Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2) (23 page)

His tongue laps into me slowly, deliberately, almost pleadingly. He wraps a leg around mine, placing it between my thighs as he continues our slow, wet kiss. His hand cups my face and trails down my neck, my shoulder, and my arm before landing on my stomach. He lifts my T-shirt and slips his hand inside, his fingers tracing small circles on my bare skin.

I need him closer; he needs me closer. I need the reassurance only he can give me. I know he needs the same from me too. His hand continues to lazily trail up my side, eventually meeting the underside of my breast. I inhale quickly at his touch. He kisses across my belly, nuzzling me.

His movements are slow and methodical. He isn’t pushing his luck, but it’s not because he doesn’t want to. I can tell that by his touch. It’s because he doesn’t want to push me where I don’t want to go. It’s a level of respect. Other than my mouth, I haven’t touched him yet, and neither of us has uttered a word. He’s taking me—and I need it.

I need him closer; he needs me closer. I need the reassurance only he can give me. I know he needs the same from me too. His hand continues to lazily trail up my side, eventually meeting the underside of my breast. I inhale quickly at his touch. He kisses across my belly, nuzzling me.

I need him to show me that he wants me, that I’m the one he needs, that I’m the one who turns him on, and owns his heart.

He shifts his body and I feel him over me. I slowly slip off my shirt without lifting off the bed. I still can’t see his face well, but I know he’s staring at my body. Gooseflesh starts to rise all over me. I suddenly feel a single finger resting at my hip. It trails lightly over my body, to my belly button, and up the center of my abdomen. He shifts again and I feel his warm breath at my lower belly. He places a soft, wet kiss over my stomach and then up my body, following where his finger was. His breath tickles the skin under my breast. He kisses just under its soft swell, up the underside to my nipple, where he slowly suckles me, pulling the hardened peak into his mouth. I inhale a breath, but there is still no sound in the room. My body bows as I respond to his mouth on me.

His tongue draws tight circles around my nipple before he takes it into his mouth once again. His other hand skims my other breast, taking it in his hand and kneading it tenderly. His thumb brushes across the nipple that has not yet had the pleasure of his mouth, and I groan as he moves over me and uses his tongue to repeat his actions on this side, lapping in soft, tender circles.

He trails a hand down my body and skimming my belly to cover my mound over my sleep shorts. I gasp again as he slides his finger down over the center seam. Instead of letting his fingers move to where I desperately want them, he runs his hand down my leg, raking his short fingernails up my thigh, past my hip, and along my side. He leans up and captures my lips, his tongue lapping at me, drinking me in.

As he slides himself on top of me, I relax my legs, letting them fall apart so he can settle there. He’s hard—I can feel him pressing against me. With a slight move of my hips, he’d be rubbing me in a way that could potentially get me off, but I don’t want that. I want him to do what he’s doing. One of my legs wraps around his calf and I rub my foot up and down. He’s propped on his elbows on either side of my face, and he’s kissing me softly, sweetly, reverently. His lips start to move to my jaw, my neck. He moves his hand down my side, the touch so light that it sends shivers over my body. He slides his hand along my leg, his hand resting behind my knee, pulling me so I roll on top of him.

I am astride him, looking down, and I can see his face now in the moonlight. He looks sad. I feel sad. The sole purpose of this act is to reconnect and find our union again. I lean forward again, his arms sliding up my bare back as my breasts brush his chest. When you’re this close to someone physically, it assists in creating an emotional bond as well, and I desperately want to kiss him. I press my lips to his, my tongue slipping into his mouth, and now ready to feel him, I rub myself against his length, my back bowing as I glide back and forth. I’m soaking wet and the friction is borderline uncomfortable, but not enough to keep me from continuing. Owen groans as his hands run down my back and into my sleep shorts, stroking my ass under the fabric.

Owen rolls me back over again, his thumbs hooking into the elastic band of my shorts, pulling them down and off my body before ridding himself of his boxers and settling back down between my open thighs. His eyes find mine as he arches his hips forward slightly, his hardened length rubbing against my wetness, and finding me without the use of his hands. We take a moment to stare at each other, an evening’s worth of apologies passing between us. I’ve never had this with someone, this unique ability to communicate without words, and I feel an entire conversation pass between us as he pulls back slightly and pushes himself in further, never losing my gaze.

My eyes close involuntarily, something he wouldn’t allow if we could see each other better, but I’m overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotion in this lovemaking. He slides in and out of me, and I give a huff of breath every time he is fully sheathed in me. My hands roam his shoulders, his chest, as my legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer

After several moments, I feel his hand slide over my side as he leans, urging me to roll on top of him. As I settle myself, he sits up, pushing himself so deep in me that I gasp. It is the loudest noise we’ve made since this began. He adjusts his position so he doesn’t need to support himself, my arms around his neck, his face buried in my hair.

We rock together, our moans becoming more insistent with every passing moment. His hands find my ass as he urges my movements along and I can feel his heart racing as his chest presses against mine. I run my fingers into his hair, gripping it tight, and pulling his head back so I can press my lips against his. The intensity of the emotion passing between us is only matched by the intensity of our lovemaking and our impending climax. I can feel him growing in me, swelling, as his breathing picks up, but he isn’t the only one showing his tells and I start to rhythmically clench around him as I near the finish line.

He reaches around me, pressing a hand to the small of my back, pushing harder against me. He undulates his hips against me in an agonizing rhythm. I envelop myself around him, pressing my breasts against his hard chest and trying to find the pressure that seems to be missing, to get me off. I’m getting so frustrated. He must notice too because he moves back slightly and places a hand between our bodies, his thumb finding my sensitive clit, and begins to rub in a circular motion. A few touches are all I need before I feel my orgasm arrive, and I throw my head back in a silent scream.

As I come, he whispers, “I love you. I love you. I love you,” quietly into my ear.

As I grip him inside me, he finds his own release and pours himself into me, jerking and grunting as I milk every drop from him with my clenching inner walls.

“I love you,” he says again as we both pant loudly, finding our breath.

He’s holding me so tightly that it almost hurts, but I don’t dare tell him that. The act is over but the emotions are still running high and so instead of moving, I stay on his lap, remaining connected at this intimate level. He keeps uttering, “I love you”, in my ear and I unexpectedly start to cry. The culmination of the nights angst, the extended quiet and then the powerful love making, makes me feel overwhelmed with emotion. I lay my head on his shoulder and kiss the base of his neck, and then his ear. His hands are restlessly stroking my back, which I know from past experience is his anxiety about me crying. I pause in my kisses on his ear to murmur against it, “I love you.”

His body tenses and his stroking stops for a second, but then it resumes, his other arm coming back around my body, squeezing me to him. I pull back and hold his dear face in my hands. We need to stop doing this to ourselves. Neither of us is benefiting from the pain these discussions bring us. I know I need to change the way I react to things from his past coming into our present. It’s not his fault that he has a past. It’s not his fault that he lives geographically where his past happened. I know I’ll get there eventually, but in the moment, the only way I know to respond to hurt is to be angry. It’s a learned behavior from the aftermath of Jay and it’s clearly not working for me in a healthy relationship.

I pull his face to mine and I whisper against his mouth, “I’m terrified I’ll lose you, you’ll leave me, you’ll find better...or”—I kiss him again, using the move to avoid eye contact with him, this part feeling painful for some reason—“return to someone better.”

Jay returned to what he thought was better, and he only had the one option. Owen has so many options. Maybe, at the end of the day,
this
is what scares me so badly. This is why his past undoes me so completely. It’s a threat, another option—
his
other options.

He pulls back from me. His eyes are full of understanding, relief, and almost sadness in the pale moonlight. He gets it.

He cups the side of my face and wipes away a fat tear that has rolled down my cheek. “Baby? Look at me.”

I pull up my head and look at him through wet eyelashes.

“That night? When we talked for hours on the plane from New York to Seattle? You had my heart even then. When you came into my life, everyone else ceased to exist. My entire world changed the moment I buckled myself in for that flight. And it’s been the ride of my life ever since. You are it for me, Olivia.”

He shifts on the bed so he’s looking directly at me.

“Listen very carefully to me. I
love
you. I
need
you, and there will
never
be anyone else. I’ve found what I didn’t know I was even looking for in you. When I’ve found my other half, why would I need to continue looking? I want you and only you—forever and always. I may be the guy who’s out there saving people every day from burning buildings, but you save my life every single day. You give me life. You give me confidence and strength I didn’t know I had. And more importantly than all of that, you give me your love, which I know, without hesitation, I would die without.”

My tears are flowing freely now, his words slicing through me in the best way possible. This is what I need to hear, but he also needs to hear it from me.

“I can’t thank you enough for loving me the way you do. I blame you for your past when I’ve been letting mine pull us apart. I’m not going to let that happen anymore, Owen. I promise you.”

He pulls me to him and kisses me deeply. As he does, he lays us down on the mattress, cuddling against me. We are both exhausted from the emotions and physical exertions of the night, not to mention the lack of sleep. We fall asleep in each other’s arms. As Owen strokes my back, I melt into the chest of the man who has taken my heart.

A NUMBER OF WEEKS ago, Olivia asked if it would be alright to have a few ladies over to the apartment. Without hesitation, I said that of course it would be okay. The apartment was ours now, and if she wanted to have friends over, great! I’m a big encourager of us having activities separate of each other. It keeps things fresh and gives us more to talk about at the end of the day.

I worked overnight, and before I laid down for a nap this morning, Olivia told me she would do her best to be quiet while she cleaned the apartment. Hours later, I wake up with a yawn and make my way down the hall in my black boxer briefs to see what Olivia is up to. She has folding chairs I didn’t know we had lining one wall. The coffee table that usually holds my subscriptions to
Sports Illustrated
and
Cigar Aficionado
are gone, leaving a bare table that’s up against the fireplace. My large, leather chair is stuffed into a corner, and I find Olivia pushing with all her might against the sofa. The sofa is winning. Olivia’s feet cannot get traction and she looks like she’s walking in place.

“Oh good. Get on the other side and help me, would you?” Olivia huffs with a hint of frustration in her voice.

“Hello to you too,” I say in response. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making room for my guests! Isn’t it obvious?” she says, exasperated.