Page 113 of Stay Scared

I pull him closer.

He comes hard enough that his chest meets mine, but his hands stay at his sides.

Every line of him is controlled around one decision: he takes only what I put within reach.

I rise onto my toes and brush my mouth across his; Owen lets me pull back without following. His restraint irritates me almost as much as it turns me on. I kiss him again and bite his lower lip before retreating. A rough sound leaves him.

His hand twitches near my hip. I catch his wrist. Owen glances down once before I drag his palm to my waist. His fingers close hard, pulling me flush against him. Nothing about what he does once I put him there is hesitant.

His other hand catches my opposite hip, and when I kiss him again, Owen answers like he has been holding his mouth shut for months.

His teeth catch my lip. His hands tighten around my waist while I fist the front of his shirt.

The server desk hits the back of his thigh. He turns us.

My hip strikes the edge instead, but Owen stops before his weight pins me against it.

I hook one leg around his.

“Do not start pretending you’re gentle.”

His eyes darken. “I have never pretended that.”

“Then stop handling me like glass.”

His hand slides from my waist to my back and pulls me against him hard enough to make the desk bite into my hip.

Better is written all over my body before I have to say it.

I kiss him again. The camera catches us from the side, I notice, and I angle my body toward it.

Owen feels the change; his mouth leaves mine and catches the skin below my jaw.

I grab his hair and pull him back. “Watch me.”

His eyes lift. I take his hand from my back and drag it beneath the loosened bra strap.

His palm closes over me through the fabric. The pressure is immediate and certain, and his thumb moves once.

My breath breaks against his mouth.

Owen watches my face. When his thumb drags across me again, harder this time, my back arches.

A low sound leaves him. I kiss him before he can turn it into words.

His hand stays exactly where I put it, but the touch is his now, firm and hungry enough that I feel it in every flex of his fingers.

I catch his other wrist and pull it down.

My jeans stop his hand.

I unbutton them myself, lower the zipper, and push his hand inside as I pull my jeans off completely. Owen’s mouth parts as control finally breaks from his face.

My underwear remains between his fingers and me when his palm settles over me.

I move against it. His breathing turns rough as he removes them.

“More.”