Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2) (16 page)

I know he's close. His breathing is erratic and he's getting thicker inside me. His hand slides up my abdomen and to my breast, pinching my nipple.

"Ah!" I scream.

"You ready?" Owen asks, his eyes completely glazed over and pinning me into the limo seat.

"Yes," I breathe out, barely audible.

He presses his thumb onto the top of my clit hard and starts to fuck me ruthlessly. "Now, Olivia!" he yells and I explode.

"Oh, Jesus, Owennnn! Ahhhhh!" I scream. I'm not worried about the limo driver hearing me. I'm worried about the other cars on the freeway hearing me.

He slams hard into me once, twice, and on the third time, he holds himself still and deep inside me as he grunts and then yells “Fuck!” while emptying himself in me, throbbing against the squeezes I give him.

He collapses on top of me, bracing himself with one hand on the back of the seat so he doesn't crush me. “I love you so fucking much,” he pants out against my shoulder.

“I love you too,” I reply, equally fighting my inability to breathe.

He leans forward and kisses me sweetly on the lips before rolling to the side and doing a half-assed job of fastening his pants. The tail of his shirt is sticking out the zipper of his pants, for God’s sake. While I try to get myself together a little, Owen reaches forward to grab my shredded thong off the floor. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he stuffs the tattered material into the front pocket of his shirt. I shake my head and roll my eyes as I grab a handful of tissues from a box in the console of the back seating area in a feeble attempt to clean myself up.

“Thank God for well-stocked limos, huh, babe?” He’s laughing at me—the bastard.

“Oh sure. You just tuck yours away. But me? I get the wet spot.”

We laugh loudly, and I throw my tissues into the waste bin before curling up next to him, my head on his chest with my legs under me. He wraps an arm around me, pulling me close, and I finally get to run my fingers through the chest hair I admired earlier. I sigh deeply.

“You okay? I wasn’t too rough on you, was I?” His voice tells me that he’s concerned. He loves to fuck me six ways from Sunday, but if he gets any indication that he’s hurt me in any way, he panics.

I run circles on his chest with the tips of my fingers, contemplating whether or not I should say what's on my mind. I decide to go for it.

"I'm fine. Just thinking about the things you said today. When we were dancing. When you gave your speech." I look up at him, not lifting my head from his shoulder, our eyes locked. "You really want me to move in now? You won't change your mind when you wake up tomorrow?"

I'm insecure. I know it; he knows it. I believe what he said at the wedding, but I'd still like to hear him say it again.

He looks me dead in the eyes, his gaze not wavering. “Olivia, I love you more than you can possibly imagine. And I don’t want you to move in.” Pause. Big, fucking scary pause. “I
need
you to move in. I want to do this with you. Will you do that for me?”

I grin up at him and my heart swells. There is no use pretending that isn't exactly what I wanted to hear. My arms wrap around Owen’s neck and I kiss him sweetly, softly. Our tongues meet, but this isn't the kissing of two people who just fucked like rabbits. This is the kiss of two people who adore each other, love each other, and are connecting.

I don't pull away, but I pause the kiss and say against his lips, "I can't wait to wake up to you every morning."

He leans down and kisses me again, his hands roaming my back, soothing me. I lay my head on his chest and my eyes start to shut. Before I know it, I've fallen asleep, secure in the arms of the man I love.

IT’S MOVING DAY, and it’s already a clusterfuck. Did you expect any different? Last week, I packed up my apartment—what little there was to pack in my little Chelsea studio. My parents took most of the furniture with the exception of a futon I brought to Owen’s—I mean
our
—place to put in the office. The rest of the things I had to bring were clothing related, dishes and kitchen items, and all the other little things people keep in their houses that they didn’t even know they had but fill about what seems like one hundred moving boxes. We decided that I would pack everything and sort through it when I got it to the brownstone.

Owen got a couple of the guys from the firehouse to help out. Saul is here as well as Tanner and Tex, a new probie who just started. Owen was delighted that bringing Tex was a win/win for him and his firehouse buddies. We got the help of a young, strong man, and it serves as appropriate hazing for the new guy. I promised the boys that I would make them a hearty dinner in exchange for their help, and as promised, I have a huge pan of baked ziti and garlic bread in the oven. My friend and coworker, Laney, is coming later with dessert.

I am sitting cross-legged on the floor, pulling books out of a box, and trying to sort through them. This one stays, this one goes. This one goes, this one stays. It’s tedious but oddly relaxing at the same time. I feel a hand on the top of my head and look up, greeted by the brilliant, blue eyes of my man. He leans down and kisses me softly with a big smile.

“Having fun with your books?” he asks.

“Actually, I am, thank you very much,” I reply with a smirk. “Having fun ordering around your probie and being all manly while moving my boxes?”

He smiles down at me again. “Fuckin’ lovin’ it.” He kiss the top of my head and goes back to work by helping Tanner bring in a second pile of boxes.

I filter through another couple of books when I hear a crash in the next room and a very clear “Fuck!” That does
not
sound good.

I get up and walk slowly to our bedroom, preparing myself for the worst. Inside, I find the probie, Tex, his head in his hands, looking at a box that has fallen from his hands onto the floor. He looks terrified.

“Everything okay in here?” I ask cautiously.

He looks up at me, fear in his eyes. “Oh God, Olivia, I’m so sorry. I dropped this... It was so...like, heavy and awkward and I—”

I put a hand up, stopping him. “Tex, relax. Do you even know what was in that box?”

He shakes his head.

“Look at the label. It’s just clothes. Sweaters to be exact. You didn’t break anything...and I won’t tell.” I wink at him conspiratorially and he instantly looks more relaxed and grateful. “I’ll tell you what. I have finally divided all the books in the living room. It would be really helpful if you took the donation boxes downstairs for me.”

“Sure, Olivia. I can do that for you.” He sprints out of the room to get the job done, eager to help.

I can’t help but laugh. This kid is absolutely adorable, and I hate the hazing, although I get it to some extent. Owen has made it clear that he went through the same—and much worse—so I keep my thoughts to myself.

I decide to pull some of my clothes out and get them arranged. Last night, Owen and I went through the drawers and closet to make room for my stuff. I’ve developed a little stockpile of my things over the last few months here, but not much. I find a box that I know has my lingerie in it and bring it to the dresser so I can empty it.

When I open the box, I see the embroidered, linen handkerchief my mother made me years ago, and it smells vaguely of lavender. I used it to line my lingerie drawer. Giving it a sniff, I lay it down in the drawer I plan to use for my lingerie. I take out my panties and bras, placing them carefully in the drawer. As I go through my day-to-day lingerie, I find my fancier baby-dolls and nighties. I don’t have many anymore. Owen has bought me one or two, and I have bought a few since I met him, but ones I had prior brought back too many negative memories of the men I’d worn them for, so I threw them away.

I pull out one I bought recently but haven’t worn yet. It’s black with a soft cupped bralette and flowing sheer lace coming down. It’s meant to be worn with a matching, very bare, black thong. I hold it up in front of me, studying it, thinking of when I could wear it.
Tonight maybe?

I hear a distinctive
click
behind me and turn around. Owen is standing against the door, leaning with his arms across his gorgeous chest and his ankles hooked in front of him. He has a smirk on his face and he looks cool, collected, and sexy as all hell, like the cat who got the cream.

“Can I help you?” I say, smirking back.

“Oh, I think you can—in so, so many ways.” He is still smirking, but his eyes are turning molten. I can feel his stare from my head to my toes, every nerve ending responding. “What’s that you have there?” he asks.

“Oh this old thing?” I wave it around in the air in front of me. “It’s just a little something I picked up one day. Thought you might like it. I don’t know... It’s not really me,” I say, feigning indifference.

“Not you?” He tsks and shakes his head. “You may not think it’s your style, Olivia, but it definitely gets my vote of approval.” The smirk is back. “Put it on.” This is a command. Not a question with options.

“Owen…your friends are moving things into the house. I can’t try this on now. I’ll try it for—”

He holds a hand up. “Olivia, the boys are outside taking a break, having a smoke and a beer. And I also wasn’t asking. Put. It. On.” His face is more serious, the smirk having left his mouth but the smoldering passion remains in his eyes.

I take a deep breath. His hard gaze makes it difficult for me to breathe at all. Turning, I stride into the bathroom with the baby-doll in hand. I shut the door most of the way and quickly take my clothes off, replacing them with the baby-doll nightie and matching panties. After quickly giving myself an once-over in the mirror, I pull out my hair-tie and let my brunette locks fall over my shoulders.

I step out of the bathroom and pause at the door. Owen is still standing where I left him only moments ago. When he sees me, he groans. It makes me giggle because it was completely involuntary. I’ll bet that, if I had been able to watch his dick at the same time, that probably twitched simultaneously. I drop my eyes for just a moment, feeling somewhat exposed thanks to that searing gaze he’s giving me.

“Holy fuck, Olivia,” he says softly, his voice gravelly and rough.

Sex, for men, is highly visual. They like to see fucking. Owen is always losing himself while watching us fuck, make love, whatever. The mechanics of it are a turn-on for him. For me? It’s his voice. The words he says. Owen is very vocal when we make love, and it’s an incredible turn-on for me. Dirty or sweet, it drives me crazy, and many times, just what he says can get me to come. Just like that. Boom.

“You like?” I say as I twirl in the doorway.

“Do I like?” he repeats, shock in his voice. “I fucking worship.”

I giggle and blush a little. “Well....now you’ve seen it so...I should go change.” I start to turn, but he’s in front of me in seconds flat, grabbing my arm.

“Oh no no no. You’re not going anywhere.” He turns me toward him and runs his hands over my hips, around my waist, pulling me to him.

Leaning down, he brushes his lips over mine, his tongue licking between the crease, coaxing them open. Coaxing may be a misnomer since it takes very little for me to open for him. My hands slide up his beautiful, strong arms and over his shoulders until they come around his neck. His hands glide down to my ass, squeezing, kneading, molding them. They slip up under the edge of the baby-doll, searching for the edges of my thong and then pulling it down. When my thong hits my ankles, I quickly step out of them while Owen’s hands roam across my body with his fingers occasionally flirting between my legs.

I kiss down his cheek and along his jaw until he lifts his head. With his neck exposed, I kiss, lick, and nip his sensitive skin until he begins to moan.

“Oh my fuck, Olivia… You… Oh God, you…”

He bends down and scoops me in his arms, bringing me to the bed. After he lays me down, Owen crawls up on the bed beside me. He props himself on his elbow and runs his hand from my knee, up the inside of my thigh, and back down again. He is teasing me but watching his own every move, teasing himself too. I raise my hand and pull his lips back down to mine, kissing him deeply.