Page 53 of Stud

“Ainsley.”

Heart pound, pound, pounding in my ears, I plastered on my most innocent face and turned. “Yeah?”

“Is this because of what I told you earlier? My divorce?” Owen scrutinized my fidgetiness. He was on point. We both knew it. Once I slept with him, this connection we shared would go from intense to transcendental. There was something bigger here than I’d ever shared with Brandon, and my ex’s betrayal had rocked me to my core.

If Owen hurt me—

I guillotined that thought. Owen was watching me, uncertain yet steadfast. A strapping man with a tender side who wanted me in all the ways a man could want a woman. It was time to start living and stop worrying. It was also time to get sexed up. “The fact that you never mentioned your divorce has thrown me for a loop, but I get that it might be hard to talk about. I’ll get past it. It’s just my issues rising to the surface.”

He crooked a finger, beckoning me closer. “Come here.”

He wasn’t giving me bedroom eyes. He was laying down serious eyes.

Warily, I approached. When I was within reach, he ran both his hands through my hair, skimming my scalp until his palms rested on my cheeks. “I care about you a lot, and I’m sorry I didn’t mention my divorce. If you just want to hang out tonight, count me in. I’m dying to be with you, but there’s no rush. I also love the idea of squishing with you on my couch. We don’t do anything more until you’re sure.”

His understanding loosened the knots inside me, reminding me how different Owen was from men I’d known. No matter his needs, he was putting me first. Only a good man would do that, and I was tired of letting Brandon infect my life. “My nerves are because of my past. Not my present. I trust you.”

He kissed my forehead, my nose, my lips. “That means more than you know, but it doesn’t have to happen tonight. When you’re ready, just say the word.”

My remaining reservation vanished. Everything disappeared but this beautiful man. “Word.”

He pulled back, appraising me intently. “You’re sure?”

“Positively.” To prove my point, I took control of my life and chasséd my way into his bedroom. Owen followed closely behind. I pirouetted in the simple space, taking it in.

A photograph of a beach hung on one wall, a large window occupying the other. There was a simple closet and nightstands. Dark gray walls, lighter gray bedding. Large, cushy king bed. A cowboy hat on his dresser. Aside from a lamp and smarty-pants book on his bedside table, the only other item of note was a mason jar filled with what looked like shards of glass.

I picked it up and shook it. “Do you collect bottle caps, too?”

My immature humor usually tickled Owen’s funny bone, but something in my comment hit a nerve. Darkness stirred under his sharp cheekbones. Closing the gap between us, he pulled the jar from my hands and set it back carefully. “We’ve done enough talking.”

And he didn’t want to discuss the glass. Not that I could blame him. His girlfriend of five days just tore through his apartment, cataloguing every inch of it. “I like your place.”

“I like you.” His chocolate eyes had reached ninety-five percent. Perfectly sinful.

I was horny and ready to indulge. “Then kiss me already.”

I didn’t have to ask twice.

He gripped my hips in a punishing hold, his fingers branding me with points of fire, and our lips fused. Our kiss rocketed to frenzied, both of us pushing against each other, deeper, harder, until my lips felt bruised. I was wet already, my panties likely soaked. I wanted his fingers there, his mouth, his cock. I needed him to alleviate this desperate tingling that threatened to burn my skin.

Pulling at his shirt, I shoved it up and almost wriggled my head into his black crew neck with him, stretching the cotton to get my greedy tongue closer to his abtastic body.

“You’re ridiculous.” He pulled me away and ravaged my mouth with his. The backs of my knees hit his bed, and I landed on my butt. I wore a cute pair of Juicy jeans and an animal print flutter top. The way Owen looked at me, I’d have guessed I was naked.

Chocolate eyes at ninety-eight percent.

Gripping my waist, he shifted me into the middle of the bed.

He knelt over me.

He pushed up my shirt.

He drew torturous circles on my belly, then lifted my top farther, over my bra, but not off. The cold air and his rapt attention sent goose bumps trembling over my skin. He traced my breasts, dragged his thumbs over my lace-encased nipples. His erection stretched his jeans.

“You’re beautiful, Ainsley. Steals my breath.”

He was stealing my heart, and my words. All my jokes and banter vanished, a swirl of emotion blooming in their place. I was going to fall hard for this man. I could sense the emotion refracting through me, the fragile beauty of a rainbow following rain.