Page 15 of Owen (Blue Team #1)

Another day down. Another night lying in bed feigning sleep.

Owen was kind enough to let me go upstairs first, get ready, and crawl under the covers before he came up.

He also gave it enough time that a normal person who wasn’t a ball of stress with everything weighing her down would’ve already been fast asleep.

But, no, not me. I had way too much on my mind. Especially right then.

As soon as the poker chips came out I should’ve lied and said I had a headache.

But I was too caught up living in my dreamland, where I was Natasha, not Sarah Pollaski.

I thought I could fool the guys into thinking I didn’t know how to play.

The first couple of games had been easy to lose, but for some reason when Gabe started making fun of me, I forgot I was supposed to be Nat.

Hell, I forgot that I was supposed to be Sarah the cultured woman who…

who what? Was innocent? Didn’t participate in her family’s business? Who wasn’t a criminal?

That was a joke. And not the funny kind that made everyone in the room bust a gut and smile. A sad joke that made me want to curl into a ball and cry.

The door creaked open and I held my breath. Owen walked across the room on near-silent feet and quietly clicked the bathroom door closed behind him.

So began the game.

I willed my body to remain still. Hoped I’d find sleep before he came back out. Prayed he decided to shower, shave, maybe take a long soak in the tub, thus giving me a long time to fall asleep. Minutes later with my hopes dashed and prayers unanswered Owen got into bed.

And like the nights before he was far away from me.

I didn’t know this for a fact—the room was dark and I would never turn on the light and look—but he was so far away I wondered if half his body was off the bed.

Owen was a big guy, it was a queen-sized bed, but it felt like there were yards between us.

I hated it.

Yet it was necessary. Smart even. But that didn’t mean I had to like it.

Unlike the two nights before, my body wasn’t cooperating, nor was my mind.

I was restless, worried, and scared Owen and the guys would figure out who I really was and kick me out.

And if I was being a hundred percent truthful, while I shouldn’t have ever entertained the thoughts, I was turned on.

It had been hours and hours since the wood chopping incident yet I couldn’t forget how good it felt to be in Owen’s arms.

I needed to forget but I didn’t want to.

The whole point of living in this new world was to memorize every moment.

However, I hadn’t taken into consideration that I’d be left aching.

And that ache started in my heart but was not limited to the organ.

Oh, no, it radiated all over—breasts, core, straight to my legs that wouldn’t stop moving.

I clenched my thighs and tried to quell the throbbing but it only made it worse.

“Nat,” Owen growled, and that sound did unspeakable things to my desire .

“Sorry,” I squeaked and rolled to my side. That made my sweatpants push up my legs.

Now I was seriously uncomfortable. I gave it a few moments then used my right foot to catch the hem of the left leg of my pants and tried to smooth it down. This caused the bed to move— no, that caused Owen to move and his movement was what caused the mattress to compress at my back.

“You got restless leg syndrome or something?”

I didn’t but that sounded like a wonderful excuse so I went with it.

“Yeah. Sorry. My sweats are bunched.”

“Jesus,” he muttered but did not move.

I didn’t either but I did remind him, “I offered to take the couch.”

“You’re not sleeping on the damn couch.”

“Then don’t complain about me moving,” I shot back.

“Fix your pants and lie still.”

“Sheesh,” I mumbled and reached down to do just that. “Someone’s got their panties in a bunch.”

“Fuck me,” he grouched.

Yes, please.

Once I’d rearranged my pants I laid back down expecting him to move back to his side of the bed. He didn’t. He stayed crowding me. His proximity ratcheted up the fantasy of him finally doing something more than sleep in this bed. The thought made me rub my legs together.

“Nat,” he grunted.

“I’m not doing anything,” I rallied.

“You damn well are and you know it.”

There was no way he could know what I was thinking.

“I’m not. But if I’m bothering you I’ll get up and—”

Then I stopped talking because I was frozen solid. Owen rolled toward me, pushing me mostly to my stomach and pinning me to the bed. One arm over my back, his hand resting by my chest, one thick, muscular leg over mine holding me still.

Welp. That wasn’t the fantasy but I couldn’t deny it felt good having his heat at my back.

Once I was settled his deep voice rumbled from behind me.

“Babe, stop.”

“What?”

“Please, Nat, for your sake and mine stop.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You think I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I do.

You think I’m lying less than a foot away and I don’t feel you clenching your thighs, but I do.

And lastly, you think I don’t know why that is, but you’re dead fucking wrong.

What I’m saying is, I know exactly what we both want but I’m asking you to fucking stop because we are not going there. ”

Oh, shit. He totally knew.

How in the world did he know?

Because you rubbed up against him like a cat in heat when he was being nice showing you how to use an ax, dumbass. My mind screamed.

Right. Shit. I had done that.

And you were rubbing your legs together to find friction instead of getting up and taking care of your problem alone in the bathroom. My mind reprimanded.

Damn.

Totally busted but I wasn’t going to admit to anything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.

Owen gave me more of his weight, lowered his head so his mouth was right next to my ear.

“Liar.” The two syllables blew across my neck and I shivered. “Fuck me.”

God, yes! Let’s do that.

“Owen,” I wheezed. “I really don’t—”

“Natasha, you do. You might have a world-class poker face but you’re a shit liar. And I hate to burst your bubble, but your body does not lie.”

World-class poker face.

That reminder was all I needed to snap me back to reality.

“I’m not thinking anything.”

“Right.” He drew out the word sarcastically. “So if I checked you wouldn’t be wet.”

“Checked?”

“Yeah, baby, checked. You’re telling me if I put my hand down your panties I wouldn’t find you wet?”

No, he wouldn’t. He’d find me soaking wet.

That made me shiver again and Owen curse.

“Maybe you should roll away,” I told him.

“Maybe I’m gonna stay right here trapping your legs so you stop trying to get yourself off less than a fucking foot from where I’m trying to sleep.”

Holy Hannah, he totally knew.

There was nothing to say, he’d caught me in all my lies, so I stayed quiet.

Silence was my friend. My best option. It always had been and always would be.

After a few minutes, Owen grunted another curse and that was how I fell asleep—Owen half on top of me trapping me between the soft mattress and his hard body. I didn’t know how it happened because at the time I never thought I’d find it, but I did and I slept soundly.

Warm and safe.

Now it was morning and I was alone in bed and the room was bright.

Not because there was a light on but the sun was shining in.

I didn’t need to look at the clock to tell me I’d slept in.

I rolled to my back, stretched, and before I could talk myself out of it my hand pushed down the front of my sweatpants.

I glanced at the bathroom door—it was shut but there was no light coming from under the door.

The bedroom door was also closed and I didn’t hear any noise.

The guys were all downstairs being quiet, or some of them had left the house.

Thank God.

I needed five minutes to myself, then I’d get up and start my day. Hopefully in a good mood. One that would allow me to ignore the tension building between me and Owen. He was right, I needed to stop. I had to ignore pent-up emotions.

On that thought I gently teased myself, searching through my memories of Owen, and decided to focus on last night.

My finger pushed through my wetness and I barely stifled a moan.

I was primed and ready and all it had taken was the thought of Owen’s big body over mine.

Only in my fantasy, I was on my back and it was his fingers dipping into my pussy and his tongue was swirling my nipple.

On that thought, my other hand went into my shirt. I pinched my nipple.

So close but not enough . I closed my eyes and Owen’s face filled my mind.

His green eyes full of hunger as his fingers plunged in and out.

Holy shit, I was so, so close. He smiled before he lowered his head and sucked my nipple into his mouth, letting his teeth graze the sensitive bud.

Almost . Strong, thick fingers continued to thrust, the sound of my moans filled the room.

There. Right there . My hips bucked and my climax washed over me but Owen didn’t stop, his thumb pressed over my clit rubbing hard until one orgasm slid into two.

Then I heard it. Owen’s deep growl, and I moaned again wanting to feel the rumble against my over-sensitive clit. I wanted his mouth between my legs. I would beg if I had to, I’d do anything to have his mouth on my…

“What the fuck? ”

My eyes snapped open, my hands stilled, and my world shattered.

Oh. My. God.