Page 74 of Sparks Still Fly

He’s serious?

“Well, that was super embarrassing to admit in my semi-conscious state the first time I wake up next to my wife. Should we just get up so I can punch myself in the face for being such a loser?” He sits up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. I’m properly stunned at his admission, and by the time I catch up to what’s just happened and get up, he’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth. I brought my toothbrush here last night, so I drop some toothpaste on it and start brushing.

We brush in silence for a couple of minutes, and as he’s rinsing, I decide it’s now my time to speak. “I dod dat too. An I rearry rike it ren yu caw muh dat.” He turns, eyebrows furrowed as he looks down at me.

“Pardon?” I spit into the sink and rinse my mouth quickly as Owen watches me curiously.

“I did that, too. And I really like it when you call me that. My wife,” I say the last two words in a deep voice that sounds absolutely nothing like Owen. “I used to fall asleep hugging a pillow wishing it was you, so when you said that it just sort of stunned me a bit because after that night, I didn’t think you thought of me like that.” I straighten up and run a hand through my hair which is looking a bit like a rat’s nest at the moment. “When you call me your wife, my heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest, you know? I get these funny tingles all over my body. It’s like those two words take a direct flight to my pussy. Anyway, I really like it.” My heart beats wildly, and I feel it in my temples, hear it in my ears. Maybe admitting these embarrassing things was a horrible idea.

Bloody idiot! Of course it was a horrible idea. You have no idea what you’re doing!

I look up to find a smiling Owen, those crinkled eyes full of something dark and naughty. All traces of embarrassment are gone from his face. “That sounds like a flight I wanna be on, Maevey.”

In a swift move, he picks me up and places me on the countertop, spreading my legs with his hips as he moves closer to me. His fingers skim my inner thighs, and he toys with the hem of my shorts. I’m so needy for him that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning at the simple touch. I’ve no knickers on, and his fingers are so close to where I want him. It’s blissful torture.

He continues his exploration, his fingers closer to finding evidence of what he makes me feel. “Where exactly do you feel it when I call you my wife?” He runs a finger up my slit, through the wetness there and stops at the entrance. “Here?” Then his fingers move up and up until one digit is resting on my clit. “Or here?” He asks as his finger slides back and forth. I prop my arms behind me so I can hold myself up, trying to move my hips for more friction. “Which one is it, wife?”

“Th-the second one. B-both. I-I don’t know.” I moan loudly as he increases speed and pressure. I'm so close already, I might come just from these simple touches and his words, but then he takes his hand away and grips the waistband of my shorts with both hands.

“Lift.” And I do. I move instinctually as he shoves my shorts down my legs and drops them to the floor. As he kneels in front of me, he looks into my eyes and says, “Now, I want to taste exactly what being called my wife does to you.” He spreads my legs further, propping one of my feet on his shoulder as his tongue does its best work.

Owen has me screaming within minutes, using nothing but his mouth, but the thing that sends me over the edge? His growly voice as he says, “Fuck, my wife tastes so good. Like honey. So sweet.”

I can hardly hold myself up when my orgasm subsides. Owen leaves tender kisses on my thighs and stomach, then stands to his full height, wiping his glistening lips on the back of his hand. My mouth waters as I see the bulge in his boxer briefs. He shoves them down his legs, and I let my eyes take in every detail. The blond hair that leads from his belly button to his rigid cock. The way his abs flex when he gives himself one slow stroke. Just the memory of him inside me has my pussy aching.

Owen’s arm wraps around me, and he helps me down from the countertop. Slowly, silently, he turns me around and steps closer so that his front is flush with my back. Just like the day in the gym.

“You remember how much I liked having you close to me like this, Maevey?” He runs a finger down the column of my neck until his fingers splay between my shoulder blades. Owen pushes me, so I’m bent over the counter. “I liked it so much I had to have a cold shower, but it didn’t help.” His hands are soothing as they travel lower, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “So, I ended up jerking myself off to the thought of you. Again. And then you caught me.”

All thoughts leave my brain as I focus on feeling. I feel Owen’s words, feel his careful touches as he takes gentle control, moving my body the way he wants. He always seems to know exactly what to do, the exact way to take charge without making me feel like I have to submit to his whims.

He pushes my feet apart with his own, and I whimper, feeling his hot, hard cock behind me. “Owen, I–”

“You don’t have to ask me, sunshine. I know what you want.” And with that, the head of his cock teases my entrance. I whimper again, the need to have him fill me enough to set my skin on fire. Just when I think he’s going to give me what I want, he gives me what I need, instead.

“It’s always been you, Maeve.” He moves himself to rub my clit with his length and my head drops, chin hitting my chest. “Always been you my heart beats for.” He gathers my hair into a ponytail and uses it to lift my head, so our eyes meet in the mirror. “Always been you I want to come home to.” And with that, he thrusts all the way inside me while those dark green eyes bore into mine.

He doesn’t start slow this time. His pace is immediately hard and fast, and once he sees I’m not looking away from him through the mirror, he lets my hair go. I miss the possessive hold, but he replaces it with firm hands going to my hips, where he pushes me back onto him at the perfect pace.

“My wife loves this cock, doesn’t she?” I gasp, unable to answer as the force of his thrusts and his words send shocks of pleasure all over my body. Owen raises one eyebrow, waiting for my response.

“Yes,” I mumble.

“Yes, what, fengári mou?” Still not breaking eye contact, I moan, unsure whether I’ll be able to get actual words out as his cock hits my G-spot.

But I’m no quitter. “Yes, I love my husband’s cock.” I nearly come just from saying the words. Owen’s pupils dilate through the mirror, sweat dripping down his temple.

“Good girl. Now let me watch you fall apart for me, wife.” Unsurprisingly, my body complies. Our gazes are unwavering as I tense around him, and he pulses inside me. When I prop my hand on the mirror, Owen’s much larger one lands over it, linking our fingers together as if he needs one more way for us to be connected. I need it too. I need to be connected to him in all ways. Always.

As we both come down from our high, Owen lowers to pepper kisses all across my back, whispering words I can’t hear because my pulse is still too loud in my ears. But I feel the words. I feel the love, and reverence, and cherishing in his words. I don’t need to hear them.

Owen pulls me up, turning me to face him once again. So he can kiss me with that tenderness I adore. He kisses my nose, my cheeks and my forehead before finally pulling back with a sigh. I watch him move to get a washcloth, watch him run it under warm water before he gets on his knees and starts to wipe my inner thighs.

Once we’re both cleaned up and dressed, we head to the guesthouse, so I can make sure I have undergarments and collect a few more of my things before someone comes to take care of the creatures living in the attic.

I quickly change from my leggings and sports bra into a flowy white linen dress with buttons down the front. I slip on a pair of simple brown leather sandals, gold hoop earrings and a few bangles around my wrist. I’m about to put on a necklace when I notice Owen standing in the doorway of our bedroom with arms crossed as he leans into the frame, watching me.

I struggle with the clasp and huff out an annoyed breath. “Would you mind?” I hold out the necklace in his direction, and he smiles. His typical outfit is slightly more polished today. Dark denim with shoes that don’t look like they’ve been battered and a polo shirt that hugs his biceps perfectly. He looks good enough to eat. He always does.

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