Rescue Breathing (19 page)

“
I really am sorry, Owen.”

He hushes me and leans down for another
slow kiss.
An
understanding passes between us that neither of us can define. The
atmosphere has changed in the room, and it's not sexually charged,
but lovingly charged.

He slowly and methodically undoes my top,
testing the waters to see if I
'
ll stop him. I
don
't. I search his
eyes, which are soft, warm, and comfortable. He undresses me
slowly, and in return, I start to unbutton his shirt, pulling it
from his jeans. All of this is unhurried with an undertone of want
and need. We are silent, letting our actions speak for us. He makes
quick work of my clothes and I am suddenly standing before him in
just my panties and bra. I take a step back to watch him strip out
of the rest of his clothes, and he tosses them onto the nearby
chair, leaving only his boxers on.

The underwear we have left on gives a
certain modesty to this moment.
This isn't going to be about fucking. I know that now. He
takes my hand, shuts off the light, and leads me toward the
bed.

In the dark, all of my senses become
hyperaware. Suddenly, all I hear is our breathing. All I feel are
his calloused hands as they slide over my body, moving me slowly
toward the bed. I feel the mattress hit the back of my knees and he
stops. I feel his mouth on my shoulder leaving warm, wet, kisses. I
think I hear myself moan, but I can't be sure.

I place my palms on his chest, feeling his
heartbeat.
It's thudding
rapidly, and I feel it speed up as my other hand runs over his
abdomen. His mouth slides across my collarbone to my other
shoulder, and his teeth pick up the strap of my bra and gently move
it off my shoulder. His lips move to the swell of my breast as his
hand comes up my side. If time could stand still right now, I
wouldn't fight it.

“
Owen
…” I moan into his neck. It's the first thing that's been
uttered since we started undressing, but it comes out more as a
breath than a word.

He kisses down my neck and across the tops
of my breasts as he reaches around me to unfasten my bra. It pops
open, and he slides the other strap down my arm, tossing it to the
floor. His large hands cup both breasts as his thumbs pass over my
pebbled nipples. He bends down, taking one into his mouth, suckling
gently.

“
Ahhh…” I whimper, my hands delving into
his hair.

Owen groans and kisses from one nipple to
the other as he gently lays me down on the bed. He lies beside me,
his hands sliding across my body as if committing it to
memory.
It's so
erotic.

His hands run up my side, over my chest,
down my arm. He laces his fingers with mine as he leans over me,
kissing me again. In the dark, with him over me, I feel small and
feminine. This is the definition of sensual, and every nerve ending
in my body is awake and cataloging his every move. I run my hand
down his back and let my fingers slip under the elastic of his
boxers. When he moves, I can feel his erection press into my
thigh—a feeling I've become accustomed to in the last few days. A
rather quick accommodation of this feeling really. I let both hands
slip in and I lightly rub his ass.

I
'm not being grabby or insistent, because there is nothing
rushed about this. Our other sexual encounters were hot, heavy,
rough. And I loved that, but this...This is different and amazing
and exactly what I needed from him tonight.

I start to push his boxers down as he
settles himself between my legs, his lips never leaving my
skin.
When I let my legs
fall open to him, he settles his weight on me. Propping himself up
on his hands, he looks down at me. I can barely see his eyes in the
dark, but for whatever reason, I have never felt as beautiful as I
feel in this one moment.

He hovers above me, continuing to stare
down. It seems almost like he's lost in my face.

“
Owen? Are you okay?” I ask.

“
Everything is perfect.” he breathes, and
it feels like his words are weighted with a meaning
unspoken.

I slide my hands up his arms and capture
his face, pulling him down to my waiting mouth.
Our kiss is slow and wet, tender and
passionate. I'm lost to him, and I want to please him so very badly
in this moment.

He slowly grinds his erection against my
sex, only my panties serving as a barrier between him and his
ultimate goal. I moan into his mouth as the tip of his penis
strains against my opening through the now drenched
fabric.

“
You're so beautiful, Liv,” he whispers.
“From your mind,” he says, kissing my forehead, “to your heart”—he
crawls down a bit, planting a kiss above my breast and slowly
sucking my nipple for good measure—“to your perfect, sweet
pussy.”

He slides farther down and plants a sweet
kiss on my mound.
I
groan as he lifts himself up, swiveling my hips involuntarily, as
if begging him for more. With my panties still on, he slips his
finger inside the band.

“
You'
re so wet, Olivia,
” he gasps, seemingly surprised.

I lift a finger to my mouth, trying to close
my legs, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“
No, no, no,
” he says, keeping his hands on my thighs,
preventing me from closing my legs. “I think it's fucking hot.” He
slides the material of my panties to the side and easily inserts a
finger inside me.

My back bows off the mattress as he
watches. “Ahhhh…” I cry out. “More…”

“
If you liked one, you'll love two,” he
says, slipping two long, thick fingers inside me while his thumb
rubs my clit.

“
Oh God,” I moan loudly as his fingers
slowly slide in and out of me.

“
Olivia?”

“
Yes? What?” I say breathlessly.

“
Let me make it good for you.
Ask me.
Ask me to make love to you.”

I reach down between my legs, grabbing hold
of his hair, gently pulling him up to my side.

“
Owen
”—I cup his face in my hands, my breathing heavy and eyes
intent—“please take me. Make love to me. Devour me. Make me scream
your name, and once I do, start all over again.”

He smirks and crawls over my body, ready to
fulfill my every desire.

* * *

Light is hurting my eyes, and I give a
groan.
One eye struggles
to open, and I get a full face of sunlight coming through the
enormous window I obviously forgot to shut prior to passing out
last night. Clearly that was because I was exhausted after Owen and
I made love for most of the night.

Mmmmm...last night. I look over to the
space beside me and note that I'm alone in my bed. Owen left last
night, leaving me to sleep by myself and ruminate about what has
been going on in the last few days. I feel a bit overwhelmed by all
that's happened, and I suddenly feel an urge to think it through,
start to make some sense of it all.

Realistically, this can't happen can it? I
mean, yes we come from the same city, but what are the chances that
he's really going to reach out to me when we get home? And I sure
as hell won't be reaching out to him. Aside from not wanting to
look like an idiot if he rejects me, my recent history does not set
me up to be the one to make the first move. I'm lucky if I make any
move at all.

And just as I start to feel hopeless about
Owen, I remember moments like last night, or in Starbucks, and the
connection we clearly have. Yes, we have had a lot of sex. But is
that just because we're out of our element and we're just doing
what's accessible? I mean, it's not like we can learn about our
regular lives when we're not home. Maybe it's opening a door to our
being able to learn more about each other moving
forward.

But didn't he say he wasn't looking for a
relationship? Yeah he did. Of course, that was before all that's
happened this weekend, before last night. And last
night...Just…wow. We didn't just fuck last night. That's not what
that was. We made love. We connected. And I swear that's not just
me being a silly girl. In fact, there were moments where he seemed
downright uncomfortable, like he was feeling things he wasn't
accustomed to or didn't want to.

Why does all of this have to be so
complicated? Why can't it be like in the movies? Boy meets girl,
boy seduces girl, they have sex, they get married, they have a kid,
roll credits. I pull the covers over my head and groan. This is
going to be a problem. And I don't know what to do about it. I'm
leaving tomorrow. Then what? I don't want to get hurt. I'm really
terrified of that. The bottom line is that if I let this guy into
my life, then I risk letting him into my heart. And if I let him
into my heart, I risk getting hurt. Simple.

But as Charley says, I
can
't spend the rest of
my life wanting but not trying, hurting and not living. I think it
might be time for me to take some chances, and who's to say that
taking chances has to end in my being hurt? I can take some
calculated risks, right? Be careful where I step, make my
intentions known, let him know about my fears, and keep an open
mind. Christ, my fears… Wait until he hears that story.

I put my head under the pillows. Time to
go back to sleep. This is too heavy for me right now. I close my
eyes and drift off again.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Owen

This is Olivia
's last night in Seattle. The last night I'll see
her until I get back to New York. Then again, it may be the last
night I'll see her. Period. If I knew what was good for me, I'd cut
it off after tonight. Or at least that was the original plan. A
mere seventy-two hours ago, this thing with Olivia was just
supposed to be a weekend thing. We were supposed to flirt with fate
and have a little fun together. Nothing more than some conversation
and good sex.

Who am I kidding?
The sex is phenomenal. In a few short
days, she's changed everything for me, and I like it and hate it
all at the same time. I don't do this—this
seeing-a-chick-more-than-twice thing. In order for that to happen,
the woman needed to be roll-your-eyes-back-in-your-head amazing in
bed and make it on to my rotation of women. In New York, I could
call up one of three women and be balls deep inside her within the
hour. And I like it that way—or at least I used to.

I came into this weekend thinking
I
'd have a fling with a
bridesmaid or two. Never did I anticipate falling in like with
someone. As it is, I've been in Olivia's bed nearly every night
since we arrived in Seattle. And I liked it. I mean,
really
liked it. I've sworn off
serious relationships since the breakup with my ex-fiancée, Molly.
After that disaster, I tend to stick to relationships that last for
twenty-four hours or less, if I'm lucky.

Women don't stick around—not when you're
screwed up in the head like I am. Sure, things are fine for the
first three months. That 'honeymoon' phase lulls you into thinking
that maybe,
just maybe
this
relationship could work out. Then, poof—they bolt. They get a dose
of the real Owen. The one with the bad dreams and night sweats. The
one who refuses to open up about that night that changed my life
forever and made me question everything. Ultimately, that's what
lead to me calling things off with Molly. When you go through
something traumatic, you find out real quick who will stick with
you through the dark valleys. Molly was always afraid of the
dark.

For as beautiful of a woman as Molly was,
her cold, unsympathetic soul made her repulsive to me.
That, combined with the fact
that I caught her with another guy's dick down her throat, sealed
the deal for me. I was officially single an hour
later. 

But this
—whatever this is with Olivia—feels different,
comfortable…and oddly secure. I never had these feelings with
Molly. It's been an unexpected weekend to say the least, but it's
been pretty amazing at the same time. I'm so confused.

Olivia called me between sessions at her
conference and asked me to come over to her hotel for dinner. It
was an unexpectedly intimate invitation, but after a busy day with
Travis and Marc, a little downtime with Olivia will be a perfect
way to end the night.

I
've thought of her all day, and honestly, I can't wait to
kiss her. On the way out of the hotel, I snag a single peony from a
bouquet of fresh flowers sitting in the lobby and walk the short
distance to her hotel. I got few “aww” looks from some women on the
walk over here, so I'm feeling pretty confident that the lone
flower was a good move on my part.

The hotel elevators open and I step into
the car with an older couple. They're in their seventies, I'm
guessing, and holding hands. I watch as the older gentleman gently
places a kiss on his wife's temple and whispers something inaudible
to me, sweet words only meant to be shared between the two of them.
She lovingly looks up at her husband and mouths, “Thank you,”
before leaning into him. It strikes me how, even after all this
time, they still love each other. The things this couple may have
endured over the years boggles my mind, but what strikes me even
more is that they endured them together. They've had a partner in
life and in love. My heart pangs with an ache to have that too.
Someone to come home to at the end of a long shift. Someone to
travel through life with. Someone I can claim as mine.