of my brows are raised in surprise.
“Um—yeah. Sure. That sounds really fun, actually.”
Owen had been the one who was so afraid of us being seen. I wonder what’s caused his change of heart. Then again, I don’t really want to think about it too closely.
“You know, I do have a short black dress I’ve been dying to take out for a spin . . .” I say slowly, pressing a finger to my lips.
Owen’s eyes flare and he grabs his phone from his desk.
“I’ll make reservations for eight p.m. I’ll pick you up from your apartment at seven p.m.”
I grin. “You got it.”
I turn around and head for the door, but Owen calls after me before I make it too far.
“Hey, Rainey?”
“Hmmm.”
“That black dress have a pair of heels to go along with it?”
I grin and sway my hips as I head out the door.
“It just might . . .”
Maybe it’s an unorthodox relationship, but it works for us.
At least, for now.
Chapter Fourteen
“You know,” I say, sipping my glass of chardonnay, “we really shouldn’t be celebrating, considering there’s absolutely no reason to believe this plan will work. No money equals no money.”
“Shut it,” Owen says, mock-glowering at me. He reaches over, his pilsner glass still slightly foamy at the top with his second beer, and clinks it against mine. “We’re out celebrating the fact that we’re moving forward with your idea—an idea, mind you, that you only came up with, what? A month ago? And already there’s so much excitement for it.”
I shrug. “Something like that.”
I pick up my fork and start playing with what’s left of my blackened salmon, but I can feel Owen’s eyes focused on me. When I look up again, his gaze is soft and warm.
“Would it be super-patronizing and parent-like to say that I’m proud of you?”
I snort. “Yeah, a little maybe.”
He shrugs. “Well, too damn bad. I am—I’m proud of you.”
I sigh, then take a bite of my fish.
“Honestly, you shouldn’t be.” I swallow, then wipe my mouth. “If I’d gotten on this sooner, we would have made more deadlines. We could have applied for more grants and less-competitive programs. We would have had a better chance at more money.”
Owen reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Don’t be offended—but shut the fuck up.”
I raise a brow at him. “Are you serious?”
“A little. I mean, come on, Rainey. You’ve done more in the last few weeks than anyone has at BYC in years—especially Remy, who frankly should have thought of this shit a long time ago.”
I bristle.
“Look, Remy had a ton on his plate. Staffing was always an issue, he had that one chick doing front desk who he had to fire for stealing—it was a crazy year.”
“Maybe.” Owen cuts a piece of his steak, then chews thoughtfully. “But that shouldn’t take anything away from how much you’ve gotten done in such a short period of time.”
I drain the rest of my wine, and, as though summoned by the sound of an empty glass, the waiter comes to pour more from the iced bottle. I nod a thank-you as he leaves.
“Anyway,” I say, feeling desperately eager to change the subject, “I’m thinking I’ll look into something to replace the lockboxes first. Maybe some lockers I can buy from old schools or something . . .”
Owen is watching me—or, more accurately, watching my mouth—as I take another sip of my drink. Finally, I swallow and grin at him.
“See something that’s fascinating you?” I ask, running a fingertip along the rim of my glass and shooting him a coy look. Owen licks his lips and leans in.
“Truth?”
“Of course.”
“You.”
I raise a brow. “Me?”
“Yeah, you.” Owen clasps a hand around the back of his neck and gives me an almost sheepish look. “I spend half the time I’m with you feeling completely out of my league and the other time imagining getting you completely naked.”
The smile spreads over my face with an involuntary momentum. It’s like gravity itself.
“Do you now?” I ask, my voice slightly husky. “How about you describe that for me?”
He lowers his hands and splays them wide on the table.
“Look, I mean, you’re gorgeous, you’re brilliant—you’re awesome with the kids and staff. How could I not be intimidated by that?”
I shake my head. “First of all—I am the last person who should be considered intimidating. Trust me. I’m a spaz most of the time. I can barely keep my shit together.”
I lean a little closer.
“But the description I was requesting? That was of the other part. The naked part.”
Owen smirks, then crosses his arms over his broad chest.
“What do you want to know?”
I open my mouth to respond, to spur him on, when he lowers his voice and continues.
“Do you want to hear about how every time we’re alone together, I imagine pulling your ponytail in one hand and wrapping it around my wrist? I imagine holding your head still while I devour that fucking mouth of yours.”
I suck in a breath, my eyes wide.
“What else?” I whisper.
“I imagine locking my office door behind us and pinning you up against the desk. I picture ripping your shirt open
and buttons flying everywhere, then getting your gorgeous tits in my mouth as quickly as possible.”
Holy fuck. I can feel my panties begin to dampen. Actually—no, I can’t. Since I decided to forgo the panties tonight.
“And that’s not all I can’t wait to get in my mouth as quickly as possible,” Owen murmurs. He flicks his tongue out along his lower lip in a subtle hint, but it wasn’t necessary. I got the gist.
“Owen,” I say, my voice low.
“Time to go?”
I inhale a shaky breath, then nod.
“Please.”
Before I can ask, “Your place or mine?” he’s got a hand up in the air.
“Check please!” he calls out to our waiter. Then he sends me a smoldering look that could potentially melt me right here in the chair.
God, I don’t know how we’re making it all the way home. The sexual tension is sizzling hot and harder than anything I’ve ever experienced. We might end up naked on the side of the road—and I’m not entirely sure I’d care. It wouldn’t be the first time we couldn’t keep our clothes on when cars are involved.
***
We make it to my apartment, but just barely. My dress is off before I can even consider making its disappearance sexy or slow or even remotely notable in the way strippers do in clubs or on stages. Seconds later, Owen’s shirt is over his head, and my tongue feels dry and huge in my mouth. God, every time I see his body, it’s like the first time. It’s like I’m seeing something that’s a cross between holy and illegal. Then he drops his pants, revealing tight grey boxer-briefs, and I’m completely lost. Right now, I just want him. My body. His body. As long as we’re touching, we’ll be doing something right.
Slowly, he moves us toward my couch. He eases me down and I lie back—partly out of the desperate need to be beneath him and partly out of an innate desire to respond to his body’s movements. As he hovers hardly a foot above me, I can feel his breath grow shallow and I close my eyes. I want to feel his mouth on me again—on any part of me, at any time.
