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Owen had always admired her precision. Claire carried it with her everywhere, in everything she did. Her suits never bearing a crease, hair always cut in a perfect, sharp flame against her shoulder. Her battles in the boardroom were gorgeously constructed; clever words smartly destroying the arguments of men twice her age.
He admired her, and he trusted her. Probably a good thing, Owen mused as he tried to hold still. The breeze breathed softly into his bedroom; the sky a glorious red as they entered sunset on the island. Owen was stretched out on the mattress, towel round his waist, damp hair against the pillows. Claire was sprawled out carefully over him, wrapped in the bedsheets, gliding the straight razor against his throat gently.
Though his head was tipped back, Owen looked downward and could see Claire's furrowed brow; tongue sticking out slightly in concentration, hair wavy against her pale, bare shoulders. She tutted impatiently as he shifted, tapping his chin lightly. "Mr Grady, as ever, you are proving to be extremely difficult to work with," she murmured, lathering his skin with a little foam. He chuckled, then, despite his best intentions.
"I'm sorry, baby," Owen said as she sat up, legs still astride him. Claire's eyes rolled, lips pursing into a pout that drove him crazy in every way. Owen propped himself up, grasping her chin and tugging her back down to him. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth as they kissed, Claire's hand bracing against his chest as he laughed. "Look what you've done now," she sighed, indicating the foam sticking to the tendrils of her hair, "We just took a shower! Our second one of the day!"
"Doesn't everybody say third time's a charm?" Owen smirked, and he was rewarded with her steely glare, the very one he'd fallen for when he'd arrived on Isla Nublar months previously. He relented, dropping back onto the pillows as Claire resumed her position over him. There was silence for a while - save for the occasional sounds from the dinosaurs far off in the park, and the cicadas buzzing outside in the dying light. Claire had asked him why he didn't just get with the times and buy an electric razor like everybody else, but Owen simply enjoyed the simplicity.
True, he was an alpha by nature; as everybody knew. But he'd met his match in Claire, and she was testing everything he thought he knew. Never had Owen been so spellbound by a woman; he didn't think it were possible. His dominant nature hadn't been subdued, merely ignited by what he had with Claire. They hated one another, at first - and still did, to everybody else on the island. Keeping whatever they had a secret wasn't easy, but it was worth every second he spent in her presence.
"Nearly done," she hummed softly, tilting his face a little here and there, Owen lulled almost into sleep under her gentle administrations, the soft patting of the flannel now and again. "Wanna hear something funny?" She said, and Owen raised his eyebrows, thankful she couldn't see his wary expression. "Hoskins tripped and broke his leg?" He asked hopefully, Claire trying and failing not to laugh as she drew the blade carefully against his jawbone. "Sadly, we don't live in a perfect world," she said, "No, David from Marketing asked me out earlier. Said he'd always had a crush on me. How wild is that?"
Owen sat up without a second thought, rewarded for his stupidity with a stab of pain against his skin. "Owen!" Claire scolded, the flannels flying across mattress as she tugged the sheets round her a little tighter. "I cut you!" She breathed, eyes widening as her fingers inspected the wound. "Like I give a fuck about that. What else did he say?!" Owen demanded quietly. It wasn't her fault, he knew that. Claire, unbeknownst to herself, was incredibly sexy. A truer definition of brains and beauty had never been found. He didn't blame the guy, he just wanted to uppercut him. Now.
Claire rolled her eyes theatrically, seemingly unimpressed by his overreaction. "Come on," she said, reaching for his hand and climbing out of bed. The sheets trailed behind her as she led Owen to the bathroom, sitting him down on the closed toilet lid. "He just said that though we've worked together for years, he never wanted to make a move because he thought I was too good for him," Claire mused, searching for something in the vanity above the sink. "Kiss ass," Owen muttered darkly, pressing his fingers to the blood slipping down his neck.
Claire narrowed her eyes at him as she walked over; a clean, damp flannel in hand. She tipped his chin toward the light, pressing the fabric lightly to the cut in an attempt to stop the bleeding. "What did you say in return?" Owen asked fervently, and the two gazed at one another for a moment. "I told him he was too late," she shrugged, simply. Owen grinned up at her as Claire smiled back, one hand tenderly pushing back the hair from his forehead.
"I'm surprised it doesn't happen more often," Owen said quietly, closing his eyes at the touch of her fingers in his hair. "What, I make you draw blood or somebody asks me out?" Claire snorted. "You know what I mean," he sighed, and opened his eyes once more, her expression unreadable as she watched him carefully, bundle still pressed to the cut. "It does happen, sometimes. I just don't make a habit of telling you, because I know you'll do something like this" Claire said, gesturing to the blood that had dripped on the floor.
She was cleaning the wound gently now as Owen considered her words. "That's why I just wanna let the whole fuckin' world know about us. I can't stand the thought of guys hittin' on you. It makes me sick," he muttered. "Uh, excuse me. That's exactly what you used to do," she remarked, eyeing him pointedly. "Exactly. And look where it got me," he half-whispered, and Claire leant back from dabbing at his neck, standing up at full height, hands on his shoulders. "Soon," she promised. "When we're ready." Owen knew the subject was closed, and he didn't feel all that bad about it.
"So you're still my girl?" Owen asked; his voice husky as he made the most of his position, his hands snaking round her waist to grip, through the sheets slipping down her lithe body, the behind he'd become so fond of. Claire shook her head in mock exasperation; glorious golden red hair flying about her face as she laughed. "You're still my man," she confirmed in a whisper, bending down a little to press her lips to his.