"Not from that angle," Ireplied.
"It's a good angle." Owen laughed as he squeezed my backside, each finger triggering a rush of need like cracks in a dam. "Then again, you're hot from everyangle."
His grip tightened and then—oh, fuck—his tongue swiped over my flesh. "Oh, myGod."
A growl was the only response I received. He went on tormenting me while I clawed the quilt down and flung pillows to the floor. It was all I coulddo.
"This ass is so sweet," Owen said. He reached between my legs, gripped my shaft. "I'm gonna tear itup."
His fingers moved down my cock with quick, light strokes. It wasn't enough, and he knew it. He chuckled as I thrust into his fist, trying and failing to find morefriction.
"Now, please," Isaid.
"This," he said, his thumb stroking the head as he kissed up my spine, "thisis what I was thinking about last night. You, on my bed. Naked. Panting.Pleading."
"Did you think about fucking me at any point?" I asked. "Because that would be great rightnow."
Owen laughed. "Yeah, I thought about that all night." He patted the mattress around me, searching until his fingers closed around the condom packet. I heard the rip, then the glug of lube into his palm, then the rasp of his short beard on my lower back. "Ready?"
"Very." I squirmed, desperate to feel him inside me. "Don't tease me, Owen. I can't, I—" The words caught in my throat as he pushed into me. He felt like iron, hard and unyielding. My body burned, vulnerable and hot as I forced myself to breathe through the stretch andsting.
"If you think I have the strength to tease you, you haven't been paying attention," Owen said. "If anyone's the tease here, it'syou."
He rested both hands on my waist, his thumbs massaging my lower back while he inched inside me. Every thrust drew a gasp from my mouth and then a quiet prayer for more. He leaned down when he was fully seated, and brushed his lips over the base of myneck.
Tears sprang to my eyes, not from pain but the emotional impact of opening myself to a man for the first time in years. As if he was dragged under the same overwhelming wave, Owen kissed my neck and shoulders. "Okay?" he asked, his hips moving faster now. "Is thisgood?"
"Yes great please more don't stop," Ibegged.
He kissed me again, and then I sensed him pulling away. "Good," hesaid.
The heel of his palm pressed the base of my neck, his fingers sliding, fisting in my hair. He had me anchored there, my cheek flat on the mattress and the sheets balled in my hands. My lips were parted on an infinite moan as he poundedme.
He was going at me hard, there was no doubt about that, but it was perfect. I didn't know it when I set out on this summer journey, but I needed this. Not a fling, not a rough hookup, but Owen. I needed him to dirty me up, take meapart.
Reaching around, Owen took my length in hand. "I'm there," he said, his words nothing more than a groan. "Need you there,too."
I couldn't put thoughts together right now. All I could manage was a murmur and a nod, and a hard thrust onto his cock. I was full beyond belief, every inch of my skin electrified withsensation.
"For a born-again virgin, you know how to work that ass. Show me," he ordered. "Show me how you like it,baby."
My eyes were barely open, my lips parted, my body slick with sweat. I brought my hand to my erection, wrapping my fingers around Owen's, and showed him what I wanted. "This," I said, the word muffled against the mattress. "Justlike—"
The pressure of our hands, his cock, his body over mine, it hit me at once. I fell apart, came back together, and then fell all over again. I heard him roar and pant, I heard him yell my name like no man had ever yelled it before, and I felt his body go slack against mine. He ran his hands over me, rubbing and squeezing me as he went. I couldn't manage more than the occasional moan or sigh, and I hoped the sloppy, sated grin on my face said itall.
"I'll be right back," Owen said, his lips pressed beneath my ear. "You stay righthere."
"Don't think I can move," Imumbled.
The mattress shifted as he rolled away from me. Then, the floor creaked under his feet, a sudden reminder that I wasn't actually floating on a cloud of warm marshmallows but in this man's seaside cottage, sweaty and used in the best way. And I knew—once again—that I didn't want to be anywhereelse.
Owen returned a few minutes later, a damp cloth in hand. He cleaned me up and fixed the bedding, all while I smiled up athim.
"You look like a Renaissance painting," he said, tossing a pillow at my head. "A slutty Renaissancepainting."
"The best kind," Isaid.
He tugged the sheets up to my waist and slipped in behind me. He said nothing. I wanted him to respond, tell me he liked it when I was a little slutty. I wanted some recognition that he enjoyed teasing me as much as I enjoyed teasing him. I wanted something, anything to confirm that we hadn't made a hugemistake.
