Chapter 22

TWENTY-TWO

Colin

I t's strange how quickly you get used to things. Owen and I have been living together for a few months, and while I've gotten used to managing his medication, therapy schedule, practice schedule, and making sure he eats, it's like I don't know what to do without him here. The apartment is…oppressively empty. He doesn't make noise when he's here, but I can feel him. There's a life, a pulse in the air that tells me I'm not alone.

Is he taking care of himself?

Is he taking the meds?

Is he eating? Is he sleeping?

I know he's working hard, but how is he handling the pressure? Would he tell me if he was struggling?

I pick up my phone and hover over Oliver's name. He probably wouldn't tell me either.

Needing information, I search for training camp information. They usually have pictures and some information about each of the team members. I smile when I find an image of Owen doing conditioning drills. He's sweaty, dark hair plastered to his face, and his shirt is sticking to him. He's focused. Just seeing the image gives me butterflies.

Those are all good things, but there's something about the man behind him, who is blurred, that gives me pause. I can't make out what his shirt says, but I assume he's not on the team. He could be a coach or assistant or something, I suppose, but there's something about his body language that makes my skin itch. Is he watching my husband?

Is Owen even interested in a real relationship? I've taught him that sex can be fun and not sticky. Has that opened his mind to other possibilities? Since he's been gone, it feels that way. Like he actually cares instead of just dealing with me because he has to.

I'm a first marriage for him. I know that. We have a time limit that he's already figured out, but could that change? I'm terrified to hope for it.

Why does that fact make my chest feel like there's a hole in it?

When I'm talking to him at night, I have butterflies like a schoolyard crush. He helps bring me the light, but when the call ends, I'm once again plunged into the dark. My head tells me that nothing he said means anything. He's saying it in case someone is listening or because that's what's expected.

Shuffling the blankets, the subtle scent of Owen lifts to my nose. He's starting to mean a lot more to me than I anticipated. I don't know what to do with the emotions. It's dangerous to love him, and I know that's where I'm headed.

Tears form a knot in my throat and fill my eyes.

I hate myself for this spiral of anxiety. If he doesn't need me, then I have no use, and who will keep me around if I'm not useful?

Dammit. This is going to hurt so much more than I anticipated when he's done with me. He'll be able to walk away unscathed and find a new partner. I'll have to put on a smile and pretend like he didn't take a part of me with him.

I don't know how to even ask or have the conversation with him. Would he be receptive? Or would he think I'm nuts for even thinking this could be more? I can't do anything until he gets home, so I just have to wait, but waiting feels like agony.

Owen is coming home today.

I can't hold still. Anxious energy burns through me, eating at my ability to keep calm. I'm excited. I'm nervous. I'm everything and nothing.

Which version of Owen will I get when he walks in? Did he miss me? Does he wish he didn't have to come home to me?

The sound of the front door unlocking hits my ears while I'm at the other end of the apartment. I run down the hallway and slide across the entryway, straight into my unexpecting husband.

"Shit!" I shriek, trying to catch myself and failing. Slamming into him is like hitting a brick wall.

He grabs me as I hit his chest, dropping his bag. "Fuck!"

"Sorry. Sorry!" I cling to him to not fall on my ass.

"Is this how you normally greet people when they've been away for a while?" Owen asks when we've caught our balance.

Nervous laughter bubbles up from my stomach. "Sorry."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Why do you feel like a brick wall?" Looking up into his beautiful blue eyes, I desperately want to kiss him. Would he accept it? Do I still have to earn them?

"All the training? I don't feel that different." He doesn't release me like I expected him to.

I lift onto my toes and stare at his mouth, but hesitate at the last second. "How was the trip?"

Uck. Come on! Seriously?

Owen backs up far enough to close the door, and shoves his bag out of the way. After a quick glance around, his eyes lock on me once again. "No one is here, correct?"

"Correct. Why…?"

"Good." Before I can process what's happening, Owen grabs me and slams his lips against mine. It's aggressive and desperate and everything I'm craving. I jump up to wrap my legs around him, and he carries me to the bathroom.

Dropping me on the vanity, I keep him between my thighs, rolling my hips against his, half-crazy with lust.

"Princess," he groans against my throat when I get his pants open. He's hot and hard in my hand.

"Welcome home, husband," I moan in his ear.

"Fuuuuck—" he hesitates, then says, "I missed you," between kisses.

"I want you in my mouth." I nip at his neck, suck on his ear lobe.

"I smell like travel," he tries to argue.

"I don't care." I'm not letting him have second thoughts.

He growls, kicking his shoes off before he takes me into the shower. We're ripping at our clothes as the water turns on, blasting us with cold water for a second before warm kicks in. We're panting as the sopping clothes hit the floor.

I drop to my knees, craving his taste on my tongue and his groans in my ears. He's so much more cut than he was when he left. The lines of his muscle sculpted like marble. I want to explore the new ridges of his body with my tongue.

"I haven't showered." Owen grips my hair, but I fight the pull and bury my nose in his dark, trimmed pubic hair.

"We're in the shower." I look up at him through my lashes.

"No kidding. I need soap."

"I love the way you smell." I nuzzle the junction of his thigh and groin. "Right here." With my eyes on his, I lick up the length of his cock and engulf him the next minute.

His moan is deep and guttural as he throbs on my tongue. It doesn't take long before he's using the hand in my hair to fuck my mouth, my throat, taking what he needs from me.

"Open your throat for me."

I tilt my head up a hair, welcoming him deeper. I moan around him, filled and craving him in every way possible. I need so much, and I'm worried it won't ever be enough.

"You're being such a good boy for me, princess."

My body clenches and pre-cum dribbles down my length. I reach for it, needing the pressure, but Owen pulls me off his cock with tutting noise. "Don't touch that, it's mine." His tone alone could get me off.

My whimper echoes in the stall, and my thighs clamp together. I love this side of him.

"Up." He drags me to my feet by my hair.

I stand on shaky legs.

Owen pushes me against the tile wall with a hand at the base of my throat, and he catches the bead of pre-cum on his finger, bringing it to his lips. "Straight from the source is just as good."

My body convulses as the urge to come skyrockets. "If you don't do something, and fast, I'm going to come before the fun starts."

"That sounds like a challenge, princess." He barely skims his tongue over my lips, and I chase it.

I whimper into his kiss when he grabs my cock and strokes hard and fast. I'm coming in a matter of seconds, panting and shaking and digging my fingers into him as waves of pleasure pulse through me.

"Fuck, you're incredible." Owen leans into me to keep me upright. "I love watching you come."

All the bones in my body are jelly. "You're going to be the death of me." My head rests on the slick tile.

"Only I'm allowed to make death jokes." Owen licks my neck and down to my collarbones.

"Technically, that was a murder joke."

He slides his dick against my hip, rocking into me. Gods, if he ever fucks me, he's going to wreck me in the best way. A shiver runs across my skin, and my dick twitches. I can't get enough of him.

"Ready to go again already?" He glances between us, watching us slide together.

"Have you looked in a mirror? You're fucking hot, husband."

"I try not to, actually." He shrugs and turns me to face the wall before I can respond. "Feet together."

Owen teases me with his dick, sliding between my cheeks. I arch my back, pushing my ass into him to give him better access. I have no idea what his plan is, but I want it.

Grabbing my hip, he pulls me up to my toes and slides his dick between my thighs. The water makes our skin slick, so there's no resistance.

I clench the muscles, tightening around him as he fucks himself between my thighs. His gorgeous cock drags against my balls, adding more sensation.

Owen groans into my shoulder and wraps his arm around me to hold my throat, fingers and thumb pressing into the sides, adding a light pressure. I'm floating before I even realize it. Quickly, he's thrusting against me, the sound of his hips hitting my ass echoing in the space. My back is plastered to his chest, his hands on my body, and his mouth on my skin. I'm so fucking lost to this man. I grip his hair, keeping him against me.

"Use me," I moan into his ear, and he shudders. His teeth sink into my shoulder as he comes, coating my inner thighs and the wall.

His lips find my ear. "Of course I'm going to use what's mine."

The guttural growl of the word has goosebumps erupting on my skin. When his hot palm wraps around me, his cock softening between my thighs, I gasp his name.

"Come on, princess. You can come again." He works my body like he has a road map. Everything he does, from pinching my nipples to scratching his nails down my stomach, has me climbing toward the precipice. "One of these days we're going to see how many times you can come in a night."

"Please." I'm hungry for it, for him, for the way he makes me feel. The way he makes me feel safe when his attention is on me.

Owen reaches for the cum he left on my skin and uses it to lube my cock.

"Oh fuck," I whimper, turning my face into his throat. "I want to taste you."

With his free hand, he gathers his cum on his fingers and slides them between my lips.

"Suck them clean."

I work his fingers with earnest, needing to prove to him that I can be good for him. That he doesn't need to find someone else later. I can be what he needs, too.

"Good boy."

The tingles throbbing through my body explode in Technicolor behind my eyes. What was left in my balls dribbles from my slit as he wrings me dry.

He holds me while I shudder and catch my breath. Stroking my skin softly, in comforting circles. Once I've recovered, I turn in his arms and kiss him. For the first time, he allows me to kiss him instead of taking it himself.

What the fuck does that mean?