He went completely still.
“I have for a long time now. Years, if I’m being honest. Since before I understood what it meant to want someone like this.” Once I started, I couldn’t stop. “And I know it’s complicated, and I know Jax would probably…”
“Fuck it.” The words were barely out of his mouth before he moved.
One second, I was lying against his chest, spilling my heart out like an idiot. The next, I was on my back with Owen braced above me.
“Owen, what are you…”
His mouth crashed into mine with the force of something that had been building for years, all that tension and wanting and denial finally breaking free. His lips were firm, demanding, moving against mine, and my body arched up into his.
I gasped against his mouth, and he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine, sending sparks shooting down my spine. My hands flew up to grip his bare shoulders, and I held on.
“Fuck.” He groaned, his forehead pressing against mine as we both gasped for air. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?”
“Probably not as long as I’ve wanted you to.”
He laughed, breathlessly, and then his mouth was on mine, kissing me again. Slower this time but no less intense, his mouth mapping mine like he was memorizing the shape of me. His thumb traced along my cheekbone, so gentle it made my chest ache.
“I’m going to make so many terrible decisions because of you,” he murmured.
“Is that supposed to be romantic?”
“It’s supposed to be honest.” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and half-lidded. “You make me want to throw logic out the window. You make me want to say fuck it to every reason I’ve ever had for staying away.”
“So say it.”
“I just did.” His thumb traced my bottom lip, swollen from his kisses. “Fuck it. Fuck the distance. Fuck the complications. Fuck everything except this.”
Gripping my jaw, he kissed me again, thrusting his tongue in and out of my mouth with greedy strokes, stealing my breath, my thoughts, my ability to form a single sentence.
One of his hands slid down, skimming over the worn cotton of his shirt that I was wearing. His palm settled over my breast,and even through the fabric, the heat of him was searing. My nipple peaked instantly, aching for his touch, and he groaned into my mouth as his thumb rubbed slow, maddening circles over the taut bud.
“Fuck, Harlow,” he breathed against my lips, breaking the kiss only to trail his mouth down my jaw. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin just below my ear, making me whimper. “You have no idea what you do to me. No idea how many times I’ve pictured this.”
His hand slipped beneath the hem of the shirt, his calloused palm meeting the bare skin of my stomach. He pressed harder, his hand sweeping up my ribs until his fingers brushed against my breast again. This time, there was no barrier.
His skin on mine was electric. He palmed me, his grip firm and possessive, his thumb brushing back and forth over my nipple; every stroke sending a direct line of fire straight to my core.
“So perfect,” he muttered, lowering his head. He took my other nipple into his mouth, sucking hard through the thin cotton. The wet heat, the pull, the scrape of his teeth, it was too much and not enough. I cried out, my back arching off the couch, pressing myself deeper into his mouth. My hands fisted in his hair, holding him there.
I needed more. So fucking much more.
He switched sides, giving the same torturous attention to my other breast, his free hand roaming down my side, over the curve of my hip. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my panties, and my pulse skyrocketed.
“These have to go,” he said, his voice a dark rasp against my damp skin. He pulled, sliding the lace down my thighs, past my knees, until I could kick them off. The cool morning air hit my heated skin, followed immediately by the overwhelming heat of his body as he settled between my legs.
He looked down at me, his eyes blazing. “Look at you.”
I felt exposed beneath him, wearing only his shirt, my thighs spread around his hips. I should have been shy, but I only felt desperate.
He kissed me again, so hard my mind whirled as his hand slid down my stomach. And then lower. His fingertips were teasing me, and my heart rate picked up. And then lower, until he was cupping me.
“So wet already,” he murmured, his lips moving against my throat. He pressed the heel of his hand against me, a slow, grinding rotation, and my eyes rolled back. “Tell me you want this.”
“Yes,” I gasped. “Owen, please.”
“Please what?” His finger slid through my flesh, a slow, slick glide, finding my clit, and making me jolt. He circled it, achingly light. “Tell me what you want.”
