Owen falls with me. One hand grips my cheek, the other going into my hair, holding my face so that my eyes meet his. My eyes that are full of tears as he comes to the floor with me, with Lucy.
“And I hate myself for it, every day. Every fucking day, Cookie.”
The anger shifts from the room, replaced with a defeated sadness.
“I’m so sorry, so fucking sorry,” he says over and over as he places kiss after kiss on my forehead, and I grip onto his forearm.
Grief, regret, shame, every emotion I have ever pushed inside explodes out of me in a painful torrent. Tears stream down my face, sobs erupt out of me, my chest burns with pain and sadness, and Owen apologises over and over and over again.
His lips trail from my forehead onto each cheek as he kisses away my tears, kisses away the sadness of it all. His mouth is getting closer to mine, and I’m desperate for it.
The intimacy, the comfort, the need for him to wash away the memories that threaten to drown me.
His lips meet mine, and I don’t pull back.
I should.
I should pull back, I should gather myself, I should process this,weshould be having a conversation and planning our next move. But I don’t make good decisions when I’m around Owen. I’m distracted, I’m conflicted, and I want him.
More than I want anything else in this entire world.
More than my deal with Andrews. I want him more than I want to punish him.
I just want him.
He goes to pull back, but I moan against his lips, a noise between a wounded animal and a moan of contentment.
But he gets the idea.
His tongue delves into my mouth, breaking the seam of my lips as the kiss goes from a tentative peck to a passionate dance of tongues, teeth and groans.
Our mouths move in perfect synchronisation, two broken souls destined to find each other to mend our shattered, broken past.
My hands reach out and tug at his hair, he growls his appreciation as he pushes me onto my back.
Thank God for fluffy carpets.
My hands roam over his shoulders, arms and back. I can’t touch him enough, can’t get him close enough.
His hands work up my stomach, slow and certain, like he’s trying to learn every intricate detail, tracing every inch of skin, touching the scars that I once hated. He smiles against mymouth when he hits the sensitive spot that always makes me squirm.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes bore into mine as he touches his lips.
“You’re so beautiful.” His voice rough like gravel.
But I don’t want to hear his words. Not now. I want him. His mouth. His hands. His everything.
I want to feel it all.
I tug him back down, kissing him harder, tasting my own desperation on his lips.
His lips brand me. Kisses turn to bites as he works his way along my jaw, onto my neck, and tracks down my body, which arches as he puts his hands into my trousers and pulls them down. He breaks the space between us enough so he can lay me bare.
Then turns all his attention to my pussy.
He holds my eyes in his green gaze the whole time, and I lean up on my elbows to watch the erotic moment. Our eyes break as his tongue delves between my lips and I’m a slave to the sensation.
He licks me like he’s starving, like nothing else matters but this, me. Us. He groans into me, sending vibrations up my spine. His mouth works with maddening precision, tongue fucking me deep before moving to my clit, where he sucks and bites making my thighs clench and fingers claw at him.
