Page 10 of Sparks Still Fly

We walk down a quick path together, and he has a red plaid blanket tucked beneath his arm. We place it on the sand and sit next to one another, still not speaking.

“I hope this is okay. I just like the sound of the waves sometimes. It’s steady, but never the same, you know?” He keeps his eyes on the ocean as I look around, noticing we’re the only ones here.

“Yeah. I get that.” I expect him to go back to being silent, but his voice is clear over the waves.

“Do you think Elaina is going to be okay? Does she need anything?” The way his voice cracks nearly breaks me. This giant of a man, Marine, trained fighter, is here, sitting on a blanket, holding on by a thread because he’s so worried about his baby sister.

“She’s been working a lot, but she’s also been seeing her therapist twice a week and doing yoga regularly. She’s eating, and she seems to be sleeping okay. I used to check in on her at night after she opened up about her past, so I think I’ll go back to doing that now.” Maybe I’m saying too much, but with every word I say, his shoulders seem to relax a bit more.

“You’d do that? Check on her?” He turns his face toward me, the last of the sun’s rays making his green eyes shine as he stares at me with an intensity I can't understand.

“Yeah. Of course. I remember what it was like back then, and I don’t want her to go back to that dark place. She’s incredibly quiet when she cries, and I won’t have her doing that alone.” I swallow down the self-conscious feeling rising inside me as he stares, unblinkingly. “Char calls her every day, so Bon will be well distracted with her tales of graduate school in London, and Charlie will let me know if she senses anything off about their conversations. If Bon stops taking care of herself, I’ll step in. We both will.” I seal that promise with a smile, hoping that it also communicates to him that I see his concern, his love for his sister, and his kind heart.

He nods, lips in a straight line, and I swear the man is going to need severe dental intervention if he doesn’t loosen his jaw. “Thank you,” he mutters.

We sit, letting the comfortable quiet surround us for a while, the sound of the waves soothing something in me. I close my eyes and hope it’s having the same effect on Owen.

“I think about you every day, you know?” At first, I think maybe he’s talking to his dad, so I stay still and quiet, but then he keeps going. “Your blue eyes and your smile are the last things I think about before I go to sleep. Every night. For the past three years.”

My whole body goes stiff. He shakes his head lightly as if rearranging his thoughts, his eyes still on the water.

“I think about the day I told you I wanted to kiss you. I wonder if I made a mistake because you weren’t ready to hear that, and sometimes I wish I could take it back. But I meant it. I meant what I said.”

It’s as if I’ve forgotten how to breathe, and even though the midsummer air is lukewarm, it’s suddenly stifling. Too thick. My words are so quiet I’m not sure he hears them. “You didn’t make a mistake.”

The way his eyes immediately dart to mine tells me he heard what I said, but all he does is stare at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t solve.

Not knowing what else to do in this never-ending silence and feeling too warm with my hair sitting heavily on my neck, I reach up to wrap it in a ponytail. I swear there is fire in Owen’s eyes.

I don’t have time to register the movement. Even if I had, the sheer force of his body slamming against mine stuns me.

His hand goes to my ponytail as his body pushes me until my back hits the blanket, my gaze forced to meet his as he tugs on my hair.

“What are you doing?” The words slip out on a gasp, and I close my eyes, suddenly unable to look at his face. Owen’s body covers mine like my favorite heavy blanket during a London winter. I welcome the feeling of his body on mine like this. I relish the feeling of it. Pray he never moves away.

This is clearly some kind of dream. I must be feverish and hallucinating.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. Trying not to lose my mind? Because when you look at me with those big doe eyes of yours, tell me you’re taking care of my sister, and smile at me like you actually see me, all I want is to bury myself deep inside of you and never leave.”

Bollocks. What have I gotten myself into? If I ever wake up from this, I’m going to write down every last detail and relive this dream as many times as possible. I’ll write sonnets about it. Describe the way his breathy voice sounds with words like gruff, hoarse, throaty. The way the sound goes straight to my core, the warmth of it spreading all over me like a wildfire.

Feeling brazen because, if this isn’t real, I might as well do what I want, I open my eyes. “What are you waiting for?” Our noses touch, and suddenly, he’s the literal air I breathe. I expect his lips to crash into mine. I expect him to push off the blanket and walk away. I expect a camera crew to pop out from behind the trees and tell me this was all a very elaborate prank. I don’t expect what happens next.

“Tell me you want this.” His lips are so close to mine that I can feel the words on my skin as he says them.

I swallow, suddenly forgetting how to speak.

“Say it, Maeve. Or don’t, and we’ll leave right now and forget this ever happened. But if you say you want me like I want you, I’m gonna kiss you, and I’m not gonna stop until we’re both out of breath. So, what will it be?” My mouth goes dry. My panties disintegrate. My mind goes blank.

“I want this,” I somehow manage to whisper, and then his lips are on mine. They’re softer, fuller, more demanding than I have imagined every night for the past three and a half years. He kisses me like I’m his lifeline, like he’s been drowning and needs this in order to take his next breath, like he’s been as desperate to feel this as I have.

“Repeat,” he grumbles against my mouth, but I can’t stop kissing him.

“I want you, Owen.” He licks from my earlobe to my pulse point, sucking the spot as I squirm against him, looking for friction. “Please...” I’ll beg, if he wants me to. I’ll do anything to never wake up from this. He shifts us so we’re both on our sides, and his hands slide up the bottom of my shorts.

Oh god, his bare hands are on my bare ass, and I don’t know how to act right now.

We move in a chaotic blur, our bodies intertwined as we twirl around the blanket. Clothes are strewn every which way while we explore each other hungrily, never wanting to let go. We seem lost in a trance, like this must be a dream, and if we break contact, then all of this, us like this, will cease to exist.

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