She nods, sliding her hands up my chest to balance on me before leaning in and pressing our mouths together. My hand moves from her jaw to her nape as she parts her lips slightly, letting me deepen the kiss. She tastes like ice cream, bourbon, and possibility. But I pull away before I get myself into trouble I can’t come back from.
“Andy is out for the night, dog sitting in Pac Heights,” she says, fingering my tie, her breathing a little ragged.
Too late.
Chapter 9
Liv
I tug Owen through my door and am thrilled when he pushes me up against it.
“Liv,” he breathes into my neck, his hands already skating down my body, over my curves.Thank god.I’ve never had to wonder if a guy was into me—until tonight. The way Owen’s hand grazed my back protectively, the glint in his eye, the slow trace of his thumb over mine at the gala—it all felt real. But I’ve also never pretended to date someone before, and maybe Owen’s just a fantastic actor.
I hadn’t wanted our night to end, but I was ready to say goodnight at my door, thank him for his service, and never see him again…until he asked to kiss me like a goddamn cinnamon roll.
Now his mouth is consuming mine, soft and hungry. His hand drags up to cup my breast, and my nipples tighten under the thin fabric of my dress. He squeezes just hard enough to make me gasp out his name.
“Owen.”
“Is this okay?” he asks as his mouth moves down the column of my throat. He shoves his jacket off my shoulders into a heapon the floor.
“Please,” I tip my head back to give him access, and his teeth skim across my collarbone, sending a shudder across my skin.
Okay, not a cinnamon roll.
My hands tangle in his hair, and I pull his mouth back to mine, wanting to taste the bourbon on his tongue, wanting to feel more of his body pressed into mine, wanting more. I catch his lip with my teeth, and his groan slides down my throat.
Without breaking our kiss, he bunches my dress up my thighs, and he pushes his hips into me, locking me between the door and his erection.
“Yes,” I gasp into his kiss, my hands working between us to untuck his shirt. He leans back just enough to let me, his fingers gripping the sides of my bare thighs.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, his green eyes—now a deep emerald—locking on mine. My gaze flicks down my body, just for a moment, before traveling back up to find his desire unmistakable.
“Goddamnit, Liv,” he growls. “Hold this.” He thrusts the rumpled fabric of my dress into my hands. I clutch the burgundy silk, lifting it a little higher, exposing my black lace underwear like a vintage can-can dancer.
“Goddamnit,” he repeats under his breath and drops to his knees.
I stay frozen, holding my dress up, my heart hammering against my ribs. He sits back on his heels, hands on his thighs, his hooded eyes gazing up at me, pupils so blown they’re nearly black.
“Lean back,” he instructs, and I do. I rest my back against the door, but I can’t take my eyes off his face. “You are mesmerizing,” he says, awed.
“Owen…” My voice is hoarse. I’m not sure what I want to ask for, or maybe I am.
“Let me taste you.” he says, low, steady, and full of heat. It doesn’t sound like a question. It lands like a command, sending a shiver down my spine. And god, I want to obey. I nod. He leans forward and cups my hips, kissing the skin just below my belly button. “Use your words, Liv,” he whispers into my skin.Fuck.
“I want to feel your mouth on me.”
He kisses my pubic bone over the top of my underwear, about three inches higher than I want him. “Good girl,” he praises, and my legs almost give out. His chuckle vibrates my skin as he moves his kisses to the top of my thighs and slides his hands around to the curve of my ass, kneading the flesh. He nips at the skin of my hip bones, and I want to thread my fingers in his hair and direct him where I want him, but I can’t because I’m still holding my dress, and I somehow think that was by design. I also can’t see what he’s doing, but his mouth is warm against the crease of my hip before he presses a kiss between my thighs. I let out a moan.
Owen hooks his fingers into my underwear and slides them down my body, using his hand on my hip to help me step out of them. Before I put my second foot down, he guides my leg over his shoulder. I feel a little like a baby deer, perched on one heel-clad foot, but Owen’s hand on my hip and my weight balanced on his shoulder stabilize me.
“Gorgeous,” he murmurs from under my dress before his tongue presses flat against my slit, and my whole body pulls tight.
“Oh, god,” I scream out as Owen sucks my clit into his mouth and I’m relieved that apartment 1A is vacant because there is no way the entire complex didn’t just hear me.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” Owen coaxes, between flutterings of his tongue and nips of his teeth. I let one hand drop my dress, and it cascades over his shoulder, but he doesn’t break his rhythmic devouring of my clit, sucking and twirling and breaching my entrance.
“Owen, oh god,” I say between breathy gasps, and he plunges two fingers inside with no warning, rough and perfect. And I come apart. My orgasm blindsides me, and my whole body convulses. He continues to lick and nip between my legs until I’m boneless.
