O wen could scarcely believe the sight before him.
Zee stood rooted to the spot, her gaze fixed on the closed bedroom door through which Simon had just vanished.
The confusion etched into the crease of her brow was profound—mirroring the very disbelief that gripped Owen’s own heart.
Her delicate hands, usually steady with her confident nature, now trembled like autumn leaves on the cusp of surrendering to the wind.
She drew a sharp breath, and it hitched in her throat, a sign of the emotional storm Simon’s abrupt departure had conjured within her. Owen’s chest tightened at the sight of her distress, an instinctual urge to protect and comfort her surging forth.
He went to her. Without a word, he enveloped her in a hug, his arms wrapping around her trembling form.
He felt her stiffen for a moment before relaxing against him, her tension ebbing away as she accepted his silent offer of solace.
“Come now, let’s get you to bed.” His words were gentle, meant to soothe and encourage, but also to remind her they were still together, even without Simon.
She nodded against his chest. He coaxed her away from the door, leading her toward the sanctuary of the bed they often shared—tonight, just the two of them.
When she made no move to undress, he loosened her gown himself. She lifted her arms slightly, letting him take off the gown and chemise.
“Would you like a nightgown?” he asked.
Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. A subtle shake of her head conveyed her answer.
He guided her to the dressing table and helped her sit.
Carefully, he removed the pins from her hair and began to brush it.
Each stroke was measured, more concerned with calming her than removing tangles.
He’d taken up brushing it at night while Simon was away, and he enjoyed the domestic feeling it gave him.
Slowly, her shoulders relaxed, the tremble in her hands ceased, and her eyes fluttered closed under the spell of his ministrations.
As he brushed, Owen’s mind waged a silent battle.
Gratitude for the unexpected gift of privacy with Zee warred with frustration toward Simon’s abrupt departure.
It was an odd ache in his chest, this duality of emotions.
His heart thrummed with the joy of having her to himself, yet that joy carried the guilt of relishing something born from Simon’s pain.
Even now, with the warmth of her body so close, with the intimacy of their actions painting a tender portrait in the mirror, his thoughts were haunted by Simon’s troubled gaze. Could he truly enjoy these stolen moments, knowing they came at someone else’s pain?
The love he held for both Zee and Simon was no simple affair.
It was carved from years of shared laughter and whispered dreams, from the pact made in boyhood, and the desires that bloomed in its wake.
And yet, here he was, caught between his longing and his loyalty, cherishing the touch of Zee’s bare skin while yearning for Simon to understand that their hearts could be vast enough for all.
With each stroke of the brush, Owen wove his concern into care, his frustration into tenderness, hoping that by morning, the knots in their relationship would be as smooth as the locks now flowing freely through his fingers.
Zee’s breath hitched, a fragile sound that tugged at Owen’s heart. Her hands twisted together, the knuckles white. “Owen, how can this last? We belong to each other, yes, but Simon... he’s not here. And when he is, I expect him to make the moment uncomfortable at any time.”
Her eyes, wide and shimmering with unshed tears, darted away from his gaze. The sight of her so fraught with uncertainty sent a pang through him, sharp and urgent.
He pulled her back against him, wrapping an arm around her breastbone. Gently, he captured one of her hands, stopping its nervous dance. He held it firmly. “Look at me, Zee.”
When her eyes met his in the mirror, he continued with quiet conviction.
“I’m here because I choose to be, for both of you.
Simon’s heart is vast, even if his fears are sometimes greater.
We must be patient, love.” His thumb caressed the soft skin of her inner wrist. “Our happiness, this bond we share, it’s worth every effort to keep the harmony. ”
Zee’s hand trembled within his, but she nodded, a slight movement that gave him hope.
Her head pressed back into him and she drew in a breath. “I hope you’re right, Owen.”
He led her to the bed, and as she lay down, he undressed and joined her. He wasn’t ready to put out the candles, but he couldn’t say if that was to allow him to see Zee as he loved her, or so she’d know it was him, not Simon, touching her.
In that, he was no better than Simon.
The candlelight danced across her curvaceous form, casting shadows that played hide and seek with her most intimate contours. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against the valley between her breasts, tasting the salt of her skin.
Her fingers wove into his hair, guiding him closer as if she could merge his very essence with her own. She urged him up to kiss her, which he gladly did, the gentle touch quickly turning wild as her tongue pressed into his mouth. He met her thrust for thrust until she broke away, gasping for air.
His mouth trailed lower, finding the softness of her belly, the dip of her navel, the rise of her hips. He sought to comfort her in their caresses, to bring her the pleasure she deserved.
“Owen,” she gasped when he moved to lie between her thighs.
“Shh, love,” he whispered against the tender skin of her inner thigh. “Let me cherish you.”
And he did. With every stroke and touch, he worshipped her with a fervor that spilled forth from his soul. She wasn’t to be denied, however, and pulled him up so his cock nestled against her wet heat.
He moaned as he entered her slowly, feeling the heat and the tightness that welcomed him home.
This was love in its purest form—gentle yet passionate, slow yet inevitable.
They moved together, finding a rhythm that belonged only to them, a rhythm that spoke of yesterday’s vows and tomorrow’s promises.
Owen held onto her, to this moment, to the woman who had captured his soul, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.
In the aftermath of their passion, they lay entangled, the soft panting of their breaths the only testimony to the tempest that had raged moments before.
He brushed a lock of hair from Zee’s forehead, his gaze lingering on her flushed cheeks, the blue of her eyes darkened by the depths of their intimacy.
She lay against him, the rise and fall of her chest a slow, steady rhythm now. He watched her, his fingers skating over the softness of her skin, the delicate fabric of reality settling around them once more.
“Is it always to be this way?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Always,” Owen said, his heart echoing the certainty of his words.
The contentment that swathed him was as comforting as the coverlet they shared, though a nagging whisper of concern for Simon’s response threaded through his thoughts.
“With me. With Simon. With us. We’ll always make it this way for you. ”
Zee nestled closer, seeking the warmth of his chest. Her breathing slowed, syncing with his own, a gentle rhythm that lulled them toward restful slumber. His arms tightened around her, a shield against the doubts that dared disturb their serenity.
He could feel the steady beat of her heart beneath his palm, a tempo that matched his own. It was a comfort that eased the edges of his worry for Simon’s sensibilities. Surely, their friendship, the love they both held for Zee, would weather this tempest.
As sleep beckoned, Owen allowed himself to surrender to the tranquility of the moment, to the softness of Zee’s breath against his arm. Tomorrow would come with its challenges, but for now, there was only the quiet assurance of their embrace.