"Better," I panted. "Needs improvement, but better."
“Good.” His fingers tore at my t-shirt. Owen pulled at it and then dragged it up, and I raised my arms so he could pull it over my head. Then, I was sitting in front of him in just a bra and leggings, and his eyes feasted on my bared skin.
"I have an idea," he told me.
I watched with glazed, fascinated eyes as he reached over to one of the melted chocolate bars and dipped his fingertips into the chocolate. Then, he lifted them to my mouth and began to paint my lips with the chocolate.
I was both aroused by that motion…and disappointed that he’d only gone to my lips.
I shivered when he leaned in and licked at my lower lip, sucking off the chocolate. Then he moved to kiss me again, his tongue sliding into my mouth, and the taste of him was sinfully sweet and exquisite.
I couldn’t even formulate an answer that time. I just dragged my arms around his neck and pulled him down over me. My bra brushed against his cupcake shirt and I dragged my fingers across the front of it. "Can we get rid of this?”
"It depends," he told me, and his fingers flicked at my bra strap. "Can we get rid of this?"
"I suppose it’s only fair."
"I like fair." His mouth captured mine again, and then his fingers moved to attack the clasp on the back of my bra. I wasn’t getting topless without seeing him the same way, though, so I dragged at his t-shirt. We both paused a moment later to strip off the offending clothing, and then my br**sts pressed up against his chest.
I gasped when the tips of my aching br**sts brushed against his smooth chest. That felt sinfully good. I groaned and did it again, just because of how good it felt, and he groaned in response, his big hand moving up to cup my breast. "You’re so beautiful, Luna. It’s a f**king crime to keep these covered up." His thumb flicked over my nipple.
I moaned, my fingers flexing and kneading his shoulders. "You’re pretty good at that."
"Only pretty good? Clearly I need to do better," he said in a teasing voice, and he leaned in, his mouth closing over the other peak even as his thumb and forefinger worked the other one into aching sweetness.
I cried out at the twin sensations. "Okay," I cried. "Much better. You win."
"Oh, I’m just getting started," he said, and tugged at my sleep pants. "Can we take these off?"
"Only if you get rid of yours first," I said. "Only fair."
"I like fair," he said in a sultry voice, reminding me of our earlier words. I shivered with excitement at that.
He stood up, and without teasing me, pulled his pants down. His c*ck sprung free, erect, thick, and enormous. And eye-level. Oh, that sneaky devil. I couldn’t resist putting my hands on it and stroking it. "This is impressive," I told him.
"You like?" His voice was practically purring with pleasure at my touch.
"I do," I breathed, unable to tease him any longer. I reached over and slid my mouth along the length of him, tasting him with my lips and tongue. His skin was velvety soft, a delicious contrast from the hard length under all that delicious, musky skin.
"Mmm, that’s pretty," he told me, his hand going to my hair and dragging his c*ck across my face. "I think it’s only fair that I reciprocate."
"I like fair,” I told him, throwing his words back in his face.
He pushed me back down on the floor and kicked his pants off as he moved over me. His fingers dragged my leggings down to my knees, but instead of pulling them off, he hooked his hand in the crotch and dragged my legs forward until they were trapped in a yoga pose that made my ankles startlingly close to my ears.
Then, he leaned in and ran his fingers along my sex. "Mmm. And this is even prettier."
I moaned at his touch, shocked by how good it felt. His fingers rubbed up and down my folds, testing my wetness. I felt one slide into the well of my sex and then he sank it deep. "And all wet and tight, too. Damn, Luna. Christmas came early for me."
"Haven’t come yet," I breathed.
He chuckled. "I’ll fix that." And his finger began to slowly pump in and out of my sex. Another slid up to my cl*t and began to stroke it, back and forth, left to right, in sure, regular motions. I squirmed against him, the sensations overloading me, but my legs were trapped and pinned in place, and his hands held me captive. The more I writhed, the better it felt, and he just kept rubbing and thrusting with his fingers. I felt my body clench faster than I’d ever felt it before, and I sucked in a breath, shocked when, in the next instant, I had a hard, fast orgasm.
"I liked that," Owen said in a husky voice, and lifted his slick fingers to his mouth and licked them clean. I shuddered with pleasure at the sight of that. He leaned down to kiss me, and then released my pants from where he’d held me pinned. "Be right back with condoms."
I nodded, breathless and languid with satisfied desire. That had been a great orgasm. If we’d have ended there, I’d have been fine with it, but the thought of more had me quivering with anticipation. I was so on board for more.
Owen returned a minute later, a condom in hand. I watched as he opened the package and rolled it down his impressive length. Then, once sheathed, he moved forward and took my mouth in another kiss. His tongue flicked against my own, mimicking his motions on my cl*t earlier. Just like that, I was fired up all over again. I whimpered into his mouth, encouraging him.
His weight slid between my legs and I lifted them around his hips, opening for him. I wanted everything he had to give. I felt the press of his c*ck against my opening, and his mouth captured mine just as he sank deep. I sucked in a breath at the sensation – god, so good – and gave a small whimper as he drew out, only to thrust deep again. Then, Owen began to rock inside me, his motions controlled and slow and exquisitely delicious.
Each thrust made that delicious tension rise higher and higher. Oh god, that was so good. I breathed his name over and over, and let the crest take me. With every motion, I was rising higher and higher, searching for that elusive orgasm. Except this time? Not so elusive. By the time Owen’s thrusts became rough and forceful with his own need, I’d come again and was working my way into the next one.
Then, he lifted one of my legs and pressed my ankle to his shoulder, changing the depth of his penetration.
And I came all over again.
Owen didn’t last long after that. I felt his body begin to tense and shudder against mine, and I encouraged it, tightening my internal muscles around him and clenching, even as I dug my fingernails into his skin. I whispered his name over and over again, and he came with a shout.
And then we lay in the pillows, breathing hard.
Later, when we’d relaxed, we lay in front of the nearly-dead fire, the cushions scattered everywhere. There were marshmallows and graham crackers all over the floor, but neither of us cared.
I twined my fingers with his. "So…that had potential," I told him in a sly voice.
"Just potential, huh?"
"Yeah," I said, and ruined it with a giggle.
He leaned down and licked my collarbone. "I bet my potential is bigger than yours."
"I think I need proof," I told him, sliding my body against his.
AT SOME POINT, IT GOT TOO cold in the living room and so we retreated back to Owen’s room. We squeezed both of our bodies into his small twin bed, and if it meant I slept pressed up against his rock-hard chest all night? I wasn’t complaining. I slept like a baby.
The sound of a vacuum running downstairs woke me up.
I yawned, pushing my tousled hair out of my face and peered around.
I…was still sleeping on Owen’s bare chest. Who the heck was downstairs with a vacuum?
"Owen," I murmured, tweaking one of his n**ples to wake him up.
"Mmmm." He grabbed my ass and began to drag me over his already-impressively-erect cock. "I like the way you think."
"No!" I scolded, squirming out of his grasp. "There’s someone downstairs running a vacuum. Do you hear it?"
He jerked up so fast that his forehead almost smacked mine. Owen frowned and glanced around, then slid out of bed. "Wait here. I’ll see if it’s a burglar."
Owen ran out of the room.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed my panties and Owen’s cupcake shop shirt. "If it was a burglar, why would they vacuum?" I muttered to myself, but there was no one to hear my awesome powers of deduction. So I went downstairs.
It was Kitty and a few other crew members. Kitty was talking to Owen, their heads bent together. Another assistant ran the vacuum over the messy carpet we’d left from last night’s make-out session.
Frowning, I went down the stairs and headed toward them. "What’s going on?"
"Oh!" She gazed at bare-chested Owen and then at me, pants-less. "Um, good news. Shooting wrapped early."
"It did?" I was surprised to hear that. "But I thought we had…" I counted on my fingers. "We’re still a week out from Christmas."
"I know," she said, beaming. "But like I said, the producers wanted to do some crazy stuff this time because it’s a holiday season filler, and with the final five and a couple of double eliminations, we’re wrapping up now. I’m taking you guys to the airport in about two hours, so go ahead and pack up."
"Oh." I crossed my arms over my chest, thinking. "Um, so who won?"
"It’s a secret," she said, and winked at me. "I can’t say."
I didn’t much care, to be honest. I was just making conversation. I looked at Owen, not sure what to do. We’d just made love last night, and it had been wonderful. What now?
Would he tell me that he wanted to stay here with me a bit longer? Make plans to spend time together?
"Well," Owen said, and rubbed his head. "I guess I should pack up."
This is the part where I need a Christmas miracle. You sure we can’t stay another week or two? No? Just until the New Year? – Owen MacIntosh, to Kitty
I MASKED MY HURT AT OWEN’S indifference all the way to the airport, my bag clutched to my chest. Kitty kept a constant stream of conversation going. Wouldn’t we be glad to get out of all this snow? Did Boston have as much snow as Alaska? What about San Diego, where Owen was from? Would he be excited to get back home? Were they excited about seeing the TV show?
I wasn’t excited about that prospect at all.
I chewed on my lip as Luna dropped us off at the airport. I looked at my airline ticket. "I’m gate B-34 to Boston," I told Owen.
He held up his ticket with a faint smile. "B-22 to San Diego."
"I guess we should part here, then," I said. I felt so…weird. Sad, but resigned. "It was nice to spend my time at the Loser Lodge with you."
He gave me an awkward smile. "You too."
I waved and turned away.
Someone grabbed me by the purse strap, and I jerked to a halt. I turned around, and Owen’s hand had my strap.
Then he pulled me close and dragged me into another hot, breathless kiss that sucked all of the air out of my lungs and filled me with longing.
When he released me, he whispered against my mouth. "Just thought I’d leave you with proof that I’m a better kisser."
He touched my cheek and smiled. "Bye, Luna."
"Bye, Owen," I whispered back.
And then we parted.
I was proud of myself. I made it onto the plane before I broke down into blubbery tears.
CHRISTMAS EVE WAS KIND OF LAME when you didn’t celebrate anything. I fidgeted in my chair, my laptop perched atop my legs. I couldn’t go to the coffee-shop tonight, not with it being a holiday, so I was forced to work at home. Nearby, my mother knitted a hat and watched a re-run of I Love Lucy.
We were so stinking boring.
I was lonely, too. And sad. It was weird, but that cabin in the middle of nowhere with Owen had felt more homey and cozy than being at home with my mother. I thought of the Christmas tree we’d put up, decorated with the world’s longest Christmas garlands, and smiled to myself. Neither one of us had wanted to concede to the other, so we’d ended up making chains over a hundred feet long, and then laughed ourselves silly when we realized how long it took to wrap around the tree.
I’d have loved to spend Christmas Eve curled up in front of the fire with Owen, drinking hot cocoa, eating his delicious cookies, and then f**king like bunnies. Instead, I was home. Home with my mother, because she’d struggled with being alone after my father died, and I’d moved back in…and stayed. I sighed.
"You’re moping," my mother said, not looking up from her hat.
"I’m not," I protested. "I don’t mope."
"That’s the third time you’ve sighed in five minutes," my mother said. "I recognize a mope when I see one."
I glared at my laptop screen. My working draft of TERMITE 3: IT SLAYED UPON A CHRISTMAS EVE was open. I typed in, "Sugarman walks in. His mom is knitting a hat. She gives him an annoyed look."
Then, I deleted all of it. It was crap. Owen would know what the scene needed. His ideas were always great. Mine alone? Sucked.