Chapter 26

TWENTY-SIX

Colin

" I 'm busy. I have to practice."

"You're always practicing now."

"I want to win. What did you expect?" I don't understand this new version of Owen. He turned the spare room into a training facility, which benefits me because it means he ‘sleeps' in our bed every night, but it has also turned into him being in here around the clock.

He isn't neglecting me either. We are going on dates, and enjoying ourselves, but the rest of the time he's in here. Oliver was right. He really doesn't sleep much.

"I expected you to sleep. At least a little."

"I can't sleep. I'm anxious about our first tournament."

"I can help you with that…."

"I can't stop until I get this right." He lifts his sabre sticking the point into my chest.

"Just a little break?" I ask, gripping myself through my pants.

His eyes flick to mine. "You have to earn it."

"But why?" I whine.

"I need to be in top shape when I show up for the next training camp. But you can help me."

"I don't want to get sweaty. I already have to go to practice later," I grumble.

"Every point you get, I will remove one piece of clothing."

I shamelessly ogle him. He has maybe six, seven things on. A shirt, sweats, socks, and a jock…how hard would it be to get him out of all of those clothes? Seven points? I have seven points in me.

Owen's gaze drops to the tent to my pants. "Make sure to put your cup on."

I come back, suited up. And Owen has put on his protective gear. "Hey, that's cheating."

"We have to be safe, darling," he teases.

"How is stripping down safe?"

"Oh, princess, can you not beat me?"

I grumble, but get my own gear on, then find my sabre. "How will we know scores?"

"We don't have a scoring system."

"It's a gentleman's bet. It's all about trust. If you say you made a point, you made a point."

I pull down my mask. "Fine."

We take our places on either part of the line.

"En garde," he says, and we both come off the line.

I go quick and dirty. The way I love to fight, but he parries my thrust and gets an easy point.

"Take it off."

I move to remove my helmet, but he shakes his head.

"No, that's last. Keep your pretty face safe."

I peel off my outer jacket and toss it aside. This time I'm more careful. We trade a few blows back and forth, and he parries on my thrust. He's gotten faster over the last couple of weeks. Training camp really did something for him. It takes us over three minutes to get a point. But I finally land one, and he strips off his jacket, leaving his bare chest on full display.

I blink. He has nothing on under it. Nothing. I'm not in my usual rash guard, but I'm in a tee. I squirm. My cock aching, filling all of the available space in my cup. I grab it to adjust. Trying to get another millimeter of space. So my dick's not pressing into the hard plastic.

His gaze tracks the movement of my hand. Watching me.

"Like that, husband?"

"Of course I do." His answer surprises me.

I know he enjoys when I suck his cock, because I'm sure he likes getting off, but I didn't think he enjoyed my dick like I do his. Bluntly, I slip my hand inside my sweats, adjusting myself, giving him a better show. I'm basically jacking off.

"Hey now," he says. "How's that fair?"

"What is fair in love and marriage?"

He growls, and I feel it in my toes.

"Now that's not fair! How am I going to fight when all my bloods in my cock?"

"Good luck." He comes off the line at me, catching me by surprise.

I barely get my sabre up in time to deflect his blow. I manage to fight him back toward the center.

"That's it," he says, and our blades cross. He shoves me back with an unbelievable force, and I stumble. Almost tripping over my feet.

He's changed. The gym is working. He's not the same fighter he was last season, and he was good then.

He's really into this national team thing. Like he just needed fuel for all the pent-up energy he carries around on a daily basis. He comes at me again. I can't seem to find my footing. Finally, I fall backward, landing hard on my ass with his sabre tip at my throat. "Take off your shirt."

I groan and lift my arms. "Take it off for me."

He's hard, the way he stands over me I can see his cock partly out of his cup.

He tosses his sabre and helmet to the ground and drops to his knees straddling me. Fingers nip under the edge of my tee, as he carefully takes ahold of the hem, but he doesn't tear it off of me like I expect. He takes his time lifting the shirt, skimming calloused hands over my rib cage, and it's more erotic than I've ever been touched before.

His dark blue eyes meet mine, and I don't dare touch him because I don't want to break the moment. My stomach is in my throat as his thumbs brush over my nipples. A shiver runs down my spine, and my head falls back.

He carefully moves the soft cotton over my face, touching it like I'm made of porcelain. I've never been so hard in my life, and he's barely touching me. His head dips, finding the hollow in my collarbone with his tongue. He flicks it over my skin.

"I'm all sweaty. You shouldn't do that," I say in a gasp.

"I like the way you taste." His words shock me to my core.

He gets back to his feet far too soon, still standing over me. His hand goes inside his pants, touching what I want so fucking badly.

"Give it to me," I say.

"I'll feed it to you when you've earned it."

I've never wanted to earn something so bad in my life. I whine a little but press forward before he can move to rub my face against his thigh. He groans. And each sound he makes is like a little victory. I never thought earning something as simple as a groan or a moan would get to me the way it does with him.

He pulls me to my feet by my hair, which only makes me harder. My cock is so hard it's pushing my cup out. I retrieve my sabre and reset. He's looking at me, and I notice he's taken off the protective pants. I've never been above taking things I didn't earn, so I don't mind at all.

"Want your cock in my mouth that badly you're giving me extra points?"

"Or using your distraction to my benefit."

I want to argue, but he gets two more points quickly. The frustration makes me more determined. Not to mention I no longer have my gear to protect me and being hit with a sabre hurts.

We reset at the line, and I feint attack. This time he stumbles, just a little, but I see it and push my luck with a lunge to keep him off balance. Owen steps back, but because I'm starting to learn how his mind works, I anticipate his next attack, swinging under him for the touch.

We're panting as he peels off a sock and tosses it aside. Not my first choice, but there's not much left anyway.

"Water," he tells me, and I grab a bottle from the small fridge he has in here. Removing my mask, I chug the cold water and wipe the sweat from my face with a towel.

Owen is doing the same when I look over at him. I wonder how he would taste right now.

"Keep looking at me like that and I'll make sure you lose."

"Like what?"

"Like you can already taste me."

I smirk and toss the bottle in the recycling. "Oh husband, I can." I drag my tongue along my bottom lip and stride toward him. He lifts his sabre when I get close, and I stop when it touches my skin. "Are you really willing to risk injury by playing without gear?" I will forfeit if it means getting to touch him. I may have pride, but I have zero shame for this man.

I watch him think about it, it's all I need. Swiping the sword to the side, I close the distance between us and tease the edge of his jock with my fingers.

"I would hate for either of us to get injured this early in the season." The tip of his dick is pressing between the plastic and his pelvis just enough for me to run my finger over it. Owen shudders and growls but shoves me back.

"Bumps and bruises are part of the life."

But he thought about it, and that's what matters.

I pick up my sabre, and we set again.

"En garde!" Owen says, and he lunges, I extend for a right of way, knowing it was a risk, and he slashes my ribs. I hiss and flinch away from the sabre, immediately covering the spot with my hand.

"Shit." Owen lowers his sword and strides toward me, reaching for my wrist.

"I'm fine." I turn away from him. I don't know why I don't want him to see it, I just don't.

"Let me see it," he demands, pulling on my arm to turn me again, but I shrug him off. "Colin! Let me see it!"

"Do you demand to see every little mark you leave on your opponent?" I snap. This was stupid and careless. Someone could have gotten hurt worse than a damn bruise.

"I don't spar with others while mostly naked. That's going to bruise at the very least, but it could have broken the skin and need to be cleaned." He spins me this time, rushing me backward until I hit the wall. Air leaves my lungs, and he uses the shock to his advantage, lifting both my hands above my head.

"Now we're talking." I wag my eyebrows at him and lift my leg to wrap around his hip.

He gives me a stern look before bending to inspect the damage he's caused. "I have some arnica gel. That will help."

"No."

"No? You want the bruise?" Owen straightens and meets my eyes, clearly confused.

"Yes."

"Why? It will interfere with practice. You'll favor that side at the least, or it'll cause you pain when you move at worst."

I lean as close to him as I can in this position. "Because I want your marks on me."

Owen growls and grips my jaw with his free hand. "You wear my ring. What more do you need?"

"Putting marks on my skin is proof you want me." I tease his lip with my tongue, tasting the salt of his skin. "I've earned my reward," I whisper over the corner of his mouth.

"What reward do you think you've earned?"

"Your cock in my mouth."

Owen watches me for a second, then one hand trails down my body, setting off goosebumps. He watches me while he drags his fingertips along the band of my jock between my hip bones.

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

I'm not sure of anything anymore.

"Don't stop."

He smirks at the needy words and presses against the fabric and plastic that has my dick trapped.

Is he going to touch me? Does he want to, or does he feel like he has to?

"You don't have to." The last thing I want is for him to feel like he has to do something.

"Shut up, princess."

His lips crash to mine as his hand slides into my underwear. I gasp into his mouth, a mess of sensation and surprise and need. Owen owns my mouth, fucking his tongue between my lips like a man possessed. I know I have to be slick with precum, I'm such a sloppy mess when I'm turned on, but it doesn't seem to be bothering him.

Pulling on his grip, he allows me to have one hand, and I waste no time getting his dick in my hand. I grip him hard, twisting for more stimulation. He pulls his lips from mine to gasp, but I follow, taking his mouth again. Needing every connection to this man that I can get.

"I'm gonna come," I whimper against his lips. Is he okay with it on his hand? Does he want me to finish myself? Will the mess bother him?

"Come then. I want it." His words surprise me, but I don't have time to question them.

Electricity shoots through me, pulsing in my groin, but cum covers his hand, my skin, and my jock. The orgasm is so strong, my eyes are heavy and my knees buckle. Fuck, I needed that.

I'm panting, barely recognizing when he knocks my hand off his dick and uses my cum to slick himself up. He takes my mouth again, brutal and demanding as he jacks himself off until he paints his cum on me. I shiver when it hits my skin.

This is another mark of him on my skin that I needed.