Before I can blink, his lips are on mine, his mouth urgent and relentless, tasting of tears and coffee.
He kisses me like he’s making up for every second we wasted, every time I closed a door or built a wall.
Kissing him is like breathing after being underwater for too long. I clutch him back, desperate, trying to drink down the taste of him, the way his hands fit against my jaw, the way he makes me feel found and wanted and absolutely, irreparably myself.
We’re still crying, but now it’s the good kind, the kind that scrubs you clean. Owen pulls back just enough to stare at me, his lips swollen and red, his pupils blown wide.
“We’re going to figure this out, baby,” he rasps. “You and me. We’ll make it work.”
And this time, I believe him.
I answer with a kiss, one that’s both an apology and a demand. I taste my own salt on his lips, knot my hands in his hair, and let myself fall without a safety net.
My legs wrap around his waist as he lifts me effortlessly and carries me to my bedroom. As he bumps the door open with his foot, I don’t panic about unmade sheets or the heap of laundry in the corner.
I just want him.
We strip off each other’s clothes in a blur before he lowers me onto the bed like I’m something breakable, and when he kisses me again, it’s a promise.
Hovering above me on the mattress, holding himself up with one elbow, Owen drags his free hand up my thigh, his eyes darkening as he rakes them down my naked body.
I moan under his gaze, running my fingertips from his hips to his ribs, smoothing over the scars and ripples covering his skin.
My neck arches against the pillow as he lowers his lips, taking his time kissing my breasts, sucking each of my nipples into his mouth, licking the slope of my stomach, and tugging my bellybutton ring between his teeth.
“This is mine,” he mumbles, looking up at me with the silver ring in his mouth. “I’ll never get over how sexy it is on you.”
A thick drop of wetness leaks from my core as he gives it a hard pull before climbing back up my body. I fist his hair and roll my hips into him, desperate to be closer, to climb inside his body if that were possible.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he says so low, it’s almost a growl.
“You,” I pant, mindlessly rocking my hips.
“Yeah?” he rumbles. “You want me to fuck you? You want to feel how much I love you?”
“Yes,” I whimper, my hand flying to his waist and tugging him to me. “God, yes.”
A wicked smile curves his lips as he moves painstakingly slow, spreading my thighs and settling his heavy cock between them. My breath hitches when he nudges his leaking tip against my entrance, but not yet pushing in.
He looks up at me, eyes gleaming, and says, “I love you.”
Before I can respond, he thrusts inside me, filling me to the hilt. My eyes roll back as he stretches me full, his cock hitting every deep, sensitive part of me.
“Owen,” I moan breathlessly as he starts moving his hips. “I love you. God, I love you—”
Before I can get another word out, he crushes his mouth to mine, claiming me in a searing kiss. Our skin slaps together as he fucks me relentlessly, our tongues tangling as we groan against each other’s lips.
Right as I feel my orgasm start to crest, Owen slows his pace, as if he’s not ready for this to end yet. He pauses, then starts to fuck me firm and slow, edging me… driving me fucking mad.
Each deliberate thrust of his hips is a declaration. Each strained breath that falls past his lips is a confession.
He sinks into me, again and again, his forehead pressed to mine, our tears mixing as we cry together. It’s all too much in the best way possible—the intimacy, the overwhelming, terrifying love we have for each other.
“Owen,” I cry out, sobbing his name into the crook of his neck at how good he feels.
“I love you,” he says against my cheek, then my collarbone, then between my breasts. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he recites, kissing every inch of exposed skin he can get his lips on.
He worships me with each repetition. I lose myself to his hands, his mouth, the confession of his body against mine.
