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Not once.
Not ever ever ever.
It turns out I like it.
Alot.
This inspires me to do what he says.
I lie back and rest on my elbows. “Like this?”
Owen’s gaze sweeps down my body and I see the moment his determination strengthens. And goodness if it doesn’t cause him to assume even more dominance than he already has.
He takes hold of my waist with both hands and slides me back further, positioning me so I’m lying down with my legs bent and my feet resting on the edge of the table.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he says, grasping my right ankle. He curves his hand around it so he’s holding the back of it. Then, slowly, and gently, he brings his other hand to the back of my shoe. Bending, he kisses the top of my foot before removing my heel. He repeats this on my other foot and removes that shoe too.
I’ve never been more about a man taking charge of undressing me.
If Owen wants to take my shoes off every night, he can go right ahead.
“You also have the tiniest of freckles right here,” he says, tracing a circle around the outside of my left ankle.
The inside of my stomach is suddenly a menagerie of butterflies, butterflies, and more butterflies.
Unable to stop myself, I sit up and reach for Owen’s neck. Gripping it, I pull myself back to the end of the table, bringing our bodies together again, and kiss him.
I give him what I’ve worked outhelikes: a little more tongue than I do, me leaning right into him, and my arms around him with my fingers threaded up into his hair.
I kiss him so deeply we could drown in each other.
He kisses me back just as deeply.
We’re both breathless when we come up for air.
Owen’s hands are in my hair as he stares down at me. “You make it hard on a man, Charlize.”
“Hard for what?” My thoughts are disordered from all this kissing and touching. I’ve no clue what he means.
He tugs a handful of my hair, pulling my head back so he can lick my throat. “You have no idea, do you?”
I really am drowning here.
Drowning in Owen and his intoxicating ways.
“It’s like you’re speaking in riddles to me. All I know is that I may die if you don’t fuck me soon.”
He lets go of my hair. “Lie back.”
He says only two words, but his tone says everything he’s not saying.
I really like flirty, sexy Owen, but I think I like take-charge, commanding Owen more. I imagine this Owen is single-minded, driven, unstoppable. All traits I like in a man.
I comply with his directive and lie back.
He watches me while I settle myself on the table before shifting his attention to my panties. Hooking his fingers in them, he slides them down my legs. He is neither fast nor slow in how he does this. He’s deliberate and focused. Something I’m learning about this man is that when he’s got a goal in mind, it takes a lot to distract him from it.
He pockets my underwear and it’s disturbing to me how hot I find this. I mean, is he actually a stalker who likes to keep women’s panties? How many pairs would I find in his dresser if I were to take a peek? Will he maybe try to choke me with them later? Jesus, who really is Owen? I hope Poppy will seek revenge for my murder if that’s where this is leading.
