Page 128 of Breakaway Hearts

Chapter Fifty-Three

Madison

Romantic shit

This isn’t the first time we’ve had sex in his bedroom, but instead of a wall or his desk, Owen carries me to his bed, lowering himself onto it so I’m sitting in his lap while we make out. I bring my hand to his chest, to feel his heart beating just as fast as my own. I don’t know why I find the rhythm comforting, but it’s the first place my hand goes whenever he lets me explore his body.

Owen lies back so I’m straddling him, the kind of slightly domineering, ‘I’m in control’ pose I’ve taken the rare occasions we’ve done it on a couch. I took one Brazilian jiujitsu class in high school, and all I remember is that mount is a position of power. And I don’t like giving up my power. But they also said the next best thing is keeping them in your guard, between your legs, so I kiss Owen into the mattress, then awkwardly roll us over so I’m on my back and he’s hovering over me. The contrarian in me wants to comment something like ‘God forbid you put any weight on me’, and part of me thinks it might be nice to have Owen covering me like that, almost like the weighted blanket I sleep with. Only given my history and precarious mental state, odds are that would bring on a panic attack, and the last thing I want to do is talk about my feelings.

“This is much comfier,” I say instead, resigned to the way my heart flutters when Owen smiles down at me.

“Glad you approve.” He pulls off his t-shirt and I can’t help but bite my bottom lip and admire his chiseled abs and hard chest.

He sighs before coming back down to kiss me, and I let my fingers get tangled in the tiny curls at the back of his neck. I’m enjoying the unhurried way he’s kissing me, slowly removing each piece of clothing like he has all the time in the world. Which isn’t the case, because he’s rock hard and leaking precum on my thigh while kissing my collarbone in a way that sends heat straight to my core.

I keep lifting my hips with each moan, needing the friction of his shaft pressed against me, but after the second time he nudges at my entrance, Owen finally rolls off me to slip on a condom.

“You want my cock Mads?” he asks when I lift my pelvis to meet him as he settles on top of me.

“I thought we’d established that much,” I agree. There’s the tiniest bit of sadness behind his smile, so I add, “But it’s not the only thing I want,” and his face fucking lights up before he kisses me.

It feels different, in a way I’m not ready to dig into, but he pushes into me with one long thrust and all I want to focus on is this feeling.

“Your pussy is amazing,” he says, waiting for me to adjust to his size before he starts moving.

“Such a romantic,” I say between pants as he wraps one of my legs around his back so he can hit deeper.

“I was going to say I love being inside you, but…”

“Pussy praise is fine,” I assure him.

“The whole…package,” he agrees between thrusts.

“You’ve already got me, Owen,” I remind him.

“And don’t you forget it.”

He looks into my eyes, which is one of those romantic-shit things I’d outlawed. I thought it would be weird and intense, even without my shortcomings, but watching the exertion on his face as he thrusts into me, how determined he is to make sure I get there first…it’s so sexy.

He picks up the pace and I can see how close he is on his face. I’m so focused on him that I don’t realize the thrum has turned into a crescendo until I’m there, right on the edge, gasping for air I don’t want when this feeling is on the line.

Owen must see the surprise on my face because his eyes smile before he thrusts into me, deeper and harder than before, and I see it on his face. The ecstasy. This is where he’d usually bring his fingers back into the mix, to get me there, but I’m already clenching around his dick, pulsing with my release, as he lets go and fills me.

I try not to cry and make this weird, but I have never before come from penetration alone.

I let Owen hold me after, my head on his chest while I run my fingers over his abs. I know I should leave, get home before he thinks I’m staying…but I don’t want to. Not yet.

“You never mentioned your mom,” I say after a while.

He stills, and I worry I’ve overstepped, but then he asks, “You heard me with Jules?”

“You’re really good with her.”

“Kids are easy,” he dismisses it. “My mom doesn’t like to talk about it, so I don’t usually bring it up, but if anecdotal evidence can help someone who’s afraid and has no reference for things working out…”

“You would never guess…”

“I wondered, for a while after I found out, if she was just a really good actress, like my dad.” I don’t think I’m breathing, waiting for him to tell me her recovery is just pretend and there’s no hope for me. “But I think she genuinely just…maybe not got over it, because my uncle sometimes points out all the things she never would have done before, but I don’t think she’s pretending to be happy or strong or badass. She just went through something horrible and fought so it wouldn’t break her.”