Page 174 of Breakaway Hearts

“Anything,” he says, which I think is an exaggeration, but he looks like he means it.

I kiss him, hard, running my hands over his sculpted abs, resting on his beating heart, then I place both palms out in a silent request for him to stay.

I step away until the back of my knees hit the bed, then I sit, eyes on his as I undo the clasp of my bra.

“I don’t need⁠—”

“I do,” I tell Owen, ever the gentleman. “This is for me.”

“I’m here, whatever you need.” He nods, then keeps his eyes on my face, giving an encouraging smile when I start to doubt myself.

I take a deep breath, then grab under the hem and pull, needing multiple maneuvers to free myself, which is the point in buying the most complicated to remove bras I could find, but it’s definitely not sexy.

My heart is beating fast, and my breath is shallow, but I’m scared more than turned on. Not of Owen, but I’m literally lying back on a bed, tits exposed, while he looks down on me.

Just like that night.

Only Owen doesn’t look hungrily at my boobs. There’s nothing menacing in his demeanor…his eyes are still on my face.

“You are so beautiful, Madison,” he tells me. “You’re strong, an absolute badass, and I love the hell out of you.”

I will myself not to cry at how he knew the perfect thing to say right now.

“I’m trying to be.”

“You are,” he says. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

I smile and nod, grateful he’s here with me, not judging or making me feel broken. I take another deep breath, then hold his stare, unaware I’m biting my bottom lip until he bites his like all he wants to do is bridge the distance and kiss me.

I’m not sure why I think he’ll know what I mean when I nod, especially given the expression on his face, but just when I’m about to explain that I’m not ready for him to touch me yet, it’s his turn to take a breath. He stays rooted to the spot, but his eyes travel down to my breasts, and I see a yearning there, but it doesn’t scare me.

Because I also see the love.

“Come here,” I tell him, barely above a whisper, but he moves instantly, slow but purposeful.

He places a kiss on my stomach, then ever so slowly leaves a trail of them until he stops at the crease between my breasts.

“You can touch me,” I say, though I must sound uncertain, because he kisses my mouth instead, body hovering over mine, and the warmth of him above me slows my heart just as much as the kiss speeds it up.

Owen’s hands move slowly from my stomach, until he finds my breast. He cradles it in his large hand, providing warmth and support, which is exactly what I need to feel comfortable.

It takes me a minute, distracted as I am by his kiss, to realize that while his palm is all comfort, he’s rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of my breast, a gentle caress, but my nipples harden and heat rushes between my thighs.

I involuntarily arch my back, giving him better access. Owen stops the kiss to give my breasts his full attention, and I nod to let him know I’m still good. The shuddering breath I let out is in anticipation, not fear.

He squeezes gently, checking in with me as he goes, then his thumb is circling my nipple, and my nods turn into moans as he repeats the process on the other side. I have to squeeze my thighs together, but I can feel the wetness from nothing more than him touching me.

My nipples have pebbled so hard they ache. Owen takes one in his mouth, licking and sucking, and I finally understand how some women can come from this alone. My hands reach for something to hold on to and settle for the back of his head, careful not to pull too hard on his hair, but I’m gasping.

Owen works one of his hands down to my pussy, which must be dripping, as he slips one finger inside and circles my clit with his thumb. There are way too many feelings happening and I’m not sure I can take this, but before I can decide if I want to ask him to stop, I cry out, the orgasm catching me off-guard as I shudder around his fingers, tears streaming down my face.

“I love you,” Owen says, his mouth on mine while his hand coaxes me through my release.

“I love you,” I repeat, letting him kiss the tears away before I’m reaching for his pants. “I need you inside me,” I explain.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” He smiles, but it doesn’t feel as cocky as it does honest.

His pockets are empty, so he goes to get up, presumably to his bag.