Fresh Catch Page 10

  Cole: Are they wondering if it's permanent?

  Neera: Some, but not all. A few questions about whether you're working for the government. A few questions about whether you're working against the government. Others have asked if you're writing a book, starting a new company, in rehab, planning a run for office.

  Neera: It's mostly BS. Not difficult to shut down.

  Cole: Good.

  Neera: It would be easier if I had the real story and didn't look as clueless as everyone else. You know the bloggers and reporters come to me before going to the PR team.

  Cole: You know what they say about secrets.

  Neera: Three people can keep them so long as two are dead.

  Cole: There you go.

  But then, not long after I'd opened my laptop and dived into coding headspace, Owen barged into the room wearing only his boxer briefs. I blinked twice as I dragged my glasses down my nose because holy fuck, that man was beautiful. He was a bear. A big, angry bear.

  He beckoned me toward him with a hot stare. "Why aren't you in bed?"

  I ran my hand over the quilt beneath me in what I hoped to be an illustrative response.

  "My bed," he clarified.

  "Your bed?" I repeated. "You mean—"

  "Get your ass in there right now," he barked. "What are you even doing in here?"

  I gestured to my laptop. Did he want to know the specifics of the program I was developing? That didn't seem likely. Owen was one of a dying breed that lived happily without the quicksand of the internet. He preferred walking inside the bank to speak with a teller when making a transaction. He relied on maps and tide charts rather than modern—and surprisingly finicky—navigation systems. He even had an old-fashioned rotary phone on the kitchen wall. Before I'd arrived, there was no internet access in his home. I'd fixed that, of course, but I wasn't troubling him with those details.

  "Working," I said, and I hoped it didn't sound overly evasive.

  A sound rumbled in his throat that sent shockwaves through my body. "I meant," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "why the fuck are you working in here? Why aren't you next door?"

  My eyes darted to the screen for a moment, hoping to find the words between the lines of code. I could offer an excuse about needing quiet or my gear but knowing that he wanted me again—that he wanted me at all—changed things. It gave me a bite of confidence I'd never known I was lacking.

  "I didn't know you wanted that," I said.

  Owen cocked his head, squinting at me. "Was there something vague about my dick in your ass this morning?"

  Gulp. I could still feel his weight on me, his hands on my hips, my groans into the mattress.

  "But—but—you didn't say anything. You haven't said anything all day. I've had no idea what you want and what you're thinking," I said. "For all I know, it was a one-and-done thing for you."

  "More like four," he quipped.

  "What?" I asked, shaking my head.

  "I meant," he started, "last night was more like four-and-done."

  I ran my hand through my hair. "I didn't know you'd want that again."

  "Do you?" he asked, his gaze darting away from mine.

  "Yes," I answered. "If you do."

  "Okay." He nodded decisively. "Good."

  "Yeah, it's great that it's good and all, but this has been really confusing," I said, my voice raising. "You could've given me—I don't know—any indication of what you were thinking as to prevent me from creating insane scenarios in my head."

  "Is that what you need?" Owen asked. His words were slow and soft, like he'd wrapped them in a blanket especially for me. "Me talking about things?"

  "Yeah. I need you to tell me what's going on, even if it's nothing. I need you to be up front with me."

  I bobbed my head in an effort to force back the reminder that I wasn't giving Owen any of the things I demanded. He didn't know the truth about me, and I should've told him sometime before my cock met the back of his throat.

  "It's not nothing," he growled. "How could this be nothing?"

  I looked back to the screen, the one place I always knew what to do and how to communicate, but before I could formulate a response, Owen was wedging himself beside me on the bed.

  "Put this thing away," he said, his voice husky in my ear.

  I obeyed. Of course I did. How could I do anything but exactly what Owen wanted when his lips were ghosting over my neck and shoulders?

  His big hand settled on my chest and tugged my shirt up, over my head. He drew his knuckles down the centerline of my abs and dipped just below the waistband of my shorts. His fingers didn't move any farther down, instead stroking the fine trail of hair and stirring me to life.

  "Did I not take care of you, my little prince?" Owen asked.

  I'd never found myself on the receiving end of a pet name before, and I'd never imagined I'd like it. But I did. I liked it a lot.

  Open-mouthed kisses covered my chest, and I felt myself unraveling like a tightly bound spool of thread. My head dropped back to the pillow, my legs parted, and all the weight I'd been carrying in my chest transformed into desire.

  "Ah, no, you…you're amazing," I said, my eyes closing as his tongue found my nipple. "But it's complicated for me. There are a few things we should talk about."

  I didn't want to withhold the truth any longer. He deserved to know that I wasn't just me, but me plus a worldwide empire, a mind-boggling fortune, and an entire blogosphere dedicated to reporting on my every eyebrow twitch.

  Owen shook his head against my belly. "You're thinking too hard," he said, dropping kisses up my torso. "But you're probably right. I'll go first, and I won't tease you while I do it." He sat up and folded his hands in his lap.

  "But I enjoyed the teasing," I complained. "Please, tease away."

  "After," he promised. "I had a physical in June, and my blood work checks out. I haven't been with anyone since then, but I understand if you want to use condoms anyway."

  "Oh, yeah," I said, reminding myself that normal people had conversations like this when they were sleeping together. "I'm good, too, on the health stuff."

  "And you prefer bottoming?" he prompted. "Or did I read that wrong?"

  "No, you're right," I said, swallowing a lusty sigh. I didn't know how I was going to pivot this discussion.

  "Have you ever topped?"

  "Yeah." I jerked a shoulder. "A long time ago. College. Not since."

  "Would you do it again?" Owen asked. "If I asked you?"

  I watched while he traced the line of hair running down my chest and past my belly button. "You'd want that? With me?"

  "That's the second time tonight you've questioned my interest in you," he said, his gaze trained on my skin. "I can't decide whether you can't see yourself with a guy like me or you don't realize you're one helluva catch."

  I ran my finger over the crease in his forehead. "What do you mean by that? A guy like you?"

  "You know what I mean."

  Owen glanced up from the spot he'd claimed on my abs and met my gaze with an arched eyebrow. Our backgrounds weren't the same, I knew that. But if he wanted to make something about the differences between us—economic, social, geographic—he was going to have to use his words and tell me that. I wasn't going to accept any assumptions on the matter, not when I believed these differences were exceedingly manageable. We'd made it this far without finding ourselves tangled in a different world knot. Why make one now?

  When I shook my head, he blew out an impatient breath. "Dammit, McClish. A guy who wants you to fuck him. All right?" He rubbed his lips along the waistband of my boxers. "I'm just a guy who wants your cock. Can you live with that? Can you find it in yourself to bend me over and nail me one of these days?"

  "Yeah, I can live with that," I replied with a snort. "Just let me know when you want to get nailed."

  A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. "I will," Owen promised. He scooted down, between my legs, and pressed his face to my crotch. He nuzzled
my cock, his chin and lips stroking me through my boxers. The friction was unreal. When his hand slipped under my hip to nudge my back channel, I almost sprang off the bed.

  That was all I could take. My cock was hard, my skin tight and hot, and I was nearly cross-eyed with need but I didn't want to be deceptive. It wasn't right, and Owen deserved to know who he was fucking.

  "I want you right now," I whispered, "but we should talk first."

  "We've done enough talking," he said, his fingers hooking around my shorts. "I've wanted you since you tried to shoot me off your boat, and if you didn't know it then, you knew it when you started whipping your shirt off in front of me every afternoon. End of discussion."

  He shifted to slip out of his boxer briefs, and the motion sent his thick cock slapping against his belly. I reached forward, hungry for it—for him—and led him down with a firm grasp on his length.

  "It's hot out there," I murmured, dropping a kiss on the corner of Owen's mouth.

  He gave me don't I know it eyes. "You're hot out there."

  He reached between my legs and trailed his fingers along my crease. I'd surrender everything in the known world to feel him there, more gentle than any man his size had a right to be, for the rest of my life. And it wasn't just his touch. It was his everything.

  "I need," I said, groaning when Owen's fingers pressed between my cheeks as he took me in his mouth. All the fucks, yes. My eyes drooped shut, and stars and rainbows danced behind my lids. "We need to get the lube from your room. You're too big for me without it."

  He looked up, confused. That had the unfortunate effect of separating his mouth from my erection.

  "You don't have any?" Owen asked.

  I shook my head as a whiny groan rattled in my throat. My hips jerked upward, seeking his attention. I was shameless when it came to him.

  "We need to work on your preparedness," he said.

  I looked away, not sure how to respond to him. "I didn't expect to get laid this summer," I confessed. "That wasn't even on my short list of priorities."

  Owen brought his palms to his thighs with a decisive nod. "Well, you're getting laid tonight. Tomorrow night, too. Then there's next week, and the week after that. If you're up for it, of course. If Maine is on your short list of priorities."

  I needed this, for as long as I could get it. I'd give up everything if it meant more time with Owen. I sat up on my knees and roped my arms around his waist. "It's my only priority."

  Owen's gaze darkened as he stared at my mouth. His palm cracked over my ass, and as I yelped in surprise, he said, "Go get in our bed."

  I'd never chased after a man before, but when Owen marched down the hall, his erection slapping against his belly loud and proud, I wasn't ashamed to say I power-walked myself right after him.

  "Get comfortable," Owen ordered, pointing to the bed. He was digging in a bureau drawer, his back to me. I turned down the blankets and slipped between the sheets, but I couldn't tear my eyes off his body. His shoulders were like a mountain range.

  "What are you doing?" I whined. I was losing my mind watching him like this, the muscles in his ass flexing every time he shifted on his feet. It was like watching two puppies wrestling under a blanket. My legs parted and my hand went to my erection. I needed some relief.

  "Looking for the good lube," he replied. "I figure you're worth it."

  I kicked the sheets off. Too hot, too much. "You better believe I'm worth it."

  "This drawer is a mess," Owen grumbled. "I can't believe I let it get this bad."

  "I can't believe you're talking about messy drawers right now," I complained. "I am naked."

  Owen shifted, his eyes glazing over when he caught sight of me in the center of his bed, cock in hand. "That you are," he murmured. "And what a sight you are, my little prince."

  I blinked, and then I noticed it. In one hand, Owen held three dildos. In the other, two metal butt plugs of differing sizes. "Umm. What the hell are we doing with all that?" I asked.

  He glanced down at his hands, his eyes widening as he assessed the toys. "Nothing," he replied with a laugh. He dumped them back in the drawer and then slammed it shut. "We'll play with those some other time."

  I gulped. "We will?"

  "If you want." Owen yanked open the top drawer on the bedside table. "There it is," he said to himself. He tossed a bottle of lube to the bed and climbed up beside me. "I really need to organize this stuff."

  "You have a lot of toys," I said, dragging my fingertips down his chest. "A lot of toys."

  "Does that interest you?" He smiled when I nodded in response. "Good. Now, get your hands off that dick. It's mine."

  Owen nestled between my legs and pushed my thighs back. I watched while he poured lube into his palm, and slicked his fingers and my crease. Cool liquid between my legs had me tensing back a shiver. I gasped, clenching as his fingers pressed into me, cold and thick.

  "Relax, baby," he murmured. "You want this, right?"

  And yeah, I did. I really fucking did, and I breathed through the pressure as Owen stretched me. His touch was firm but careful, and he was always asking what I needed. He had half his arm up my ass but he was respectful about it.

  Fuck. This man. I was damn lucky to get lost in his cove…and then his bed.

  I was in love with his fingers. It was just crazy, filthy love with those fingers. I could live out the rest of my days with nothing more than the sexual torment this man brought to me, and I would be content.

  Correction: I was content. I needed nothing more.

  "If you're gonna leak all over the place," Owen started, dragging his chin up my throbbing length, "I'm gonna have to lick you clean."

  "You should," I replied. "It's your fault."

  "And I'm happy to take responsibility," Owen said, laughing.

  He swirled his tongue over the spot of arousal on my belly, and then took my cock in his mouth. He sucked and stroked in a slow, steady rhythm that had me moaning like a foghorn.

  "Need to fuck you," he whispered against my thigh.

  I nodded in response. I wanted that too, but there was no reason to rush. My cock couldn't get any harder. It wasn't possible. And I was wrong; there was reason to rush and it had a lot to do with the orgasm winding its way down my spine. His teeth nipped at my inner thigh, and I was damn near floating when he bit down while his fingers circled my prostate.

  "Oh my hell yes please," I cried.

  Owen chuckled as he reached for the lube he'd left near my shoulder. He nudged my thighs open as his slippery fingers found my prostate again, and a hungry, desperate cry caught in my throat. "Get inside me," I growled. "Give it to me. Don't make me wait anymore."

  I watched the rise and fall of Owen's chest as his cock replaced his fingers. When he pushed past my resistance, my gaze scraped up his body to his gorgeous face to see bliss softening his features. He leaned forward, his heat wrapping around me like a blanket as he braced his elbows on either side of my head. My hands went to his shoulders and my ankles to his ass as he thrust into me. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes hazed over with heat.

  "Is this good?" he asked, flattening his hips against me. "Are you all right?"

  I nodded, no words available to me. I was only capable of taking it, of taking him, and wanting him to take all of me in the process. Owen eased back, dragging his cock from me on a slow, torturous path. Our eyes met and then shifted downward, and we watched as he disappeared inside me again.

  "Ah, fuck," he hissed.

  He was fucking me slowly now, all rolling hips and long, heavy thrusts, and I was about to lose my mind. I reached between us, suddenly frantic to find my release, and stroked my cock.

  "No no," Owen said, moving my hands to his waist before taking my cock. "This is for me."

  "But I need—"

  "I know," he said, cutting me off with a kiss. "I know, little prince. But this is for me."

  His grip was unforgiving, but his gaze. Fuck, that gaze. That was what got me. It was like
he was staring straight into me, knowing me and begging me to know him in return. "Take it," I whispered. "Take all of me."

  His thumb passed over my crown as he stroked into me. For a minute there, I went cross-eyed.

  I'd never experienced sex like this before. There was the insanely good fucking component but that wasn't the whole story. It was the feeling of it all. The emotion behind every thrust, the intention in every kiss, the promise in every breath we shared. This kind of sex was an affirmation, and an ever-growing part of me knew I could scavenge the earth and not find anything else like it. Like him.

  "Don't say something like that unless you mean it," Owen replied. "Because you better believe I will."

  He did. He had me flying apart within minutes, one hot spurt after another.

  "Your turn," I rasped, my eyes glued to his abs as they rippled with each glorious thrust. "You gave me everything I wanted, Owen. Now I want you to take what you need."

  His eyebrows arched, and a smile tipped up one side of his mouth. He pulled out and jerked himself with the same force he'd offered me. It was a blur of movement and guttural moans, and he huffed out a long, filthy string of curses as his release hit. He spilled—and spilled and spilled—all over my belly.

  "Look at you," he breathed as the last spasms spiraled through him. "Just look at you."

  Owen swirled two fingers through the mess on my belly. I was warm all over, filled with a hot new happy that felt too good to be mine. "Come here," I whispered, pulling him to my side. "Just stay right there."

  "Nowhere else I want to be," he murmured, his lips on my neck and shoulder.

  I lived a pretty big life. I'd traveled the world and met celebrities, heads of state, and more billionaires than I could count. Even though there were moments when I wanted to kick it all to the curb, I had it good. But none of that life compared to Owen's head on my shoulder or his bare skin warming mine.

  15

  Tacking

  v. To change course by turning a boat's head into and through the wind.