Chapter Three
790 Words
The sunlight leaking through the curtains felt accusatory—bright, smug, and undeserved.
Owen groaned and turned his face into the pillow, but Leia’s voice had already pierced the fragile membrane between sleep and waking.
"We really should go pick out paint today," she said brightly, her voice bouncing through the bedroom like a stone skipping across a pond.
Owen cracked one eye open. Leia was already up, hair twisted into a messy bun, her body wrapped in an oversized T-shirt that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.
He let out a low grunt and flopped onto his back.
"Morning, sunshine," Leia chirped, tugging at the edge of the comforter.
He grunted again, dragging the blanket higher.
"Come on," she said, smacking his foot lightly. "You promised you'd help."
"Mmm," Owen said. "Pretty sure I promised in a dream. Doesn't count."
Leia laughed, that high, tinkling sound that used to make him feel like he’d won the lottery. Now it just scraped against his nerves.
Still, he cracked a lopsided grin, throwing her a bone.
She grinned and crawled onto the bed, straddling his waist.
Owen watched her with hooded eyes. There were moments—brief flashes—where he could almost remember wanting her the way he used to. When every touch was electric, when he could lose himself in her body and forget the static gnawing at the edges of his mind.
Leia leaned down, brushing her lips against his jaw.
"You’re impossible," she whispered.
"And yet..." Owen drawled, catching her hip in his hands, "you keep climbing on top of me."
She giggled and kissed him, soft and eager. For a moment, he let himself sink into it, into the familiar heat of her mouth, the weight of her body.
Then she pulled back, smirking.
"Maybe if you help me with the painting," she teased, "you’ll earn a reward."
The words hit him like a slap.
A transaction.
Still, Owen smiled up at her, lazy and wolfish.
"Yeah?" he murmured. "Gonna make me work for it, huh?"
"Maybe," she said, rocking her hips against him just enough to tease.
He caught her wrist gently, flipping her onto her back with slow, deliberate force. She squealed, laughing, as he pinned her hands above her head.
He kissed down her throat, his stubble rasping against her skin, and she arched into him, breathing faster.
Owen hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her legs in one fluid motion. She wriggled, laughing breathlessly.
Before she could say another word, he balled the panties loosely and pressed them against her mouth.
"Open," he said, voice low and calm.
Leia hesitated—half in surprise, half in thrill—then parted her lips.
He stuffed the soft fabric into her mouth, muffling whatever giggle or protest had been rising.
"Much better," Owen muttered, more to himself than her.
Leia's eyes widened, then softened, her breathing quickening as she surrendered to the silent game.
He looped the sheet around her wrists again, tying her lightly to the headboard. Not tight. Just enough. Enough to make her helpless in that beautiful, fragile way he craved.
He kissed his way down her body, ignoring the pleading sounds behind the makeshift gag, the way her hips lifted eagerly to meet him.
Owen moved inside her with a detached focus, his body responding automatically even as his mind drifted somewhere higher, colder. He watched her reactions with clinical detachment—the whimpers, the trembling thighs, the desperation stitched into every movement, like she was trying so hard to be everything he used to want.
When she came, she sobbed around the fabric in her mouth, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
When he finished, he closed his eyes and felt—nothing.
He untied her slowly, pulling the panties from her mouth and tossing them aside without ceremony.
Leia blinked up at him, dazed, flushed, utterly pliant.
Owen lay back against the pillows, eyes closed, savoring the silence like it was the only thing he’d ever truly wanted from her.
The quiet stretched thin, trembling and beautiful.
And then—
"So," Leia said, voice thick and breathless but already animated, "what do you think about a sage green for the kitchen? Or maybe like a muted teal?"
Owen opened one eye.
She was propped on one elbow, hair wild, voice already spinning toward the next task—as if nothing had been spoken in silence minutes before.
He forced a smile, rolling onto his side, feigning exhaustion.
"Sounds great," he said flatly.
Leia kept talking, rattling off paint swatches, backsplash ideas, light fixtures.
Owen stared at the wall, letting her voice blur into meaningless noise as he got dressed.
- Writer
