I do. Big mistake. The expression on his face nearly undoes me completely.
My pulse stumbles hard enough to hurt. “Owen.”
His eyes darken immediately at the sound of his name in my mouth. Then he kisses me again while his hand keeps working between my thighs, and I realize with sudden, terrifying clarity that this man is going to absolutely ruin me.
The pressure building low in my stomach turns almost unbearable. Every thrust. Every stroke of Owen’s hand between my thighs. Every sound he makes into my mouth. It all keeps tightening and tightening until I genuinely don’t know how my body is supposed to hold it.
“I can’t…” I gasp.
“I know, baby.”
Baby.
The word hits me hard. My entire body clenches around him hard enough that his head drops briefly to my shoulder with a strangled groan.
“Fuck, Remy. You feel so good wrapped around my cock.”
The sound of my name nearly pushes me over the edge by itself. I cling harder to his shoulders while he thrusts into me faster now, the desk scraping rhythmically across the floor beneath us. Somewhere in the depths of my brain, I vaguely register the horrifying reality that we are absolutely one hundred percent going to get caught someday if we keep this up.
Unfortunately, my survival instincts remain completely offline.
Owen kisses along my cheek, my throat, my mouth again like he can’t decide where he wants to touch me most. Every movement feels desperate now. Not careless. Not selfish.
Needy.
That’s what destroys me emotionally.
The fact that he wants me this much.
His hand tightens slightly against my hip while his thumb circles my clit harder, and my entire body jerks violently in response.
“There,” he says immediately, voice rough with focus. “Right there, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
The praise sends heat crashing straight through me.
I’m done for.
Completely.
The orgasm hits hard and fast, ripping through me so suddenly that I lose the ability to do anything except cling to him while a broken sound tears out of my throat.
Owen groans softly against my mouth the second he feels me come apart around him.
“That’s it,” he murmurs shakily. “Fuck, that’s it.”
My entire body trembles through the aftershocks while he keeps moving inside me, slower now but somehow deeper, trying to stay connected to me for as long as possible.
My fingers curl into my palms. This doesn’t feel casual to him either.
“Wow,” I whisper weakly.
Owen lifts his head enough to look at me, and the expression on his face nearly wrecks me all over again.
He looks overwhelmed. Emotionally overwhelmed. Like watching me come apart did something profound to him internally.
“You’re okay?” he asks immediately.
I stare at him for a second. This giant, emotionally complicated hockey goalie is currently buried inside me, visibly struggling to hold himself together, and his first concern after I just shattered all over him is whether I’m okay.
