Owen positions himself between my legs, his forearms holding him above me, then he sweeps my hair to the side and kisses the corner of my mouth softly, letting me feel his smile against me. His hand drops lower so he can guide himself into me, and as the pressure of him pushes into me, his lips find my ear.
“Relax, Kens. I’ve got you,” he says, coaxing my body to obey. He moves beyond the tip, pushing farther inside me, my muscles adjusting, my body stretching to take him—all of him—until Owen gives one final thrust, taking me from innocent to his in the flash of a second.
A single tear falls down my cheek, the pain stinging inside, and Owen notices quickly, sliding his thumb up to catch the drop as it falls toward his pillow.
“I’ve got you, Kens. I love you, and I’ve got you,” he says, sliding back out from me almost completely, pausing to let my body relax again before moving into me slowly. The second time is easier—the stretching less, the sensation more—and soon, my body begins wanting Owen there, wanting to feel full from him, to take more of him, deeper.
“What feels good? Tell, me Kens. What do you want?” he asks, his voice sexier than it’s ever been, the darkness there, but also a new kind of hunger. Owen may have the experience, but I have the control.
“Touch me,” I pant, my eyes barely able to stay open as he moves slowly in and out from me. I feel his hand glide from my side, his thumb grazing my breast and traveling the length of my stomach until his fingers find my center and begin putting pressure on the rest of me, leaving nothing left untouched. Every bit of me is raw and open and on the verge, every push and stroke nearly ending me, until finally, I’m no longer able to hold on.
“Owen, I’m…I’m…” I say, arching my back and pushing my hips into him, feeling more of him against me with every pulse.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growls, every push of his body harder, his eyes shutting, his breath stopping and his face growing tighter. Owen pushes into me two more times, his breath leaving his chest in one powerful burst before he pulls out from me and lies flat on his bed next to me, our bodies sweaty and tangled and happy.
We lie there for minutes, our hands linking, and our fingers teasing one another until finally Owen breaks our silence.
“That was easily the very best moment of my whole entire life,” he says, his head falling to the side on his pillow, his hair tousled, and his eyes simply sweet.
I let my gaze fall to the side, too, meeting him. “I’m so glad Andrew went to Matt’s,” I smile, biting my lip and giggling.
“Me too,” Owen says, standing and walking to his door, pulling his pajama pants from the floor. “He fucking hates that Matt kid, so he totally did that so his brother could do it.”
Owen flashes wide eyes, and he mouths “oh” as he laughs at me, backing away from his room. I reach to the floor and throw his pillow at him, which he catches at his chest.
“Not funny! Oh my god, I don’t want your brother knowing about this, that we…do it,” I roll into the covers and pull them around my body and face. Owen leaps on me quickly, tugging the material away, pinning me to the bed and holding his mouth an inch away from mine.
“Everybody is going to know that you are mine, and that I am yours. And if I have to do it with you all weekend to make sure that look of bliss is permanent on your face—I will. My brother just already knows what everyone else will by the time I’m done with you,” Owen says, his tongue teasing my upper lip before he moves away, standing to look down on me again, my body bare and ready to be touched again.
“Mine. All. Day,” he says, his hands holding at the frame of the door, his body filling it completely. I watch him walk away, and listen as the shower water turns on. After a few minutes, I step from the bed and open the door Owen left cracked for me to begin with, hoping I’d follow. I step inside the hot water with him and let him tattoo happiness on my face just like he promised.
Chapter 19
I don’t hear the sound of sirens or squad cars. I’m too caught up in my dream, asleep in Owen’s arms, the hour late. We spent the day playing house, Owen burning our steaks on the grill, me burning the macaroni and cheese, melting away the water on his stove while I made out with him.
The entire day and most of the night, a dream—a delicious fantasy that is suddenly crashing down around us in a drowning wave of reality.
Owen wakes first, the sharp movement of his body as he lifts his head stirs me. He’s to the window in seconds, then back to the bed, fumbling to put on his shirt and pants, sliding his feet into his shoes.