We sat on Owen's couch for the next two hours, talking about everything and nothing. We talked a lot about things that had happened to us during the last four years while I'd been in New York. I told him about my friends and roommates, and that led us to a conversation about his work at the family motorcycle business. I had a lot of questions about the process of building them, and he gave me in depth, knowledgeable answers that made me feel proud of him.
He elaborated on his day-to-day, which was really interesting because, between building motorcycles and running the business side of it, he was always doing something different. I had graduated with a degree in marketing, and we talked a little about things I could possibly do in the future to help them out. His mom was into that side of it, and he ended up talking a lot about her. I had met her before, but only briefly, and I really looked forward to getting to know her.
After we'd been talking for a while, Owen mentioned that he wanted to take me for a motorcycle ride, and I easily agreed, saying that I had only done it once before. He must have assumed I had never ridden one, because he acted surprised and seemed really interested in getting the whole the story about my previous experience.
I told him a friend of mine from college named Brian had one and he took me on a ride into the mountains one time during my junior year, which was the truth. Owen grimaced when I told him that. He hated that story, and I loved that he hated it. I giggled at the way his face contorted when I said we had gone into the mountains.
"What were you doing getting on the back of some guy's motorcycle?" he asked.
I continued to giggle and shake my head at him. "He asked me to," I said. "He was just my friend."
"He didn't want to be your friend," Owen said, sounding sure of himself like he knew Brian's motives.
I absolutely loved that he was jealous over me. I reached up and put my hand on the side of his face. We had been sitting there talking for a long time. I was right next to him but we hadn't made that sort of intimate contact, and it gave me all kinds of warm and fuzzy feelings to reach out and touch his face.
I cupped his cheek and jaw in my hand. He seemed big to me—like he was larger than life. I held his face in my palm, marveling at how perfect he was. I couldn't help but feel like I had arrived at some pinnacle or reached some sort major life goal. I ran my thumb along his jaw, marveling at the way his short facial hair moved and shifted under my touch.
It felt wonderful getting home and seeing the new house my parents had built me. It was a brand-new, beautiful, flawless piece of construction, and I really loved it. Oddly, I had that same sort of possessive feeling about Owen—like he was something that I had newly acquired and I was just getting to check him out… only I loved him so very much more than a house—infinitely more.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, watching me stare at him as I had that whole chain of thoughts.
"That I love how you look. I love it way more than my new house."
He let out a little laugh at that, and I watched as his face shifted. My hand was still on his cheek, and I soaked in the sensation of how I could feel it move when he smiled. His teeth showed, and I caught myself staring at them.
"Darcy," he whispered.
"Huh?"
"You're staring at my mouth."
"Huh? What? I know. I am. I can't help it."
"You better stop," he said.
This made me glance at his eyes, which squinted as he grinned.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because."
"Because why?" I whispered stubbornly.
Again I stared straight at his lips, and this time, I slid my fingertips over there and touched the top rim of his mouth, gently tracing the curve.
"Ohhhhh my gosh… Darcy, I, uh, hang on for a second."
He adjusted, pulling back and slipping out of my grasp. This caused me to stare at him with a questioning expression.
"Okay, here's what's got to happen," he said. He slid out from under me, standing up before turning to offer me a hand. Henry had been resting at our feet, but he, too, stood up and stretched. I was totally confused and maybe a little hurt. I knew what was about to happen between us, and it made me feel disappointed that Owen stopped it. I gave him my hand and he pulled me up, holding onto me by the waist once I was standing.
"It's getting late," he said. "And honestly, if I do what I want to do right now, I don't know if I'll be able to… " He hesitated, looking away before staring at me again. He held onto me, staring at me as if searching for the right words. "Darcy, I've wanted you for so long that I'm honestly not sure I can trust myself to be a gentleman right now. I really hate to do it, but I think if I do what I want to do, we need to be somewhere… uhhh, I need to be somewhere not so couch-like."
"I have no idea what you're saying right now, Owen," I said, still feeling like he was leaving me hanging.
"I'm saying I'm going to walk you to your car and say goodnight before I kiss you, Darcy, because if I do it right here on this comfortable couch, I don't think I'll be able to stop with a kiss. I have wanted you for so long that I just don't know if I can trust myself." He looked down at his own arms and flexed his muscles as if demonstrating his power. "I haven't even kissed you yet, and already I feel like I might turn into some kind of beast and just ravage you right here on my couch."
I knew he was seriously concerned, and I could barely get a good breath of air into my lungs at the thought of being ravaged by Owen Bishop. I stretched up and put my mouth right next to his ear. He saw what I was trying to do, so he leaned down to help me reach it.
"Owen," I whispered his name right into his ear, and he squeezed me by the waist.
"What?" he asked when I didn't continue.
"I've wanted you that long, too."
His hand balled into a fist—I could tell because he was holding the back of my shirt and I could feel him squeeze the fabric. He let out a frustrated groan, and the next thing I knew, he bent down and hoisted me over his shoulder. I let out a yelp because that was the last thing I expected him to do, and my cry caused Henry to give a couple of excited barks. Owen held me securely by the back of my legs as he moved with long strides across his living room.
He opened the door to go outside, and I said, "My shoes!" I was laughing, and my head was behind his back, so he had to ask me to repeat myself. "My shoes!" I yelled, still cracking up. "And my purse!"
I thought for sure he would set me down so I could get my things, but he didn't. He leaned over just the right way to pick up my shoes and bag while still holding onto me. He let out a groan when he did it, which made me laugh even more. I was thankful for my cheerleading skills because I really had to do my part in balancing to keep us both from toppling over.
Henry was interested in all the excitement, and he followed behind us, sniffing my forehead and adding even more chaos to the scene. Owen somehow miraculously managed to open the door and leave Henry behind while getting us both outside.
He walked me to my car and placed my shoes and bag on the hood before stooping to set me on my feet. He had to bend over to set me down gently, and I watched as he stood up. I was smiling, and I expected him to say something or at least pause and look at me, but he didn't do that. As soon as he made sure I was securely on my feet, he stood up, and he kissed me. He leaned in and did it with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever. He did it like he had been waiting a decade to do it and now finally had his chance.
He leaned against me, trapping me against my car and keeping me in place while he held the sides of my face and put his lips on mine. This was no tiny, gentle kiss. He opened his mouth to me instantly and kissed me deeply. I held onto him for dear life and eagerly kissed him back. Ten years worth of passion passed through us during that encounter. Owen's mouth was warm and perfect, and I knew I would never kiss another man. He showed me in those moments how badly he wanted me. He showed me exactly why he couldn't let it happen on the couch.
Finally, after I don’t know how long, he pulled back, trying to stop, but finding it difficult. I knew this because he broke contact and then kissed me again about eight or ten times before he finally shook his head and smiled at the absurdity of it all. I smiled too, and then we kissed each other a few more times in between smiles. We did it gently again and again like we just couldn't bear to put an end to it. I had never wanted something so badly in my life, and the relief and happiness I felt made me giddy.
I turned his face to the side and kissed him three times directly on his scar, once on his jaw, then I moved to his cheek, and then close to his eyebrow. I wanted to tell him that I loved everything about him.
He smiled at me after I did it and then he bent down to kiss my lips again. He did it really gently and slowly this time, which caused a whole new, different sort of wave of desire and anticipation to hit me. I let out a little moan, and he pulled back, giving me an easy smile.
"You better go," he said.
"Why? Are you afraid you might carry me back in there?"
"Yes," he said, nodding seriously.
"Okay, I'm going," I whispered.
I kissed him again.
"I'm gonna go," I said.
Another kiss—right on the side of his mouth.
"I'm getting my shoes on right now."
Again, I kissed him.
"See?"
Another kiss on the cheek.
"I'm leaving."
Two kisses.
"We're terrible at this," he said before doing it yet again.
I smiled. "I think we're pretty good at it."