“Yes, there you go, sweetheart. Take what you need.”
“I need you inside me,” she says, and she rises on her knees and positions me at her entrance. Then she locks eyes with me and slowly, so fucking slowly, lowers herself down on me until I’m so impossibly deep. Both of us are wound so tight that neither of us moves, or else we’ll both explode.
When our breathing has slowed, she begins to rock, controlling the pace and the angle and her own pleasure whileI get to watch and feel her slick and tight around me. I place my hands on her thighs and squeeze, silently encouraging her to keep going. Then my hands slide around the curve of her ass to pull her tighter against me.
It feels so damn good.
We both are spiraling up, and I’m ready to follow her over the edge, when she slows her pace again and catches her breath. I can’t help but marvel at all that she is above me and around me.
“The way you’re looking at me right now—” she says, opening her eyes, locking her gaze with mine.
“Is it too much?”
“No,” she leans forward and kisses me, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more seen in my life.”
She rests her head against my forehead, her fingers curling around the back of my neck like she’s anchoring to me, like she wants me to stay. Forever.
Usually, I fall fast and burn out faster. But this…this is steadier. Like settling into something real. She doesn’t need saving. She doesn’t need me to fix a damn thing. She just wants me. And I want her. Maybe—for once—that’s enough.
“Owen, can you—”
“Yeah, I got you.” I move beneath her, taking over the work, but she’s still in control. God, she’s in control. She sits back up, and I reach between our bodies, and she grinds against my knuckles, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.
“Everything about you is perfect,” I say, picking up my pace when I can tell she’s getting close.
“I don’t want to be perfect,” she breathes out just before coming. “I want to be real.”
She unravels and folds over my body, letting out little cries as I drive up into her hard, chasing my own release. We’re almost perfectly timed, like we were made for this. Like we were made for each other.
I pull her tight to my chest, kissing her temple and the line of her shoulder. She’s still wrapped around my body, and I’m still inside her, and I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.
I want to tell her she is perfect, just as she is. I want to rage at her mother, her asshole ex, or anyone else in her life who made her feel like she wasn’t enough or too much, or anything other than exactly who she is. But she doesn’t want perfect.
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“You make me feel like I’m enough,” she whispers into my neck. “I didn’t realize how much I needed that…until you.”
Chapter 13
Liv
I wake surrounded by a cozy nest of crisp sheets and Owen’s arms. It was, hands down, the best sleep of my life, even if there wasn’t much of it. We dozed after that first incredible round and then woke in the dark stillness of the night. Owen’s hands mapped every curve of my naked body, then he retraced his path with his mouth until I unraveled while he watched from the v between my legs.
Now, I want to curl back into his side and drift off again, or, if I’m being honest, I want to crawl down his body and wake him up with my mouth. I checked the bedside clock.Shit. They are expecting me in the RootDown offices soon. I should have gotten more work done yesterday. I can’t skimp today with the launch so close.
Owen stirs and bands his arms around me, tucking me into his big spoon, his erection presses against my bare ass as his sleepy hand comes up to squeeze my breast and he peppers my neck with kisses.
“I have to go,” I whisper, but I also arch back into him.
“Then don’t do that.” His teeth graze my shoulder blade. “Or I’m going to need at least another hour between your thighs.”
His hand trails down between my legs, and it does dangerous things to my ability to think straight. “I can’t.” I reluctantly push away from him and sit up.
“Okay,” he rolls onto his back and smiles at me like I’m already the best part of his day. “I think you accidentally wore my sweatshirt home.”
I look down at my naked breasts. A tiny mouth-shaped bruise blooms like a souvenir from the way he roughly but reverently handled me last night.
“I don’t think I’m wearing a sweatshirt right now.”
