I force myself to look at her face.
“Tell me if I’m moving too fast,” I say quietly.
Her expression shifts immediately. Softer. Warmer. Like that sentence meant something to her.
“You’re not,” she whispers.
I nod once, even though my pulse is hammering hard enough to make my hands tremble again.
Then I sink slowly to my knees in front of her.
The look on Remy’s face almost undoes me completely.
It’s softer than surprise, making my chest feel too tight for my ribs.
“Owen,” she says quietly.
I slide my hands up the backs of her thighs, slow enough that she can stop me at any point. I think that’s part of why I’m shaking so hard. Not because I don’t know what I’m doing, but because I do, and for some reason, this feels less like hooking up and more like standing on the edge of something that could actually matter.
That thought should scare me more than it does.
“You’re sure?” I ask.
Remy nods immediately, but I watch her face for another second anyway. I’d stop the second she looked uncertain. Hell, I’d probably stop if she frowned too hard.
That realization hits me somewhere deep and embarrassing.
Her fingers drift into my hair again while I press slow kisses along the inside of her thigh. The muscles under my hands twitch every time my mouth touches her skin, and I swear to God I could stay here for hours just learning how she reacts to things.
She smells good.
Not perfume-good. Not fake.
Warm skin and coffee and woman.
My mouth waters so hard it’s almost humiliating.
“Damn,” I say against her thigh before I can stop myself.
Remy lets out a shaky laugh. “That doesn’t exactly sound controlled.”
“I’m trying my best here.”
“You’re doing great.”
The praise punches straight through me.
Exhaling hard through my nose, I tighten my grip on her legs before I do something truly pathetic and grind against the kitchen floor for relief.
Fuck.
I kiss higher, slower this time, as she tries to hold onto some version of herself that still remembers how to form coherent thoughts.
That’s not going to last much longer.
My thumbs slide under the hem of her skirt, pushing it up inch by inch until she sucks in a breath. Remy’s panties are lace. Pale blue. Tiny little bow in the center.
I stare for a second too long.
