A/N: Please leave me reviews or let me know what you think! I might be considering making it into a longer series or doing an AU of some sort, also willing to take requests for other PWP pieces.
The aftermath of a tragedy is always an odd, indescribable place to be. You're drowning in loss or kissing the ground in gratitude, either way falling prey to the silent killer that is guilt. Deafening silence serves as some tranquil yet sinister reminder of the fallen. One had to find a way to deal with the bleakness brought about by the decimation of your life's work. Gone were the long strings of formula and the comforting bubbling of brewing formulas, the click of talons in a hatchling, and the simmer of heat and energy from a new crowd of fresh-faced first time visitors. In haste, all of that creationism had been replaced with a barren wasteland. A second extinction almost, a few dinosaurs still roamed Isla Nubar and they'd taken measures to ensure survival and start breeding again but it wasn't an easy process. It was exponentially harder the second time around. Perhaps, in part, because Claire had discovered the encumbrance that came with playing God.
Her late nights now consisted of a far different kind of stimulation. Severely lacking on the intellectual front but, made up for in other more, physical elements.
"If you don't stop reciting numbers we're going to have a serious problem, Dearing." His anger comes out in short huffs against her neck, his breath hot as it curls deliciously against her clavicle. Truthfully, Claire is having a hard time keeping track of the salary digits.
They'd fallen into familiar habits with an ease Claire didn't feel comfortable admitting. Acquainting herself with the span of freckles around the breadth of Owen's shoulders was just a byproduct of becoming friendly with an old flame. The fact that he could now recite the pattern of her climatic breathing with his tongue against her rib cage was merely a coincidence.
They weren't serious. Just filling a niche in her schedule.
"Then distract me properly." The point of her nude heel caresses the outside of Owen's thigh and earns her a reprieve of the worst kind as his hands vacate their previous location at her hips. Instead they brace next to her head, his eyes narrowing in a vicious haze of lusty ambition. "Maybe I've lost the momentum."
All it takes is a swift groping between his legs, the jerking of his lower body flush against hers and the gentlest of smirks to pacify her dominance. "Somehow I doubt that, Grady. Now where did I leave off? Mm, right, quantifying previous guest satisfaction polling results to attain the areas of interest that would be most beneficial to rehabilitation efforts…"
Knuckles graze the walls of the already cluttered bungalow as Owen shifts gears and hoists Claire up over his shoulder, hand coming down crisply across the curve of her ass. "Fine I will."
"Owen! Put me down, honestly you're such a caveman sometimes."
"For all your insistences on how messy I am, it doesn't stop you from coming back here again and again does it?" He chuckles, that grizzled laugh that makes Claire feel inexplicably warm. Her cheeks flush. Her back straightens against the mattress beneath the weight of his body as he puts her down none too gently. Wriggling upwards she still insists on adjusting her top to prevent wrinkles, even though she's well aware it won't be on for much longer.
Owen's simply amused by the tactic but it doesn't stop him from bowing his head to the alabaster canvas of skin stretching above her blouse and pressing his lips to the junction of her shoulder. He's become all too familiar with the dips and grooves of her body that make her react. Nose brushing along her jawline, he gets caught up in the citrusy scent of her. She smelled like the clear-cut zest of an orange and the rolling sweet sour aroma of a copse of lemon trees, fat and full to bursting. Claire shudders instantly and she feels him sneer against her skin. Tufts of dark hair tickle her chin and she gasps quietly.
"Would you like me to stop?"
Words would be too malleable, easy for him to bend to his whim and suit to his benefit. Instead Claire lets her hand slither down between them, fingers grazing the bulge in his denim and folding along the inseam to press down deliciously along the heft of his erection. She is gratified by the startled grunt he issues, instantly his hand moving to snap around her wrist like a bracelet and pin her to the bed with a fiendish grin. "I take that as a no."
She barely resisted the move, her wrist giving one feeble shake in an attempt to throw him off before smirking at him. "See? I've resulted to using crude body language to communicate with you. If only your language skills would hurry up and develop."
"Why don't we work on devolving your language skills instead? I think that's a much better usage of my time than reading the Oxford Dictionary." Claire parts her lips to retort, a sharp insult already bubbling over the edge of her tongue and forming the barest hint of sound before Owen claims the opening with mounting eagerness. Silencing Claire with the deft skill of his tongue was imminently more entertaining, particularly when she was taken unaware. Although the kiss had started fervent enough, it slowed into something more passionate. Owen seemed to emanate a deep heat that thawed her from her vivd red hair all the way down to the tops of her decidedly pale toes.
Relenting to him for a moment withdrew a guttural sound of pleasure from Owen's chest. The vibration felt against her sternum that he was currently pressing against, hard enough that her breasts were flush against his washboard chest. Cleavage a deep valley and chest threatening to tear through her blouse, she took her free hand and undid several buttons. Though it cramped from the awkwardness of the position.
Breaking away from the kiss with a sharp intake of hot air, her lungs thanking her for the inhalation. Lips a ruddy red of smeared lipstick and the swell of torrid kissing, she immediately forces them into a scowl. "Do your job properly or my hands aren't going to be of much use to you." It was Claire's way of asking him to get rid of her clothes without actually having to say it and admit some small defeat.
Thick fingers replace lithe ones and he quickly undoes the rest, "Who said I wanted you to have any use of your hands Claire?"
Growing more insistent by the second, Owen took down the trail he'd previously visited moments before. Mouth open as he scours the delicate lines of her clavicle, smothering steaming kisses along invisible electric tracks embedded in her skin, he pays explicit attention to the curves and valley of her full breasts. He'd always loved Claire's tits, palm sized and especially sensitive to the servicing of both his tongue and fingers. Digits splayed along the column of her spine, he unhooks her bra and tugs it upwards in a quick flick of fabric. Almost lazily Owen rolls a tiny pink nipple between his fingers, marveling at the way the firm swell of skin nestles into his grasp. Fingernails bite into the bloom of lighter pink, just enough to make her gasp.
Wriggling beneath him, Claire attempted to undo something of his, his pants or get his shirt-something to level the playing field and give her some form of purchase to hold on to. He had other plans however, and instantly slaps her hand away. Utilizing her lapse of attention, Owen stealthily lets his tongue replace his fingers, suckling a hardened nipple between his lips. The scratch of his stubble against the underside of her breast coupled with the electric tingle of his hot box of a mouth makes Claire gasp in appreciation and obvious frustration. In retaliation, her own nails dig into the crest of his upper forearm, the feel of muscle and sinew flexing beneath her in agitation and arousal is enough to warrant a small smile.
Making sure he paid both luscious mounds equal attention, he nuzzles at the expanse of skin just beneath them and peppers the creamy plain of skin there with kisses much softer than the previous. Owen can't help himself when it came to Claire's body; there was so much to marvel at. No matter how irritating she might be on that particular day, he found himself enjoying the foreplay more than the main act.
Well, almost.
Either way, he liked to make Claire get off first, usually more than once. There was something extremely satisfying about unwinding her like a ball of yarn. Mouth dissenting downwards like he's on a one-way railroad track, he pauses just beneath her navel and licks his way beneath her skirt before wrenching it down her legs in a jarring yank.
"Don't you dare rip that skirt. It's Calvin Klein." Claire snarls, simultaneously carding her fingers through his rowdy mange of dark curls, finding herself a good grip for what she knew was coming next.
Rolling his eyes, Owen does take a pause to consider destructing the item of apparel in question, but decides it isn't worth ending this session. Claire had been known to break off in the middle out of sheer spite and send him dirty pictures later as punishment; he'd never live down the panty-ripping incident of yesteryear. Maybe he just wasn't the type of man that understood the benefits of ridiculously expensive lingerie, he was more simplistic in that he liked his women stark naked. Possibly in a shirt of his, but he didn't care much for all the other fancy adornments that just obscured the ultimate visual.
Once her skirt was no longer an obstacle, Owen finds himself overcome with lust at the visual sight of dampness convalescing along the most intimate part of her pelvic region. His finger run from the dimples of her ass right along her slit and press down with small roving circles right where he knew her clit was located. Fingertip wet with her want, he sucks it between his lips with a dark, unbidden hunger.
Owen is pleased to see her normally iron clad gaze is just as vehement as his. Green eyes practically scalding with an equal degree of need. Even if they didn't agree or match up with much else, Claire and Owen were always on the same level when it came to sex. There was nothing about Claire Dearing that was submissive, but she was willing to pass the torch from time to time.
He didn't even bother tugging her underwear down, instead just lazily hooked his index under the soaked cotton bridge and pulling it aside. Spreading her open, Owen admired the scent and look of her. Pretty and pink like the petals of a lotus flower. Tongue flat; he drags it from her vagina up towards her clit. Claire didn't taste like anything specific but it was still decidedly Claire and Owen had decided he liked it, a lot. More so that he liked the way she reacts to his mouth on her cunt.
Flexing her fingers against his skull, she squirms downwards, fucking and grinding herself eagerly against his mouth without much care of his reaction. Owen didn't mind. He loved the look of a woman so desperately humping herself against his mouth, leaving sticky trails against his skin. In particular the nights when Claire decided she wanted to grip the headboards and ride his face. Buried between her thighs was a sumptuous place to be, even if she did complain about beard burn for days to come.
"Harder." Commanding him with her hands threaded through his hair like short reigns, Owen complied only too eagerly. His cock now straining against his jeans, he ruts himself rather cravenly against the bed sheets. Getting Claire off is an instant aphrodisiac.
Wrapping his lips around her clit, he suckles on her like a bee to pollen, tongue lashing up and down her slit and his hand getting a firm grip on her ass to push her upwards and let her hips dictate the intensity. "Don't stop, don't-Owen..." Claire clamors, her words growing slurred and her pussy dripping with heated juices that sluice down his face. Her underwear presses an odd line into his cheek as he dives into her drenched heat with enthusiasm, forcing her legs apart to get a good look at the beautiful sight of Claire's soaking snatch, swollen and clenching with need. His thumb traces along the hood of her clit, teasing her and dragging out the licking flames of yearning, trailing through the barest patch of strawberry blonde curls. Maneuvering his tongue down and down until he reaches her opening and circles it with a deliberate slowness.
In this depraved state Owen can't take it much longer, and he wants her to cum, but the idea of cutting her off short and fucking her before she realizes what he's done was a premise too sweet to surpass. Just as he can feel the tightening of her inner walls and the throbbing of her erect clit he stops. Shoving his hand forcefully into his back pocket, he unearths a condom and rips open the packaging with his teeth, quickly unrolling the latex down onto his aching dick.
Claire's eyes go wide with shock, her mouth opening to say something before she feels him kneeling between her thighs. Pants barely down his legs, boxers haphazardly lowered, she feels her lust for him swell all over again at the visual of his bulbous, weeping cock head pushing inside of her. Clothes still partially on, Claire felt as if her senses have suddenly gone haywire; all she was aware of was Owen, everywhere all at once. The sting of him pushing inside so quickly and forcefully forced a garbled moan to erupt, one he silences with a sloppy mouth and an even sloppier kiss. She can taste the musk of her own sex against his carmine smile but is helplessly in the throes of an almost climax. Her syncopated breathing and whining are just part of the side effects of such a brutal and defining fuck.
This was the Owen she knew and the one she couldn't get enough of; something primal and unrelenting, the thick, heady scent of a humid jungle bursting at the seams with blossoming fauna, the woody hint of bonfires, the soft interior of fresh baked bread, and the warmth of a hearth. Haphazard and ruthless was the kind of sex she wanted from him. Clawing at him with just as much as ferocity, if not more, sex with Owen had become some odd astringent metaphor for the untamed wilderness she had a hand in creating at Jurassic World. He was penance for her travesty, he was ungodly in this form and the exact kind of hellfire she loved scorching its way up her thighs.
The burn of denim and wet cotton rubs relentless against her pale skin, she knows there might be angry, red scratches left behind, later she'll trace them with her fingers like a fond memory.
Rear end sliding off the bed, Owen's sturdy arms are the only things keeping her holstered there as he thrust inside of her with unbridled intensity. "Claire." He hisses into the shell of her ear. Dirty talk had never been a staple in their relationship. Instances like this, the natural sounds of sex and the haggard cries of a name did so much more for the libido than a long drawn out spiel about how he was making her thighs shake and her spine shiver.
She wrenched one of his hands away from her ass, biting his lip hard enough to make him pull back. Keeping their eyes locked with steely intensity, Claire drags his hand down between her legs where he's still pounding inside of her, but at a slower more deliciously, torturous pace now.
"Yeah - Just like that." She breathes out harshly, strands of mussed hair fluttering around her face. He thinks she looks beautiful like that, like some fiery sprite in the throes of inexplicable fucking. Claire has maneuvered his fingers to her clit again, but instead of releasing her grasp she keeps it there. Essentially getting herself off with his hand. Owen keeps their gazes locked, moving only to press his sweaty forehead against hers, letting her dictate how she wants it, the small sycophancies of her breathing and the stutters of garbled syllables is more of a turn on than he could even begin to vocalize. The incoherencies of a typically nuanced and endlessly intelligent woman serve as the best kind of confidence booster. Eager and getting close to climax, Claire's teeth skid against her bottom lip, trying to suppress whimpers and moans as Owen's calloused fingers dutifully caress her most private bundle of nerves.
Supple calves press against his body, and she urges him with her feet to push harder. He picks up the tempo of his thrusts again, the sound of skin slapping and the stickiness of their clammy hands covered in her cum trapped in the barricade of their body parts pushing Claire keening over the edge.
"Owen." She exhales him like a vital respiratory breath. The most amazing way to hear his name crooned. Her heart slams against her rib cage as she explodes into orgasm.
Owen loves watching her cum like that, not asking for it, taking it from him. He considers it a supreme failure to not get her off. Continuing to circle her clit, he starts to thrust deeper but less forceful, and uses just his thumb to toy with her pussy and stroke her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Hooking his hand around the back of her neck, he kisses her in earnest and she trembles against his mouth.
Despite Claire finishing, Owen wants to keep her stimulated until he finishes, and she urges him to keep going. Falling back against the bed, she loops her fingers into his jeans and draws him in closer, wrapping her legs around him in a tighter embrace and touching her breasts for his benefit. Owen growls in appeasement at the visual, assisting with his mouth, laying claim to her neck and chest all over again, already stained muted red with his previous attentions. Trailing her own cum in fervent circles against her nipples as he takes one eagerly into his mouth, licking and nipping at her like the best damn ice cream sundae he's ever eaten.
That coupled with her sounds of appreciation and another solid thrust in and out of her made him burst. Sloppy ropes of cum spurt into the latex confines of the condom, his body heaving and haggard with the efforts of a long, excellent session of sex. He pulls out of her carefully and extricates himself from the tangle of limbs, tossing aside the condom into the wastebin and tucking back beside her.
"Think Calvin Klein is capable of that?"
That earns him an affectionate swat on the chest. He runs his fingers through her hair and draws swirls into the small of her back, both of them sex-drunk and stinging with the burn of various injuries. She felt sated and safe like this, for the moment anyways before the crashing sensation of reality strikes like lightning and ushers her into the fray once again.
Owen knows that soon after he drifts off, Claire will extricate herself from his side and scurry off back to the lab, pretending this had never happened. He wishes she wouldn't, but he understands it. He also knows the day will come when Claire will no longer feel the need to hide her heart from him. Until then, he can wait.
After all, he'd done it before.