The look on his face makes my chest ache a little. He’s not used to being cared for this way, and it genuinely means something to him.
I lean down and kiss him slowly, letting my fingers slide through his hair while his hands spread wider against my hips. He kisses me back immediately, deep and warm and slightly unsteady already.
“You don’t have to do anything for me,” he says against my mouth.
“I know.”
I kiss along his jaw slowly, feeling the rough scrape of stubble against my lips while Owen’s breathing starts to deepen beneath me. My hands slide down his chest, over hard muscle warm from the game, until I hook my fingers beneath the waistband of his sweats.
His stomach tightens immediately.
“Remy,” he says quietly.
There’s a warning in his voice, or maybe vulnerability. Probably both.
I look up at him as I slowly tug the fabric downward. “What?”
His eyes search my face for a second, like he’s trying to make sure I really want this. God. The fact that he still checks destroys me. How can he not know?
“You sure?” he asks softly.
Instead of answering verbally, I sink slowly to my knees between his legs.
The sound that leaves him is almost painfully rough. “Damn.”
Heat floods low through my stomach at the reaction. Because Owen is expressive in the best possible way. Every feeling moves across his face openly when he stops trying to hide it. Desire. Emotion. Vulnerability. It all lives right there where I can see it. And right now, he looks undone before I’ve even put my mouth on him.
I pull his cock free slowly, and my mouth actually waters a little at the sight of him. Thick and hard and flushed at the tip, already leaking slightly.
Owen’s head falls back briefly against the couch. “Remy,” he says again, this time sounding almost helpless.
I wrap my hand around him gently and stroke once, and his entire body jolts. Okay. That’s useful information. A tiny smile pulls at my mouth before I lean in and press a soft kiss below the head of his cock.
“That’s my emotionally functional goalie,” I say teasingly.
He lets out a wrecked sound that makes me smile against his skin.
“Seriously, though.” I stroke him slowly again. “I’m proud of you, Owen. It makes me want to do things to you. All the things.”
Owen curses under his breath immediately. “Fuck.”
The rawness in his voice sends heat straight between my thighs. I look up at him again before taking him slowly into my mouth. The second my lips close around him, his hand flies to the couch cushion hard enough to wrinkle the fabric beneath his grip.
“Oh, my God.”
The sound that comes out of him is completely unfiltered, like he forgot how to hide what he’s feeling. I nearly moan around him from how much I like the sound. Taking him deeper gradually, I let my tongue slide along the underside while my hand strokes what I can’t fit into my mouth. Owen’s breathinggrows rougher with every movement, his chest rising and falling hard beneath his shirt.
“You look so hot like this,” I say before taking him back into my mouth. “I love your cock, Owen.”
The compliment absolutely ruins him. His head tips back fully now, throat exposed, muscles tight with restraint.
“Jesus Christ, Remy,” he says hoarsely. “You can’t just say shit like that while doing this.”
I smile slightly against him and hollow my cheeks deliberately. The broken sound that tears out of him goes straight to my pussy. Now I understand why Owen likes taking care of me so much. There’s something incredibly intimate about watching someone unravel safely beneath your hands. About knowing they trust you enough to let go.
Owen’s hand slides uncertainly into my hair before immediately stilling there. The tenderness of it nearly undoes me emotionally.
I pull back enough to breathe and stroke him slowly while looking up at him through my lashes. “You okay?”
