“You okay?” he asks hoarsely.
“Yes.”
His eyes lift to mine slowly. So much trust sits there naked and visible that my throat tightens around it. Bracing my hands against his shoulders, I begin moving carefully. The first slow roll of my hips pulls a strangled sound out of Owen immediately.
“That’s…” He visibly struggles for words. “Fuuuuuck.”
A laugh slips out of me softly. “You’re really articulate during sex.”
“Sorry, my brain stopped functioning ten minutes ago.”
I smile helplessly and move again, slower this time, feeling the drag of his cock deep inside me. The angle makes my entire body shiver.
“There?” he asks, already shifting his grip to help guide my hips.
The attention to my reactions feels almost unbearably intimate.
“Yes,” I whisper.
His eyes darken instantly at the sound of that word. Then his hands tighten gently on my waist while he helps me ride him slower, deeper. And the entire time, he never breaks eye contact.
The room slowly fills with the soft sounds of us losing control together. Skin against skin. The quiet creak of the couch beneath us.
Owen’s hands stay locked on my hips while I ride him, guiding me gently whenever my rhythm falters. Every thrust drags another rough sound out of him, and the effect it has on me is almost embarrassing.
I love this version of him. Just Owen, flushed and emotional beneath me, looking at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever touched.
His head tips back when I grind down harder against him, exposing the strong line of his throat. “Fuck.”
Heat floods low through my stomach instantly. Leaning forward, I kiss along his neck while his grip flexes harder against my hips. The movement shifts the angle between us enough that my clit drags perfectly against the base of his cock.
My entire body jolts. “Owen.”
His eyes snap back to my face immediately. “There?” he asks roughly.
I nod quickly, already struggling to think clearly. “Again, please.”
The corner of his mouth pulls slightly upward. “C’mere.”
Before I can process the command, he wraps one arm tightly around my waist and shifts us suddenly. A startled laughescapes me as my back hits the couch cushions and Owen settles over me between my thighs without breaking contact.
“Show-off,” I accuse.
His forehead drops briefly against mine while he smiles. “Goalie core strength. Very important.”
I laugh again right before he thrusts deep enough to completely erase the ability from my body. “Oh, my God.”
“That’s my girl,” he says softly, like hearing that sound matters to him.
The new angle is devastating. Owen braces himself carefully over me, one massive hand planted beside my head while the other slides beneath my thigh to hold me open for him.
The intimacy of that almost overwhelms me because being opened up by someone else doesn’t make me feel vulnerable. It makes me feel cherished. Every thrust lands deep now, controlled and deliberate.
“You feel so good,” he says hoarsely. “Damn, Remy. I’m so happy that you’re my girl.”
The raw sincerity in his voice sends heat spiraling straight through me. I wrap my legs tighter around his waist and pull him down into a kiss. Owen groans softly into my mouth, losing the careful rhythm for a second before catching himself again.
“You’re trying to kill me,” he says.
