"I'm here," I whisper. "I'm right here."
"Good." He kisses me again, softer this time. "Tell me what you want, Ivy."
The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Don't stop. Please don't stop. Take everything you want. I'm yours. I've always been yours."
Owen goes very still. "Ivy, are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Yes." My voice is shaking, but I force myself to meet his eyes. "I want this. I want you. All of you. Tonight. Now."
"You mean—"
"I want you to be my first. If I'm going to do this, it should be with you. It's always been you in my head anyway."
He closes his eyes, taking a shaky breath. "God, Ivy. You can't just say things like that."
"Why not? You said things like that to me earlier."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because I'm not—" He opens his eyes, and they're blazing. "I want to make this perfect for you. I want to make sure you have the best experience possible. I need you to be sure."
"I'm sure." I am. I've never been surer of anything in my life. "I'm terrified, but I'm sure." I tell him.
"Okay." He takes a breath, then another. "Okay. But we're doing this right. Can I take off your clothes?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He starts with my cardigan, sliding it off my shoulders slowly. It falls to the couch behind me. Then he reaches for the hem of my shirt, just a plain t-shirt, nothing special, and pauses.
"Still okay?"
"Yes."
I raise my arms and let him pull it over my head. Now I'm sitting here in just my jeans and my red bra, thank God, one of the few nice ones I own, and Owen is looking at me like I'm art.
"You're staring," I whisper.
"I'm appreciating." His hands hover over my shoulders, not quite touching. "Can I?"
I nod, and he reaches around to unclasp my bra. It takes him two tries, and under different circumstances I might find that endearing. Right now I'm too nervous to find anything endearing.
The bra falls away, and I fight every instinct I have not to cover myself. I've never been this exposed to anyone. Never let anyone see this much of me. And I'm not small or perky or any of the things women in movies are when they take their clothes off.
But Owen is looking at me like I'm God's gift.
"Perfect," he breathes. "You're fucking perfect."
Then he leans down and takes my nipple in his mouth, and I stop thinking entirely.
The sensation is overwhelming. His tongue, his lips, the gentle suction… It's so much, too much, perfect. I hear myself making sounds I've never made before, loud and uncontrolled, and I slap a hand over my mouth.
Owen pulls back immediately. "Hey, no. Don't do that."
"I'm being too loud—"
"You're perfect. I love the sounds you make." He kisses my chest, then my other breast. "Don't hide from me, Ivy. Let me hear you."
