Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

27. Callie

27

CALLIE

“Is yellow too ‘The Yellow Wallpaper?’” I ask the empty, white room. The echo of my own voice makes me grimace. “If yellow paint isn’t, then talking to yourself is.”

This is my first night alone in the new place. Really, it’s my first night in the new place at all. Full stop. I’ve been in during the day to grab some clothes from the closet or take out the half-full trash can before things begin to grow and mutate in it. But at night, I’ve found myself in Owen’s bed more often than not. And on the rare occasion I’m not, I’m back on Kennedy’s couch.

Turns out, I’m not good at living alone. I gave it a try as a kid when my parents all but abandoned me most nights of the week to do whatever the hell they did instead of being parents. But once I moved in with Uncle Randy and Kenny, it’s been a steady stream of house mates since. I went from their house to being a college intern with three roommates to living with Kennedy again.

All of that means that I talk to myself more than is probably sane and I don’t have any furniture.

I’ve already ordered some new furniture—a couch, some end tables, a small dining table, a dresser that won’t crush me while I’m reaching for shoes. You know, the staples. But for tonight, I’ve resorted to lying on the fluffy white carpet in what will probably be the nursery while pinning ideas to my baby board.

“Let’s skip the yellow,” I mumble, rubbing a hand on my stomach. “You’re gonna have half my genes, but let's give you a fighting chance, huh?”

Being composed of half of Owen’s genes will certainly help with that. The man is steady. I know he’s felt off-kilter lately with the team, but most people would’ve crumbled under the weight of the shit he handled this year. If there’s anything that can account for and counterbalance my personal failings, it’s Owen Sharpe.

For the millionth time tonight, I miss him. It’s pathetic, really. He went out with the guys for some drinks, and I’m acting like he’s on the moon. But he might as well be. He’s going to go home to his apartment, all the way on the other side of town, and I’m going to fall asleep alone.

I’m suddenly regretting my choice to sleep on an air mattress and considering whether I want to drive across town and brave the salty mood of a post-Spencer Owen when there’s a sudden pounding on the door.

I jump up and pad slowly across the living room. There are no windows out to the hallway, but I stay ducked down just in case. But when I peek through the peephole, I yank the door open at the same time I’m sighing in relief.

“Owen, you scared the sh?—”

He cuts me off when his mouth covers mine. He kisses me like he’s desperate—like he’s suffocating, and I’m his oxygen. It’s deep and passionate, and I’m too shocked to appreciate it the way I should.

He stumbles in, kicking the door closed behind him, and I break away with a gasp. “Hi.”

He responds by kissing me up against the wall, molding our bodies together until I can’t breathe without some part of me rubbing up against some part of him.

His knee presses between my legs, and I gasp. “Owen, what are you doing here?”

It’s not that I mind. Because I don’t. It’s just a lot. And sudden. And unannounced. And, good lord , it’s a good thing I shaved today. The way this man is kissing his way down my neck and chest, I don’t think he’s going to stop at the belt. My thighs burn just thinking about it.

“I want you,” he growls.

I stroke my fingers through his hair, tipping my head back just to suck in some extra air. “I can see that.”

“I’ve been thinking about everything, about us, and I just…” He pauses like he was going to say something else, but he catches himself. “I need you.”

“I don’t even have a bed. Not a real one.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he murmurs into my mouth. “We fucked in the closet before. All we need is you, me, and less clothes.”

With that, he carries me to the counter and pulls my shirt over my head.

“Owen, it’s cold!” I try to cross my arms over himself, but he pulls them back.

His eyes are black as he takes me in, scraping his attention over my bare skin. He showers my breasts in warm, open-mouthed kisses that make me arch into his touch.

“God, you’re so perfect, Callie. Every inch of you.” He kisses my stomach before making his way back to my face. He cups my cheeks in his palms, calloused thumbs outlining my face. “I want all of you.”

“You have all of me.”

I’m not sure where this is all coming from—what may or may not have happened while he was out tonight—but if he thinks there’s a chance I’m walking away, he’s crazy. Seconds before he got here, I was talking to myself and debating breaking into his apartment to sleep in his bed. I’m in .

He drops his forehead to mind, his voice a low rasp. “But I want more.”

I stretch out to kiss him once, quickly. “Then take it.”

He scoops me off the counter and walks me to the living room. I feel the hard length of him against my ass, and I bite back a moan as we shift together.

I’m expecting him to carry me to the closet again, but he lowers me to the living room floor instead.

“But I don’t have—” He peels his shirt over his head, momentarily stealing my train of thought, replacing it with all the dirty things I want to do to his body. “Curtains,” I finally manage. “I don’t have curtains. People can see.”

He looks over at the windows. It’s black out other than the streetlights and the soft glow of the moon. “Let them watch.”

“Owen!” I start to argue, but then he peels my underwear away and drops to his hands and knees. He kisses my thighs apart, tasting his way to my center.

My legs and apprehension melt, falling apart, ready for him.

But even with the need throbbing inside of me, Owen takes his time. He kisses my lower stomach and then the softest part of my inner thighs, zigzagging his way over where I want him most. Then he hovers over me, simply breathing.

“Owen,” I beg, tilting my hips upward.

“I want to take my time with you, baby.”

“But I need it.”

“And you’ll get it… when I say you’ll get it.” His mouth quirks into a smile that makes the ache in my core all the more painful. “But until then, I’m going to tease you until you soak the floor.”

And he does just that.

He gives me the barest brushes of his lips and his fingers—between my legs, across my nipples, along my hips. I moan, and I feel him smile.

He could end me like this, torturing an orgasm out of me, but he plays me softly, never quite letting me get close to the edge. I’m literally gushing on the floor, and I haven’t even come.

“God, baby, you’re so wet for me. I want to taste you.”

I expect to feel his mouth—his tongue against everything that is throbbing for him. Instead, he shoves two fingers inside of me.

I gasp, gripping a fistful of his hair so he can’t escape.

“Does that feel good?” he growls.

All I can do is nod. “Good” isn’t the right word. I don’t know what this man is better with, his dick or his hands. I’ll take them both. though.

Owen fingers me, slowly at first, but picking up speed. Just as I start to fall apart, he slows down again. He’s not letting me come and he knows it.

“Owen,” I whine. “Please.”

“Tell me what you want…”

“Your mouth.”

He pulls his fingers from inside me, licking them clean. Then he lowers himself back down and runs his tongue along me in a slow, soft swoop.

“More,” I demand.

He does it again with more pressure.

“More…”

Owen grabs me—finally—by the hips and lifts me up to his mouth. His tongue finds my clit, flicking and circling and teasing until I think I might fall apart. I’m crying out with every shift when he stops.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You,” I gasp.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours, Owen Sharpe. I’m all yours.”

Owen presses his open mouth to me again, sucking and licking until I finally—Lord have mercy—break. I cry out my release. If my neighbors can’t see us, they can definitely hear us, and I can’t even bring myself to care.

I’m still coming down from heaven when Owen grips my chin. “I want you.”

“You’re gonna have to give me a second,” I laugh weakly.

He shakes his head, suddenly serious. “Not just like this. All of it, Cal. I want all of you.”

The sex haze is thick because I have no idea what he’s talking about. I frown, and a frustrated growl rumbles through his chest.

“I don’t want you sleeping on the other side of town. I don’t want to wake up without you in my bed.” He looks around the room, a crease forming between his brows as he takes in the empty room. “And I don’t want you buying any furniture for this place.”

“But I already did,” I squeak out.

“Then return it,” he snaps, stroking his thumb roughly over my cheek. “Use mine. Or don’t. We can put it out by the curb and use yours instead. I don’t fucking care, just?—”

“Your furniture is nice, though. It’s like a bachelor pad, but it’s still leather. We can’t get rid of?—”

“Callie.” The way he says my name so softly and looks so deeply into my eyes steals my breath. “ Live with me. ”

I blink up at him, afraid to move and shatter the moment. “What?”

“Live with me,” he repeats. “For real. Not because it’s convenient or because it’s safer for you. Live with me because I don’t want to wake up in a bed without you again. Ever.”

“Owen,” I breathe.

He kisses me softly, shaking his head. “Don’t say anything else unless it’s to tell me you’re moving in immediately. Because that’s all I want, Callie.”

“Are you drunk?” I blurt, a half-crazed laugh bubbling out of me. “Is that what this is?”

“I’ve had enough to drink that I’m feeling real honest right about now. Which is why I’m going to tell you that I want to make you coffee in the morning. I want to go grocery shopping with you and fight about what to watch every night. I want to do all of the normal, boring shit I never thought I’d want to do, but the catch is, I only want to do it with you.”

“I want that too,” I say softly. His lips stretch into a warm smile of relief and he kisses me.

As it turns heated, he groans into my mouth. “I also want to get off.”

I toss my head back, laughing, and he picks me up and marches me towards the bedroom.

“Owen! Where are we going?”

“The bed.”

“But it’s not—” I start to say. But he doesn’t let me finish before he tosses me on the mattress and pounces on top of me.

There’s a loud pop, followed by a wheeze as we sink to the floor.

“It’s an air mattress…” I finish as the bed goes flat. Owen is laying on top of me, looking utterly confused.

I start to laugh so hard I can barely breathe. Then he starts to laugh.

When we finally catch our breath, he kisses me. “I do care about the bed, and I’m keeping mine. An inflatable mattress ruins at least half of the fun I plan to have with you as my permanent roommate.”

We grow serious and Owen fills me in a single thrust. We move together slowly, passionately. Our eyes stay locked, even when we kiss. And when we fall, we fall together.

Afterwards, I grab the three blankets I have in the entire apartment and pile them on the floor, making a nest of sorts. “Are you going to be comfortable on the ground? We could always go to your place.”

His eyes are already shut. “I can sleep anywhere.”

“Even a deflated air mattress?”

He reaches for me, tucking me into his side. “If you’re there, yes.”

I snuggle into him and his breathing instantly becomes even and rhythmic. The sleep of someone who isn’t panicking about what comes next. About what it all means.

After a few minutes, I slip out of what could not even loosely be defined as a bed and pad into the kitchen for some tea.

It’s not like I don’t want everything Owen described. I do. Desperately. But a small part of me can’t stop thinking he only said that because I’m pregnant. Or because he was drunk. Or both.

If I didn’t get pregnant, would we still be together?

I know there’s no point pouring over hypotheticals like that, but my brain hasn’t gotten that memo. I’m spiraling around the same thought again and again, waiting for my kettle to boil, when I hear something outside the door.

I freeze, wondering who it could be. Owen is the only one who knows where I live, and he’s here.

I crouch my way to the peephole, overcome by déjà vu. But when I look out, there’s no one there. Slowly, I crack open the door.

I burst into a smile when I see the vase of flowers. I haul them inside, closing the door with my foot, and set them on the counter. They’re lilies, all white and lovely.

I wouldn’t be surprised if these were a guilt bouquet from Owen. Something he ordered to make sure I’d be thinking about him tonight before he decided to crash my solo party.

I find a small, folded card and open it.

My smile fades.

My stomach bottoms out.

Better keep your pretty little mouth shut.

I back away from the counter, already fumbling with my phone. I call the only person I can think of.

Summer answers with a yawn. “Hey girl, what’s up?”

“D-did I w-wake you?” I stammer. My teeth are chattering.

“Really? Do you hear that?” She must hold the phone out because Nicky’s crying grows louder. “I never sleep. What’s going on?”

“Did you get flowers?”

“Flowers? Why would I get flowers? Who would send me flowers?”

“I got flowers, and I don’t know who they’re from.”

“I mean, you’re dating my brother.”

I read her the note.

“Okay, that rules him out. Shit,” she mutters. “It’s either your ex or mine, right?”

“I don’t know.”

Probably. Almost definitely.

But which one?

“I say get rid of them, but keep the note,” she adds quickly. “Paper trails are important right now, especially with two men being assholes. And tell Owen.”

“He’s here. He’s in bed.”

“Perfect. I mean, you could ask for security camera footage. But they’re just trying to scare us. They know we’re speaking out, and they want us to stay quiet. No one will try anything with Owen right there.”

I nod. “Yeah. Probably. Yeah.”

“Get some sleep, babe,” she says. “And tell Owen.”

Summer hangs up, but my head is still whirling.

I hurry to the door and slide the bolt into place.

When I turn around, the lilies that looked beautiful a second ago are suddenly ominous.

I don’t want it here. I don’t want Owen to know.

Without thinking, I grab them, vase and all, and shove them into the bottom of the trashcan. But I don’t want my fear to hurt Summer, so I stash the note in my purse and head back to bed.

Owen stirs as I lie down, pulling me against him. Half awake, he kisses me. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” I try to sound normal. Really, I’m about to cry. “Owen?”

“Mm?”

I nuzzle my head against his shoulder and squeeze my eyes closed. “I think we should move in together.”