Only Owen didn’t wanttolie.
He let the water run, occasionally running his hand beneath the stream to test the temperature. When it was warm, Owen turned on the shower and stepped beneath it. Water ran down his body, its heat soaking into his muscles and washing away the memories of lastnight.
The night hadn’t gone late—Owen was home by eleven—but the intensity of meeting with Crawford left him drained, and he’d gone to bed almost as soon as he’d come in through the door. Now, judging by the light, it had to be near noon. It was rare for him to sleepsolate.
“This is just something you need to work out of your system,” he mumbled beneath his breath. The water washed over his erection, tempting. It hadn’t been a full day yet, but already Owen found himself starting to slip. He’d never been sowanton.
Crawford did things to him that Owen couldn’t rationalize. There was no way one man should make him feel likehedid.
“Don’t think about it,” Owen mumbled. The more he thought about Crawford, the harder it was going to be not to touch himself. His dark, piercing eyes and the smug confidence in his smirk were too alluring. And when he thought about the mischief in Crawford’s expression, it was easy to remember how naughty they’d been, and then… Owen groaned and shook his head. “Don’t. You’re only making this harder foryourself.”
Owen reached forward and braced his hands against the shower tiles. The cold wall contrasted the hot water, and he let the divide draw him back into reality. Last night might have been the hottest thing he’d done in ages, but it was over. Now he was back in his apartment, alone, trying to figure out what he was going to do about the growing need betweenhislegs.
Thedoorbellrang.
Owen jumped and almost slipped on the wet porcelain beneath his feet. He’d yet to lather up, so he turned off the shower, grabbed his towel, and hoped out. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and no one ever came to visit him out of the blue, but now that Crawford was in his life, there was no telling what couldhappen.
If Crawford was bold enough to send him packagesatwork…
Owen made his way to the intercom by the front door and pressed down on the button. “Hello?”
“Hi. Is this Mr. Ellis?” A young woman askedbrightly.
“This is him,” Owen replied. His heart shot into his throat. “To whom am Ispeaking?”
“My name is Lauren Peters. I was sent here on behalf of Mr. Daniels to deliver a package. Can Icomein?”
Owen’s tongue felt too big for his mouth. He tried to find the words to say, but his mind was working quicker than his mouth could process. For a while, all he could do wasbreathe.
“Mr.Ellis?”
“I’m here,” Owen squeaked. “I’m opening the door, okay? You can come in. I’m on the thirdfloor.”
“Thank you. I’ll be thereshortly.”
Owen pushed the button to unlock the door, then leaned back against the wall and tried to slow his racing mind. There was a package. Crawford was sending him something. What coulditbe?
Anothercollar?
Owen ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered it. The leather collar he had now was nice, but maybe Crawford had changedhismind.
Or maybe it was something innocent—breakfast, or flowers. Something small to show Owen that Crawford was still thinking of him and still interested in pursuing him. Crawford was into kink, but he was also a gentleman who believed in omega rights. Maybe this was just a sign ofcourtship.
Owen was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t think to change into a robe. When Lauren knocked at the door, he was still dripping from his shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. Bashfully, Owen held the towel in place and opened the door. Lauren didn’t look fazed in theslightest.
She was younger than Owen was, likely twenty-one or twenty-two. Her soft brown hair curled loosely to her chin, and her baby blues regarded him with interest. She wore a tiny pair of shorts and a tank top that struggled to contain her ample bosom. A small cardboard box was tucked beneathherarm.
“Hi Mr. Ellis,” she announced cheerfully. “It’s nice tomeetyou.”
“Um.” Owen looked her over. “Likewise.”
“Mr. Daniels wants you to have this,” she said. She produced the box from beneath her arm and handed it to Owen, whoacceptedit.
The package was light enough that it could be a collar, but he had a feeling that it wasn’t. There was no reason Crawford would have put it in a box when a bubble mailer worked justaswell.
“I’ll make sure he knows it was personally delivered,”Laurensaid.
“Right.” One hand on his towel, the other holding the box, Owen felt vulnerable. Lauren wasn’t intimidating, but he wasn’t used to answering the door next to naked. “Um, so do you work forhim,or…?”
