Page 61 of The Best I Never Had

I run my hands up into my curls, tugging at the roots. “I had an argument with Addy.”

His eyes soften. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” I say harshly, continuing to pace. “I don’t want to deal with any of this. I had this wedding thrown on me and now I’m fighting with my sister, and I don’t know what I’m doing and the last thing I want is to talk about it.”

“Then what do you need?” he asks, so strong and steady it makes me want to scream. Is he always so fucking composed? I practically snarl, and he grabs my hand to make me stop in front of him. “What do you need, Thea?”

I brace for the pity I expect to find on his face, the same magnanimous look I’ve gotten from friends and foster parents. Poor Thea, she can’t handle her emotions. Instead, all I see is patience, like he’s willing to wait me out while I work through it all.

And suddenly, another emotion floods my veins. Need, for him to be close, to feel and experience that solidity. To know I have someone behind me, even though I’ve spent decades telling myself I’m fine on my own.

My fingers dive into the soft strands of his hair, yanking his body closer to me, and my lips seal over his. He lets out a surprised groan, his hands coming to my hips and squeezing, hard, before he remembers himself, lightly pushing me back.

“This isn’t what you need,” he says hoarsely.

“It is.”

I step closer, running my lips up his throat. He’s exactly what I need, what I’ve needed since I set eyes on him again. I’ve only denied myself because Addy didn’t want me to pursue it, but why should I make my decisions based on her when she hardly considers me family?

“You don’t want this. I understand why you don’t want this. It would be a mistake.” His words rumble against my lips, the vibrations moving through my body and making me ache in the most delicious way.

“Maybe. But I still need it. I need you.”

He pulls my lips from his neck, dropping his forehead to mine. His eyes flutter closed as he lets out a shaky breath.

“I don’t want to be something you regret, Thea. I can’t be something you regret.”

My heart squeezes, emotions I can’t name lighting up inside me. “There isn’t a moment with you I’ve ever regretted,” I whisper across his lips.

His eyes blink open, heat and longing in the swirling colors, and then he kisses me, soft and gentle, until I escalate it with a nip to his bottom lip. He groans into my mouth, rough hands yanking me more firmly against him.

I pull back from the kiss, panting. “Take me somewhere.”

“My room. Now.”

He pulls me toward the exit, but I yank back. I know what will happen if we go to his room. He’ll kiss me sweetly, lay me out across his king-size bed, and make love to me. But I’m not that girl, the one you bring breakfast in bed the next morning and who shows up at your mother’s house with homemade cookies for brunch. I need to make sure he understands and accepts that. That I understand and accept that.

“Too far,” I say.

He stares at me for a beat, then groans and drags me in the other direction, through the kitchen until we reach a large walk-in closet filled with cleaning supplies. He softly shuts the door behind us, sliding the lock into place.

“If you get us caught, we’re both dead. Can you keep quiet, Thea?” he asks while stalking toward me, my back knocking into the shelves behind me.

“Won’t be a problem. Unless you think you can make me scream,” I taunt.

He huffs out a laugh, bringing his lips to my ear. “Don’t be a brat.”

Everything inside me goes tight. This side of Owen, the one I got a glimpse of when he kissed me in the hallway, is going to make me lose my mind. He runs his lips down my neck, following the line of my collarbone, not kissing me but giving enough pressure to drive me wild.

“Owen, if you don’t kiss me in the next ten seconds, I’m going to walk out that door.”

He pulls back, a smug smile plastered on his face as he looks deep in my eyes. Shit, cocky Owen really does it for me. “You know? I don’t think you will. I think you’ll let me torture you as long as I want.”

I push his body back until he hits the opposite set of shelves, and the small flair of panic in his eyes that I might leave feels like a victory. But walking away right now is a physical impossibility.

He’s so sturdy, always there for everyone. Who takes care of him, looks out for his needs? I want to play that role, even if for a short time, so I go to my knees in front of him, my hands coming to the button of his pants.

“And if I want to torture you?”