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“You look at me and I feel...”
“What?”
“Desired?”
His smile is soft as he drags my hips back in. “I desire you, Grace. I’ve made no secret of that.”
I breathe in deep when I feel him pressed up against me. He wants me, I’m sure of that, and I need him.
Unable to meet his eyes, I look down at the buttons on the bodice of my dress and set about undoing them slowly. “Do we have to hash it all out tonight then? I don’t want to talk about my past or your past. I don’t have to know everything there is to know about you just yet. I just know that I want you.”
He tips my chin up so that we’re eye to eye, then brushes my fingers aside as he takes over the task of undressing me. “Yeah, we can leave the talking for some other time.”
When he moves the fabric down my shoulders and I’m bared to him from the waist up, I’m mentally patting myself on the back for forgoing the bra. He eyes stay fixed there as he whispers, “Holy fuck, Grace.”
Taking his hands in mine, I lead him there, guide him to cup me with both hands. When his thumbs brush over me, my head rolls back as I struggle to hold in the primal moan building inside of me. And then his head is between my breasts, his warm breath skating over my skin before he latches onto me, sucking, licking and kissing me in a way that has me squirming and desperate to get closer.
“Here,” he says, taking the fabric of my dress from around my hips and lifting it up and over my head. Tossing it aside, he looks me over and says to no one in particular, “I’ve been dreaming about this body for weeks.”
“Weeks?”
“Yeah. Couldn’t take my off you the first night I met you,” he kisses my jaw as his hands squeeze the flesh on my hips, “and then seeing you wearing hardly anything at all the other day,” he pauses again to circle his tongue around one aching nipple, “I’ve been dreaming about fucking you.”
That moan I was holding back? It tears out from somewhere deep inside of me when he wedges a hand between us, slips beneath the lace and lands between my legs. “Owen.”
“You feel so good.”
“Want you,” I whisper as I roll my hips to press against his hand.
He kisses me, uses his free hand to tease my tits, tongues my mouth like he’s fucking me for real, and has me coming inside of two minutes. “So good,” he whispers as he keeps his hand there, waiting for my body to come down from the high.
My heart is pounding long after my breath evens out, and my cheeks are flushed. I can’t look at him yet, so I reach down between us and pop the button on his jeans instead, whispering, “Now you.”
He tips my chin up again, and his soft smile erases any trace of the awkwardness I was feeling just a moment before. “This bumpy couch isn’t going to do it for me. I need to get you in a bed.”
And I want to smack my own forehead in that moment, as it occurs to me for the first time that there are probably some logistics involved in this for Owen.
I stand, and he uses the armrest for leverage to get himself up off the marshmallow-like cushions of Viv’s thirty-year-old couch.
With my hand held out for him to take, wearing hardly anything all, I like the way he’s looking at me. He likes what he sees, and although I know this is lust more than anything else, he makes me feel beautiful.
He takes my hand and kisses it before following me into the bedroom. And I’m thanking the stars up above that I did at least swap out Viv’s old bedroom set for mine—her old chenille bedspread may have been a deal breaker. Still, nothing of mine hangs on the walls and the floor is bare. I watch as his eyes scan the room, as he takes in the crocheted afghan folded over the back of the rocking chair and the collection of figurines that still sits on the shelf. It hits home harder than ever before that I’ve been stuck these past few years, wasting time, one foot in the present and one in my shadowed past.
Looking to hide in the darkness, I reach for the bedside lamp but Owen turns me back around to face him. “No, baby. I need to see you and you need to see me.”
He tugs the shirt up over his head and then holds my eyes when he stands in front of me and pushes his jeans over his hips and down. He wants me to acknowledge who he is, and it’s not lost on me that I’m being tested. Owen is strong, proud and confident. I knew that right off the bat. He doesn’t want my pity, but when he sits down across from me to finish taking off his jeans and then stands again, my heart sinks for the young man who endured all that pain.
“What do you see?”
“The first time I met you I tagged you as some preening dude...All ego. You know, the ones who spend entirely too much time working out?” He smiles at this. “Your suit was fitted just so, cut to show off the build underneath the clothing. The super-clean shave, your hair, the clothes...I figured you had a really high opinion of yourself. Not that there’s anything wrong with self-love, but I dismissed you as being one of those guys who justlovesthe mirror. But then at the party when I saw your leg, I realized that youhaveto be strong. I saw that six pack of yours in a different light.” I reach out to touch his hand, a gesture to bring him closer to me where I’m sitting on the bed. “Strength and determination, that’s what I see when I look at you.”
Looking up at him, I tug the snug cotton fabric over his ass and down. Owen doesn’t stop me when I stroke him, so I take that as a green light and lick him from base to tip. And I like it when he places a commanding hand on my head, leading me gently while taking control. He groans when I skate my fingernails over his ass, but he must be getting close because that’s when he puts the brakes on.
“Good?” I ask him.
“Too good...I just don’t want this to end.” He gestures for me to lie back on the bed and asks, “Are you on anything?”
“Yeah, I’m set.”
