I buried into her, inhaling the same scent I’d known since being a little girl, one that signified comfort and safety, sweet words and gently given sarcasm. Marie Callaghan was nothing if not a little salty.
I was let go rather more quickly that I’d anticipated, and she moved to Owen, forcing him to drop lower so she could smother him in another hug.
I heard him laugh and saw him hug back, thankful that I’d met a man who found my sometimes intense and slightly eccentric family amusing as opposed to smothering and interfering. It was a fine line, one we were all aware of.
“Go to bed. Rest. Make the most of it, because everything will be loud and noisy tomorrow when everyone else gets here.” She patted us both and gestured towards the hallway that led to the stairs and the large bedrooms on the first floor. “Don’t set an alarm and I won’t let Seph wake you.”
“Night, Mum.” I smiled. It was so good to see her. She was always there when I needed her most.
As soon as I’d slipped between the sheets, I’d fallen asleep, totally unaware of what Owen was up to. I woke with him curled around me, his hand just underneath my boob, acting like another blanket.
Everything was still quiet, even though daylight was flickering through the curtains, although I suspected that was because most people were already up and busy somewhere else. I knew from various early morning texts sent by Claire that Eliza liked her breakfast sometime between six and half past, and any deviation from this resulted in a tantrum spiced with Satan.
A little like Claire could be, in fact, when she wasn’t fed regularly.
“Where are you going?”
Owen’s arm got a little tighter and I felt something hard and rather welcome against my bottom.
“Bathroom.”
“Come back to bed after. No need to get up yet.” He pressed a kiss to my shoulder, still half-asleep.
I did what I needed to do and gave my teeth a quick brush, surprisingly feeling less tired than I had for weeks, even though we’d probably not had eight hours sleep yet. Checking the time wasn’t necessary; we had nowhere to be. Christmas shopping was done, presents to people that we wouldn’t see over the holiday delivered and work was switched off for the next ten days. It was just us.
Plus just a few family members.
I slipped back into bed, taking my fill of Owen who had slept naked and the duvet had wrapped around his waist as he’d turned over onto his back.
He played rugby still and went to the gym – mainly to work on his strength for playing rugby – but he put his physique down to good genes rather than any obsession with working out. I wasn’t complaining. But then, even if he did develop a dadbod at some point, I wouldn’t be complaining.
The debate was whether to let him sleep or wake him up.
But what man wouldn’t want waking up with a hot mouth around their cock?
I inched onto the mattress and worked my way up, pulling the duvet away. It was cold outside – we were due a white Christmas and snow had looked like it was on the way last night – but the house was always toasty warm.
The erection I’d felt against me before was still present. I ran a finger up and down the hard length, seeing it harden further. I’d never gotten over the silkiness that coated the iron.
I licked first, wishing I knew how it felt to be woken up like this, wanting – not for the first time – to be in Owen’s head. My tongue ran around the tip, teasing before I took it into my mouth, just an inch, and gently sucked.
A hand landed softly on my head, fingers entwining themselves in my hair. I heard a groan, then another hand reached for me, moving onto my shoulder.
“Is it Christmas?”
I laughed, the vibrations from it making him impossibly harder still.
“Payts, come up here. Come sit on my face. I need breakfast.” His words were lazy, his fingers tightening on my hair to guide me up and away from his cock. “Lose the T-shirt.”
I pulled it off, watching his face as his eyes unabashedly took in my breasts. His hands went to them, gently moving across my skin and to my nipples, his hands feathering over them.
“I still can’t believe you’re with me.” His words were reverent, a prayer almost.
His touch went south to my hips, guiding me further up him, then moving my centre down to his mouth.
The first lick had me clutching the headboard. Firm then soft; rapid, then slow. We’d learned this over the last couple of years; how to get each other started, how to induce a quick orgasm, how to extend the need and edge it out, making the other beg for mercy. Owen was inventive, imaginative. Dirty.
And he knew me enough, loved me enough, to know what I needed when.
