Honestly? Same.
For one suspended second, neither of us moves.
Owen stays buried inside me while his hands grip my hips. The entire room feels strangely still around us. The buzzing fluorescent lights. The distant hum of arena equipment somewhere down the hallway. My own pulse roaring in my ears.
Everything narrows down to him.
To this.
Then Owen kisses me again, and whatever fragile thread of composure I had left snaps clean in half.
He moves slowly at first, drawing almost all the way out before pushing back into me with a deep, deliberate thrust that makes my knees buckle.
The sound that leaves him in response is completely wrecked. His forehead presses against mine while he thrusts into me again, harder this time, and the desk shifts beneath me with a soft scrape across the floor.
“You feel so fucking good,” he says hoarsely.
The raw honesty in his voice sends heat spiraling low through my stomach. Just Owen sounding genuinely overwhelmed by me.
My fingers tighten in his hair as his rhythm starts to build. Every thrust drags another helpless sound out of me, and the effect it has on him is immediate. His breathing roughens further. His grip flexes against my hips hard enough to make me gasp.
“There,” he says instantly. “Right there?”
At my quick nod, a slow, almost disbelieving smile flashes across his face before he does it again.
And again.
The angle punches straight through me every time.
“Owen—”
“I know.” His voice breaks slightly. “Fuck, I know.”
Something about the fact that he sounds just as overwhelmed as I feel sends another wave of heat crashing through me. Most men try so hard to seem controlled during sex. Owen reacts like he physically cannot hide what I’m doing to him.
It’s unbelievably intimate.
I pull him closer by the neck, kissing him hard enough to interrupt whatever thought he was trying to form next. He groans into my mouth immediately, thrusting deeper in response, and the sudden force of it pulls a sharp cry out of me.
His eyes close briefly. “Do that again.”
I genuinely don’t know what I did. Apparently, my body figures it out anyway because my hips roll against his instinctively on the next thrust, and Owen completely loses the rhythm for a second.
A rough sound tears out of him. “Oh, that’s mean.”
I laugh softly despite the fact that I’m rapidly losing all motor function. “You’ll survive.”
“Debatable.”
Damn, I’m in so much trouble with him. The realization lands hard right as his hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit with terrifying precision.
My entire body jolts. “Owen.”
“I know,” he says again immediately, like he can already feel exactly what I need. “I’ve got you.”
That truth lands deep enough to scare me a little. He does have me. His forehead drops to mine again while he thrusts into me harder now, rougher than before. Every movement feels intentional. Focused entirely on me. On my reactions. On the sounds he keeps pulling out of my throat like he’s addicted to them.
“Look at me,” he says softly.
