Page 46 of Knots About You
‘You will fuck me, Sir, won’t you? Tie me down and press that hard cock deep inside my…’
I didn’t even make it through the sentence. Ropes of cum leaked from me as I gripped the edge of the bath with my other hand. I practically fucked the water as her face flushed a deeper shade of pink. Satisfaction flooded her eyes at the effect her words had on me.
‘Well, damn Owen. I thought I arrived a bit early today.’ Her eyes sparkled with devious delight.
‘Not my fault, you brought out the filthy talk and all the Sirs. How can a guy resist?’
My head spun, but the floating mess inspired me to haul our asses from the bath and wrap us up in towels.
‘Are you staying tonight?’ I asked.
‘If you want me to.’
Moving over to her, I captured her chin and gave her a soft kiss. ‘I think I might need you to.’
Her face broke into a sweet grin. ‘Then I’d love to. But I can’t guarantee Meowrse will let you snuggle me.’
My heart skipped a beat, and not for the first time since meeting Claire, I wondered what I’d done to deserve her stepping into my life.
Even if it might not be forever.
Later, before sleep got its hands on me, I said the thing that had been tapping my head since we climbed into bed, and she wrapped her warm body around mine. ‘Don’t think I’m not thinking about you right now.’
She made a pleased little noise into my shoulder. ‘Hard to, when you’re digging me in the hip.’
And for the first time in a long time, I slept easy.
seventeen
CLAIRE
We’d falleninto a rhythm that felt dangerously perfect. Mornings filming reels at the distillery, pouring all my pent-up desire for Owen into the content. Then, lunchtime meetings with Isla to review marketing and discuss how best to leverage the buzz to the distillery’s benefit. Afternoons hand in hand with Owen, trawling charity shops for furniture I could upcycle, or walking with Scruff while he worked.
And then there were the evenings. Evenings where Owen showed me the many ways he could drive me to the edge of sanity with that tongue of his. Or those insanely delicious, thick fingers of his. Not to mention the rope. Giving up my ability to control the situation had led to my forming a deeper trust with Owen in the few short weeks I’d been in Otterleigh than I’d had with anyone before. While our sessions were ultimately about sexual satisfaction, there was a layer beneath it that made me warm and fuzzy. I trusted him. Gave myself to him in the mostvulnerable way I could, and he used it to learn my body and mind.
Although he still hadn’t let me touch him, or progressed beyond him fisting his cock at the end of a session. I was gagging for him. Unfortunately, not literally. While I’d always enjoyed sex, I’d never been shown a cock and denied it. Owen had me frothing at the mouth, and everywhere else.
After making me squeal into the early hours, he’d cook and clean and stroke my hair until I fell into a languid puddle, and he used that to steal the argument for giving me his cock right out of my mouth.
One could argue that I didn't even need it, since he made me come over and over. But it wasn’t even so much about the activity as about that barrier that he still had around him. I understood he’d been hurt and that he was reluctant to open himself up to that again, but I wanted to bust through that wall and see all of him.
To have all of him.
Would it be so bad even if it were only for a few weeks?
The ache that filled my chest when I thought of going home told me yes. My holiday romance would gut me when I took the train back to the city. Arriving in the middle of the late autumnal gloom, when the trees had shed to bare and the sky was that pervasive grey.
Since the bath, he hadn’t exactly backed off the touching, he still wrapped my throat with his fingers, thumbs under my jaw, kisses that melted my underpants, but he stopped himself fromtaking. The combination of giving and refusal to allow me to return the favour had me climbing the walls like a feral badger.
By Friday, we’d got the sitting room to the point that it could pass as a usable room. I stood in a giant, paint-stained T-shirt and weathered leggings and dashes of sage green up my arms. And in my hair, which I’d roughly manhandled into an oversizedclip. Owen wiped a drip from the French dresser we’d painted with the corner of a rag while giving me one of his brooding looks.
Was he planning to pin me to the floor and finally take me?
Fingers crossed.
‘Karaoke tonight,’ he said, standing to stretch out his back. ‘You’ve not been yet, and I’m not sure you can stay here without experiencing it at least once. It’s not my bag, but Isla’s been begging me to ask.’
It was already nearing eight o’clock. I held up my paint-splattered arms in a WTF pose.
