Three days after she left his bungalow, Owen picked up his phone with the intent of contacting her. He hadn't meant to wait an exact three days - that was just how it happened. That was how long he could go without feeling like he was going crazy from actively trying not to think of her body against his.
Marry me, he texted her, smiling.
No, was her standard, simple reply.
You're breaking my heart.
Sorry.
Liar.
...
You should come over to my place tonight, he texted her another couple of days later.
Pass.
Really, I'll let you do whatever you want to me.
I have no doubt, she replied. However, there is nothing more I want to do with you.
Whatever. I'm just happy I finally got more than a single, monosyllabic word from you.
Enjoy the little things in life.
He took that as progress.
...
I need something from you.
Her text came as a surprise to him as it was the first time she'd initiated any electronic communication between them that wasn't a work memo with multiple people included. The raptors below him started chattering impatiently as he stood on the bridge with his hand raised and holding a dead rat, the other holding his phone.
"Sorry, girls," he mumbled before tossing the rat to Blue.
What could you possibly need from me? he asked.
A little help with an itch.
He smirked, still a bit surprised by her actions, but now excited as well.
Come by my bungalow later and I'll see what I can do.
Maybe he should be playing hard to get. Maybe he shouldn't jump at the chance to have sex with her whenever she called for him because thus far she hadn't shown him the same curtesy. But then again, it was Claire fucking Dearing and he figured he should get it while and when he can with her.
No, not later. Now.
His brows rose slightly.
During work hours? Dearing, you surprise me.
Take your lunch break now and meet me at your place.
As sexy as your impatience for me is, I've already taken my lunch. No go, sweetheart.
I'll come over to the paddock. We'll have a "meeting" in your office.
He was cautious of her suggestion, knowing this had to be far from normal for her.
Or maybe it wasn't.
He shook his head, not enjoying where that thought might lead him.
He glanced around nervously, like he thought someone might be reading his messages over his shoulder. But no one was closer than ten yards. The girls had recently become very distracted when other people were on the bridge - they snarled and hissed in hostility. As a result, a new rule was set in place that Owen was to be the only one on the bridge during their training.
As discreetly and as casually as he could manage, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and peaked through the bifold.
"Damn," he muttered.
I don't have a condom with me, he told her. Just come over later and I'll make it up to you.
I can't see you tonight. Just find one.
If I go around asking for a condom and then you show up and we disappear for a little while, I'm pretty sure people are going to start connecting the dots.
Figure it out, Grady. I need this.
A picture came with her text that had him leaning forward and griping the railing of the bridge as shock threatened to overcome him. Her blouse was indecently unbuttoned and her breasts were shamelessly on display in a white bra. The picture cut off just below her chin and it appeared she was sitting at her desk as her breasts were shelved on a dark wooden surface.
If she had shocked him before, he wasn't sure what that moment qualified as. Astonishment, maybe?
"Barry!" he barked suddenly. The raptors below him started and one or two hissed in retaliation of the scare. "Take over for me."
He jogged the length of the bridge to the stairs.
"Why, what's wrong?" Barry asked as he climbed the metal steps.
"I've got a meeting," Owen mumbled as the two men passed each other.
"A meeting?" Barry questioned. "With who?"
"Dearing," he shouted back. "I forgot about it. She's on her way. I'm supposed to give her a report for InGen," he lied.
"Oh," Barry laughed jeeringly. "Good luck with that."
Owen rummaged around inside his office, knowing he'd never find a condom in there. He'd never had the occasion for one to be used there and he wasn't so hopelessly horny and optimistic as to keep a stash where he worked. Now he wished he had been. Giving up and slamming the door of his desk cabinet shut, he stood and ran his fingers through his hair. His phone vibrated against his chest and he withdrew it from the pocket of his vest.
I'm on my way, she said. She sent another picture, this one of her tight skirt hiked up high enough on her legs as she sat on the leather seat in her car that he knew the material only just covered whatever underwear she may - or may not, he thought - be wearing. Her hand was resting against the creamy skin of her thigh and he wondered if he'd still be able to see the red mark he left on her a little more than a week ago.
There was an uncomfortable tightening in his pants from her pictures and the anticipation. He figured worse case was they'd just go down on each other if he couldn't find a condom. But, God damn, did he want to be buried inside her. There wasn't anyway to ask for one from someone else. He briefly thought of raiding Barry's office but that man wasn't the type to keep one in his wallet let alone his desk. No one else had offices except Hoskins, but he kept his locked when he wasn't on the island. The other techs only had a locker room where they kept their things during work.
It might be a long shot, but Owen figured it was worth a try. He quietly exited his office and crept down the hall towards the locker room. He knew most of the workers were outside, tending to the girls and the paddock, but he didn't want to cause anymore attention to himself than necessary.
The locker room was, mercifully, empty and he stalked around, glancing at the names written on painter's tape above the stalls.
"You're a perv, Mike," he muttered as he stopped in front of one locker. "Let's see what you've got."
He found the master key on his keyring for the lockers (he and Barry each had one for the random drug searches the park did - they were pretty serious about the no drug policy, especially after finding a plot of land devoted to growing weed a few years back) and unlocked the metal-mesh door.
"Ah, you beautiful moron," he said happily as he saw Mike's wallet sitting on a small shelf next to a set of keys.
He opened the wallet, ignoring the bills and digging around for a shiny foil packet. He almost cried out in success as he found one in a small zippered pocket. He quickly put the wallet back and closed the locker.
Casually, he left the locker room and walked down the hall to his office towards the back of the small building. He heard the heavy door to the outside open and turned to see Claire entering the hall. Her shirt was buttoned up and her skirt didn't appear to have a wrinkle on it from her antics in the car. The only proof of her wanton behavior was left on his phone.
"Did you find one?" she asked quietly as she fell into step with him.
He merely nodded and opened his office door for her. He thought he caught her smiling before he turned to shut and lock the door.
Her lips were on his the moment her turned back to her. Her hands were in his hair and her chest was pressed firmly against his.
"I can't believe we're doing this," he said, muffled against her lips.
She began pulling him, walking backwards through the small room until they reached the front of his desk.
"I don't have much time," she whispered hurriedly. Her hands worked his belt loose. "I have to be at the aviary in forty minutes."
He knew it took about a half hour to get to that part of the island from where they were. He undid three buttons on her blouse, exposing the bra she'd teased him with before.
"I can make that work," he breathed before leaned back in to kiss her. His tongue battled with hers as his hand gripped her skirt and pulled the firm material up and up until it was over her hips. "I could make it work better if you'd come over tonight."
"I can't," she said. He kissed her neck as he pulled her underwear down her legs. "I have plans."
He froze but she hadn't seemed to notice as she hitched herself up onto his desk. Her hands fumbled with his pants, opening them and pulling them and his boxers low enough to free his erection.
"You have a date tonight?" he asked, bewildered.
"It's not a date," she answered. "Just dinner with some friends."
He kissed her again, satisfied with her answer, and reached into his shirt breast pocket for the condom he'd pilfered from his staff. She unbuttoned his shirt halfway as he rolled the latex on.
"Did you like my pictures?" she asked quietly as she kissed his chest.
"Definitely," he sighed as he reached for her hips. She guided him to her entrance. "You're good?" he asked, hesitating. They hadn't done any foreplay to prepare her body for him.
"I've been ready since this morning," she panted, tugging anxiously on his member. "I want you, Grady."
If he'd doubted her words at all, her body told him otherwise, readily accepting him with warm, smooth walls. Her head tipped back when he was fully inside her. He set a fast pace, knowing they didn't have all the time in the world. Claire was biting her lip and soft groans were coming from her throat in time with his hips. Her hands were propping her up at an angle that kept her breasts too far away from him for his liking, though the sight of them, peaking out from her bra and blouse, jostling with their movements, was something he thought he could get used to.
They were only a few minutes in when there was a loud knock on his door. He froze again, buried in her.
"No, no, no," she whispered desperately. She rocked her hips. "Please, don't stop."
He figured after they were done there, he could die happily. Claire Dearing begging him not to stop fucking her had to be the greatest thing to ever happen to him.
He took a steadying breath and closed his eyes to avoid the sight of her distracting him.
"I'm in a meeting," he shouted.
"It's about time for the feeding," Barry called.
"Yeah, I know," he said, agitated by the disruption. "I'll be out in a minute."
They waited quietly, Claire still moving her hips slowly, barely rocking against him but by the look on her face it was working for her. He heard the loud slam of the building's entry door and let out the breath he'd been holding. He started to build the pace of his hips back up.
"Wait," she said. "Go slow."
Her eyes were closed and she held herself up enough to allow for more mobility of her own. Her mouth fell open and she let out a long, content sigh as he slowly entered her. With her hips positioned in that way, he knew that his shaft was rubbing against her clit as they moved. But soon her arms began to shake in strain and she let her full weight rest back on his desk. He brought a hand between them to do what his member no longer could at the resulting angle.
Her breath quickened as his slow strokes quickly built her up. He watched in a dazed sort of awe as she climaxed, her walls pulsing around him, her jaw slack, and her eyes lazily closed.
It wasn't anything like the frenzied fuck he'd been expecting. He thought they'd be trying to stifle moans with tongues and skin and his hips would be slapping against hers as she tumbled, clawing at him. This was almost...sweet. If it wasn't for the fact that he had her on his desk and their clothes were still mostly on, he would have called it love making.
"Come on," she urged him quietly. She was still humming in relief as she reached one hand towards him and ran her fingers along the flesh exposed by his open shirt. "Fuck, Owen," she moaned softly. "So good."
God, she was sexy. Post orgasm, sated, and coaxing him to his relief with little notions of praise of his skill with her body - he really loved fucking this woman.
"Owen," she said, somewhere between a pant and a moan. Both his hands held up her torso as she arched and leaned her head back. "God, Owen."
Her body still clenched around him as she was settling. He felt the quick build and tidal wave of release at his sudden climax. He leaned forward, his mouth eagerly searching out her breasts as his hips jerked shallowly.
After a minute to catch his breath, he straightened and pulled away from her. He grabbed tissues off his desk to dispose of the condom while Claire pulled her underwear up her legs and straightened her skirt.
"Thanks," she said.
He watched her button her blouse as he pulled up his pants. He smiled.
"Anytime," he laughed. "Seriously. Anytime."
She smiled too, straightening her shirt on her shoulders. Owen buttoned his shirt and found his phone, discarded at some point from his vest, on his desk. There was a text from Barry. I was trying to save you, he said, referring to the disruptive knock a few moments ago.
"I still can't believe you came over here for that," he said. "You're full of surprises, Dearing. And here I thought you were done with me," he teased, slipping his cell back in his pocket.
"I thought I was too," she said. She made her way to his door. "I guess you just had what I needed today."
"God," he sighed, amazed and shaking his head. "Marry me."
She rolled her eyes, still smirking as she left his office. He followed after her.
"No, seriously," he continued when they stepped outside. "I think we'd be a great married couple. We wouldn't care be in each other's business all the time, and we'd get to have great sex every night."
"It's not a bad thought," she mused humorously as she opened her car door. "But I think I'd kill you if we lived together."
"Not if we were doing that all the time," he said with a jerk of her head toward the offices.
Again, she smiled. "Thanks for your help, Mr. Grady."
She settled into her seat and pulled the door closed before he could make another comment. He watched her pull out and away from the paddock, suddenly thinking about Claire in a schoolgirl's outfit calling him professor.
He might have a problem.
...
He had to admit, he was quite proud of himself. After their "meeting" in his office, Owen abstained from texting or communicating with her in any way. The pride came from his self-control, because he sure as hell wanted to see her again but he wouldn't allow himself to cave. He'd spent a gross amount of time begging for her body and she'd only relented twice, and on her terms no less. So to save himself some trouble and from looking pathetic, he refused to seek her out first. He figured she'd come around again eventually, and he could wait it out...he hoped.
Thankfully - or mercifully - his patience was only tested for a week.
He drove his bike back to his bungalow after a full day at the paddock. The air was warm and starting to turn muggy again as the slightly cooler months out of the year came to an end. The wind on his bare forearms, neck, and head was a nice reprieve from the heat. The sun was just beginning to set and he was thinking it was going to be a nice night to lay out in his hammock and drink a cold beer.
Those plans were cast by the wayside, however, as soon as he saw the familiar white Mercedes parked in front of his trailer. His heart picked up its beating pace just slightly as he parked next to the car and cut the engine. He glanced around, noticing she wasn't seated behind the wheel, and spotted her just as she was standing up from the rocker he kept on the deck of his shed.
Silently, they both made their way to the door of his trailer. He watched her carefully as she walked down the few wooden steps in her white heels and around to the door where she stood, facing the door and avoiding his stare, with an impassive expression.
"So-" he began with a small chuckle.
"Don't," she said quickly. "Just...don't."
He frowned as she sighed heavily. He unlocked the door and opened it for her. She entered without hesitation and turned to the left, beelining for the bedroom. He followed slowly behind her, curious about her mood. His eyes never lost track of her as she slipped off her heels and reached behind her to unzip her dress.
Taking her lead, he took off his vest and toed off his boots. He'd begun unbuttoning his shirt, still standing in the doorway of his small bedroom, when she made her way to him, her dress now laying across his dresser. The lights were off in the trailer, but as the sun had yet to fully set, plenty of light shone through the window to illuminate her form. She still wouldn't look him in the eye, he noticed. As she took over unbuttoning his shirt, he briefly wondered if she was embarrassed about something.
"Good to see you again, Miss Dearing," he said softly as she spread the lapels of his shirt back and over his shoulders so the material would fall to the floor (with the exception of it getting caught on his watch).
She sighed again in response. Her hands fell to his belt which she quickly loosened.
"Bad day?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered, finally speaking. She tugged his unfastened pants down, leaving him in his boxers. "I need something from you."
"What's that?" he asked playfully. He had a pretty good idea what she wanted.
Claire grabbed his right arm, just above his wrist and walked him forward so he could step out of his cargos. "I really," - she began, pulling him a couple more steps until they were at the foot of the bed - "really," - her hand traveled up his arm and then down his chest. He repressed the tingle in his nerves - "want to scream."
"You want me to make you scream?" he repeated carefully. She nodded and brought both hands to the front of his boxers, slipping a couple of fingers beneath the band. "Okay," he agreed. "Just remember that you asked for it."
He thought he caught her smiling just before he craned his neck down to reach her lips. He brought his hands to her face for a moment - to hold her there and savor that moment when she kissed him back - then dropped them almost immediately to her hips. He edged her backwards and wouldn't let her mouth leave his as he climbed over her and they moved further up the bed.
"I have a game we can play," he mumbled against her lips. He moved his mouth further down to her neck and chest.
"We're already playing a game," she said. "It's called 'Make me Scream.'"
"My game goes along with that," he assured her. "I call it 'How Many Times Can I Make You Come?'" He pulled the strap of her bra down to free one of her breasts.
"Oh, that sounds like a fun game," she breathed. He smiled against her nipple before taking it in his mouth and gentle laving at it with his tongue.
The answer was four. He brought her to orgasm four times before he couldn't contain his own any longer.
The first was brought by his fingers and tongue on her clitoris. The second by only his tongue, roaming between her clit and just inside her walls. The third came from her riding him - hard, he might add. The second must have brought about a second wind in her or knocked some bottled up sexual frustration over because she went wild on him. Much of that energy was spent during that third round so for the fourth, she let him roll them and he fucked her into his bed, like he'd been dreaming about since the Christmas Eve party.
He almost hadn't made it through to her fourth. There was a moment when he had to stop. He stilled his movements, holding his weight above her.
"What's wrong?" she had asked, panting.
He groaned. "One second."
"Did you cramp up?" she asked and it sounded like scolding.
"No," he laughed. "I'm just- " He took a deep breath which didn't help. "I'm trying to get to number four."
"Oh." She smiled and he thought it was the most adorable she'd ever looked, even if it was teasing. "Well, good. Because I am waiting, Grady."
"I know, Dearing," he said through gritted teeth.
She flexed her hips upward and he let out a choked moan, quickly settling his weight on his bent legs and he grabbed her hips with his hands, firmly to keep them in place. Her smile turned devilish.
He was so deep inside her. He thought he could stay there forever in the warm and tight sheath. But those walls clenched even tighter and his hips jerked and a moan sounded behind his closed lips in response.
"Not fair," he breathed.
He wasn't sure how she managed it, exactly, but she was able to pull herself up into his lap, their bodies never separating. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he helped support her weight as her exhausted legs were shaking under the strain.
"Come on," she urged in a sultry whisper. "Fuck me, Grady. Fuck me." Her hips moved marginally against his. Their mouths met for a brief kiss before she pulled away, gasping and grabbing at the back of his neck. "Fuck me. I don't want you to stop."
"Alright!" he declared, determined once more and not liking her torturing him. He kissed her and forced his tongue into her mouth. As gently as he could while moving fast, he brought her back down on the bed and spread her legs further apart. He set his pace again, quick and unrelenting. Soon, he brought one of her legs up and let it bend at her knee, he tucked it in the crook of his arm and thrust deep and hard. She cried out, her arms grasping the bed above her as her back arched.
He'd learned the meaning behind the noises she made by then. Her loud moans followed by long hums and heavy pants usually meant she was close. Her hands, clutching at the sheets and then at his body meant she would spill over at any moment. He bent down to kiss her, gentle in contrast to the rest of there bodies. His tongue lapped against hers until she came to life beneath him, breaking away from his mouth to shout out as her body convulsed around him.
He never stood a chance of lasting longer.
He fell to lay next to her when they finished. The sound of their heavy breathing the only noise around.
"Marry me," he said with a tired sigh.
"You always have to ruin it, don't you?" she pondered, staring at the paneled and peeling ceiling.
"One of these days, Dearing. One of these days." He looked at her. "You having a better day yet?"
He saw her fight a smile and raise up to sit, running fingers through her hair and then covering her chest as she glanced around for her undergarments.
"Why do you do that?" he asked curiously, still laying out in all his glory.
"Do what?"
"Hide," he explained, sitting up next to her. "You know I've seen you naked. I think you know I like you naked," he joked. "I might even go as far to say I prefer you naked. So why hide yourself?"
"It's called modesty, Mr. Grady," she said haughtily. She reached over to his nightstand, grabbed a few tissues, and let them fall in his lap. "You should take a class in it one day."
"Only if you're the teacher, my dear." He placed a quick kiss to her shoulder before standing to find a pair of shorts and rid his body of the spent condom.
He tossed her the dress draped over his dresser and left the room so she and her modesty could get dressed while he grabbed a beer. He still intended on lounging out on his hammock that night.
He walked her out to her car when she was ready to leave. She stood outside the vehicle, looking uncomfortable for a brief moment before she smiled kindly, but strained.
"I appreciate-"
"My enthusiasm?" he asked dryly.
She rolled her eyes but her smile and posture relaxed. "Well, yes, but I was going to say your discretion."
He shrugged. "I told you I wouldn't tell anyone."
"I know," she said. "It's just nice to know that you're a man of your word."
The side of his mouth lifted. "Thanks."
She nodded, a little stiff again, and turned to open her door.
"Hey," he said suddenly as she climbed into her car. "Next time, give me a little bit of a heads up, if you can. Sometimes Barry comes here after work with me..."
"I-" she stuttered and laughed a bit incredulously. "I don't plan on doing this again."
"Alright, well, good," he said with an endearing smile. "But just in case you do - which you know I'm perfectly okay with - it might be good to let me know so that no one else stops by and sees you. Given how much you like your discretion."
She regarded him quietly for a moment, her brow furrowed. "Wouldn't you want to keep it quiet as well?"
"What do you mean?"
"Would you really be okay with people knowing that you and I are-were...doing this sort of thing?" she asked in disbelief.
"Honey, I'd shout it from the rooftops if you'd let me," he teased. Her expression hardened and she pulled back further into her car. He'd said the wrong thing. "Or...I don't know, maybe I wouldn't. I guess it's no one's business but ours, right?" That seemed to make her happier.
"That's how I feel," she agreed. She placed her hand on the handle of her door, indicating she was ready to leave. "Good night, Mr. Grady."
"Good night, Dearing."
He walked slowly over to his hammock, watching as she backed out of the dirt path that was his driveway for all intents and purposes. He waved just as she pulled out of sight. He wondered when he'd see her again. If he'd see her again.