Page 33 of Owen (Storm Enterprises)

We sit in near silence as I stroke over her hair with the brush, the sight of a bead of milk sliding down her has my cock standing to full attention, and I know she can feel me, and the thought only adds to my heightened state of arousal.

Jesus Christ, I could come from brushing her hair.

“You fuck anyone else?” I can’t help the words that spill from my lips, nor do I care to take them back. I need to know what I’m up against, and while the thought of her with someone else ate away at me, it was my deserved, all of it. A punishment for the way I treated her, another sign of how undeserving I am of such beauty, yet I refuse to miss out a second time.

This time, we will make it work at whatever cost.

When I think she isn’t going to answer, she surprises me. “No. I’ve only slept with my husband and you. Does that make you happy?”

Her tone is flat, not her usual snarky self, but it’s not how she says it that pisses me off, it’s her words.

“No.” I bend to whisper in her ear. “He isn’t your husband anymore. Don’t refer to him as such.”

She freezes, and a trail of goose bumps spreads over her delicate body, then a choked sound leaves her lips, but I don’t have it in me to take the words back. No matter how harsh they are, they’re the truth. The sooner she realizes it, the better.

I turn my attention toward our son, peering over her shoulder to see him watching me with as much intrigue as I am him. His small mouth works against Laya while he feeds and witnessing the action has my heart racing. “You’re fucking sensational, Laya.”

She tilts her head to face me, and the air is knocked from my lungs. How could I have ever let her go?

SIXTEEN

LAYA

After Owen finished brushing my hair, we bathed Romero in the sink, and he discovered firsthand how difficult baby boys can be when bathing. It was a good thing he brought a stash of fresh T-shirts with him.

We’ve spent the day watching television, ordering from room service, and relaxing. Then Owen took a shower and gave me his T-shirt to wear for bed.

I settled Romero in his crib, and the moment Owen slipped under the sheets, my body heated. His muscles and tattoos on display and the obvious bulge in his boxer shorts have my thighs clenching with desire.

He lifts an arm for me to snuggle into his chest, and I relax on his pec, trailing my finger over the ridges of his abs.

“What happens next? When can I go home?”

“Tomorrow.”

I lift my head to look at him. “You’re going home tomorrow. With me. You’re moving into my place.”

My eyebrows shoot up while he continues. “You’re mine. You and Romero.”

“Owen—”

He puts a finger on my lips. “You’re mine. I should have done this years ago.” The regret swims in his eyes. It bleeds from his pores as the pain of his words hits me. “I didn’t. I fucked up, and I’ve regretted it every minute since.”

His words wrap around me, bringing me comfort and reassurance. They’re the words I wished to hear but never heard. They’re everything I ever wanted but never received, but now? Now I don’t know what to believe.

“I can see you thinking about this, baby girl. But I’m going to save you the time. It’s happening. We’re going to be a family. I refuse to lose another moment being by your side.”

My eyes fill with tears, and my heart pangs at his words, but I refuse to acknowledge any of it after years of wanting and needing it, but now when I’m at my most vulnerable—

“I hear ya,” he says, then I realize I voiced my thoughts aloud. “Let me show you,” he whispers. “Let me show you everything.” His thick fingers play with the necklace around my neck. “You never took it off.” The love seeping from his eyes has me stopping myself from telling him I only recently became reacquainted with it when my husband gave it to me as a parting gift. The guilt surrounding the thought thickens my blood like tar, making it difficult for me to function. He gave me the necklace as acknowledgment of my feelings toward Owen, giving me permission to move on with him, and as Owen stares at me with such hope in his eyes, I’m torn between doing what’s right and wrong. I want what I should have had, but know there’s too much standing in the way.

“You got engaged. What happened?” I ask the question I always wanted to, but never wanted to give him the satisfaction of reaching out.

He chuckles, but it lacks humor, then he drops his head against the pillow with a heavy sigh and stares at the ceiling. “I got caught up in the moment.”

I scoff. “Caught up in the moment. You just fucked me and robbed me of my virginity, Owen.”

His head snaps up, and his jaw sharpens. “And you’ve hated me every day since for it.” The accusation in his tone pisses me off. He has no right being pissed after the way he treated me.

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