Page 48 of Sparks Still Fly

My libido is a feral beast threatening to make me do crazy things, like reach behind me and feel his length in my hand.

Absolutely the fuck not, Maeve Charlotte!

When I open my eyes, I catch his in the mirror, and it’s clear that he knows that I feel it. There’s no embarrassment, no shyness, but he also doesn’t move at all.

“Are you done?” His voice is as rough as sandpaper, grating against my skin.

I whisper a yes and he steps away. The loss of his body heat, of his erection on my back has me swaying on the spot.

He turns and walks straight out the door, but I hear his grunt, and I don’t miss the way his right hand reaches forward to fix himself before he walks out.

I take a step back and examine my reflection in the mirror. A wide, triumphant smile stretches across my face as I feel an immense sense of satisfaction course through my veins.

I get back to the guesthouse and reach for a chocolate chip muffin, because I’m a grown woman, and I do what I want. I figure I should probably release some of the tension coursing through my body and enjoy some quality time with my vibrator. Maybe an orgasm will have me thinking straight again and not about the feel of Owen behind me. On top of me. Beneath me.

Bollocks. I had better get started.

25/

i rub my magic lamp and you appear?

maeve

Well, the vibrator idea was a colossal failure. I kept thinking of Owen, and his muscles, the way he smelled of mint and sweat, and how delicious he felt behind me. I couldn’t let myself come with those thoughts. It’s not right. We still have too much unresolved between us.

All for the best anyway. Especially as halfway through my failed attempt at an orgasm, I got a call from my assistant reminding me that I have an awards show to attend, and I’m being strongly urged to bring Owen with me. It’s in two days. I completely forgot about it, focusing instead on resting, processing my feelings for Owen, and riding those beautiful horses he has. But my publicist won’t let me live this down if I don’t at least ask Owen, so I’m on my way to do that now.

I knock on the door twice, but hear no answer, so I peek my head in. I can’t hear anything, and I call out Owen’s name. His truck is in the driveway, and I don’t think he’s gone anywhere. I step inside, calling out to him again. After a moment, I hear a faint sound, so I walk further into the house. I haven’t been further than the living room and kitchen. When I hear another sound coming from upstairs, I walk up the stairs, calling Owen’s name for the third time.

No response.

A groan sounds from somewhere down the hall, and I follow where it came from to what must be Owen’s room, based on the dark bedding and the fact that the whole room smells just like him. His shower is running, and I fight the urge to strip myself down to nothing and walk in there, begging him to make me come, to touch me, to make me lose my mind just for a little while.

Where are these thoughts coming from?

I know this is a bad idea, but his next groan has me stepping closer to the bathroom door, and when I reach the threshold, I see him, finally.

His back is to me, water falling on the very muscles I was looking at earlier, except now there’s nothing covering them. Through the almost perfectly clear glass, which somehow hasn’t fogged up, I see him. He has one hand braced on the wall above his head and I can’t see the other. His head is hanging low, but slowly it comes up until it rolls back as another strangled sound leaves him.

It hits me then that he’s touching himself. Alarms ring in my brain.

Get out! Leave! Don’t let him see you!

But then something happens that has my feet glued to the floor. All of his muscles tighten, and I watch every movement. His back, his glutes, his arms, all tightening as a grunt leaves him and then… and then…

“Maeve!” It’s loud and clear. He’s just moaned my name. I close my eyes, trying to collect my thoughts. “Maeve.” Again. And this time my mouth works faster than my brain or my limbs.

“Yes?”

Ohhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiit. What?

He turns around, eyes wide like saucers, both hands coming up as if he’s about to punch someone, but when his eyes land on me, they widen further before softening again. His hands go to his hips, not an ounce of embarrassment visible on his face. He knows that I know exactly what just happened here.

“Are you some sort of genie, blondie? I rub my magic lamp and you appear?” His lips quirk up in a small smile, and I take the opportunity to clear my throat as I take a few steps toward him.

“Yeah, but my trick is I only appear after you come, and that’s not really any fun, now, is it?” I don’t let my eyes roam over his body. I keep them set on his bright, emerald eyes. Okay, so maybe I glance at his lips for like a second or two, but no lower.

“The beauty about my lamp, sunshine, is that it’s always ready to go.” His eyebrows raise in challenge, and I do let my eyes roam then. I don’t bother to let my gaze travel over his body the way I want them to. I just focus my eyes straight on his softened cock, and with a victorious grin, I have my retort.

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