Page 30 of Owl’s Cherished Mate

“I noticed you.” I held her gaze. “My owl knew who you were to us right away. I guess I’m a little slow because I took longer to catch up.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s not something you work into small talk between closing announcements.” I paused. “And you had enough going on. I didn’t want to pile on.”

“So you just made me tea and kept the library open late.”

“I did.”

The ghost of a smile crossed her face. Even now, exhausted and wrecked, she was still the woman I couldn’t stop watching.

“You need to know something,” I said, letting the humor drop. “The bond is permanent for me. My owl won’t choose anyone else, but you have a choice. I chose you, and you get to choose me back. Or not. I won’t pressure you. I won’t make you feel obligated.”

She was quiet for a long time, and my nerves started to get the best of me.

“When did you know?” she asked. “Not your owl. You.”

“The night you swore in the library. You looked mortified and furious at the same time, and all I wanted to do was make you laugh.” I held her stare. “I’d never wanted to make anyone laugh before. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.”

Her eyes glistened. She set her mug on the step, leaned in, and pressed her lips to mine.

The kiss was soft at first. Testing. I held still for a half second, letting her lead, and then I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her back.

She made a small sound against my mouth, and my hand found her waist and pulled her closer. Her fingers slid into my hair. The kiss deepened, but then she pulled away.

She glanced at the house, then back at me. Then she took my hand and stood, pulling me up with her.

“Come on,” she said, leading me toward the shed in the backyard.

The door creaked when she pushed it open. Inside, the scents of sawdust and motor oil hit my nose. I glanced around. There was a workbench along one wall, shelves filled with rusted tools, and a canvas tarp folded over a sawhorse.

She pulled the door shut behind us, and the dark closed in.

I kissed her first this time. Slow and deliberate. I found the zipper of her jacket and tugged it down. She shrugged out of it and let it drop. Underneath was a thin sweater. When I slid my hands beneath the hem, she gasped and pressed closer. Her fingers tugged at the hem of my t-shirt, pulling it over my head. When it was on the floor, her hands landed flat on my chest, and she paused there for a second, feeling my heartbeat.

“It’s racing,” she said.

“It does that around you.”

She smiled against my mouth and kissed me again. I pulled her sweater over her head and let it drop. My fingers traced along her collarbone, down the curve of her shoulder, across the strap of her bra. Goose bumps followed everywhere I touched. I unhooked the clasp and slid it off, and when she pressed against me—skin to skin, her chest against mine—the contact ripped a sound from my throat I didn’t know I was capable of making.

Her hands went to my belt. She undid it with steady fingers and pushed my jeans down. I stepped out of them and reached for hers, unbuttoning them and easing them over her hips. She kicked them off along with her shoes. My boxers came next, and then her panties. Soon, we stood bare skin to bare skin in the dark.

I lifted her onto the edge of the workbench, and her legs wrapped around me. When our bodies met, my breath left me in a rush. I knew exactly what I wanted in the moment, but I wouldn’t cave to it.

“Tell me what you want,” I whispered instead.

“You,” she insisted without hesitation. “Just you. Right now.”

I lined myself up and pushed inside her. Slow. She made a sound against my mouth—soft and wanting—and her legs tightened around me. Then I moved, and I stopped thinking about anything else. We found a rhythm. Her fingers dug into my shoulders. The workbench creaked beneath us. She buried her face in my neck, and the sounds she made against my skin unwound something in my chest that had been knotted tight for years. I groaned against her ear and felt her body tighten around me.

“Gray,” she breathed, and I lost what was left of my control.

She came apart first—a tremor that rolled through her whole body—her grip on me tightening until I couldn’t tell where she ended and I began. I followed right after, burying myself deep inside her. Afterward, I pressed my forehead to hers, struggling to catch my breath.

I’d never been this close to another person in my life.

Not just physically—all of it.