Page 87 of Breakaway Hearts

“Now, where were we?”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Madison

Reverse jersey chaser

Once.

That’s how many times I had to pull Owen’s hands away from my boobs, telling him I’m not really a fan of that, before he got the message and stopped. If I had a kink, it would be consent, and the asshole delivers.

I’m aware the only asshole thing I have on him is that he’s proving all my expectations of him wrong, but it’s fucking annoying. I don’t trust it. Because I want to. And that’s terrifying.

Owen kisses my neck while pumping into me from behind, and I’m close, so close, but then he turns me around so I’m facing him, and I freeze.

“Is this okay?” he asks, out of breath, lifting me up by my thighs.

He might have been waiting for confirmation before proceeding, not that I explicitly told him I didn’t want to face him, but I’ve been sticking with whatever is least likely to foster feelings, to keep this an illicit affair rather than a relationship. He might have been waiting, but my legs wrap around him of their own accord, and he fills me so perfectly that even though I want to say, ‘No, this isn’t fucking okay, I want as much distance between us as I can get’…it is. The only thing I hate is how much I don’t hate it.

I might like him. As in like him like him.

Fuck.

I hate that I feel safe with him. I hate that instead of his touch making my skin crawl or being something I tolerate, I crave it. Even at my most self-destructive, I’d go out once a week, tops, and skipping weeks was fine. I’ve never had an appetite; it was just a stress reliever when I needed to blow off steam. But I leave Owen and have to stop myself from the urge to run back.

When I’m close but can’t get past that cliff, Owen adds his fingers to the mix, circling my clit the way he knows I like it.

“Come for me Mads,” he whispers into the crook of my neck.

And I fucking do.

“Good girl.” He smiles, and I want to slap him, especially when my pussy clenching harder around him tells me I like it, but he swallows my screams with a kiss. It’s the only time I don’t pull away and give him my neck or push him down so I don’t have to face the fact that I don’t mind kissing him. That he’s out of breath and I’m in no way providing the oxygen he needs, but I’m dreading the moment he pulls away to remedy that, because I’m no longer at risk of revealing us, and kissing just to taste someone’s lips is romantic shit.

“Coconut.” Owen sighs once his breathing is back to normal after our orgasms.

I roll my eyes and shake my head, but I’m aware I opened a new tube of lip gloss this morning, choosing a flavored one instead of the Vaseline I’ve been using.

“Was this your attempt at chocolate?” I ask, wiping a spot on his cheek before I can think better of it. His lips tasted like Nutella.

“Churros before rushing over,” he admits. “Are you coming to the game tonight?”

“Maybe.” I shrug, which he probably thinks is me playing hard to get, but until they release the other team’s lineup, I legitimately don’t know. I’ve marked off when we play Berwick, but there are a lot of players I do not want to be in the same room with, and I don’t know where everyone ended up.

“Can I see you after?” Owen tries.

“Maybe.”

Twice in one day is a bit much, no?

Even though I’m already raring to go again.

“A less confident guy would think you didn’t really like me,” he points out.

“I never said I did.”

I want to be dismissive, so he doesn’t get the wrong idea, but even as he brings his hand to his heart like I’ve wounded him, he sees something in my face that has him giving me a sad smile instead of teasing me about it.

He has to leave so he won’t be late for practice, but there are no mirrors in here, so he looks down at me and fixes my hair, lingering slightly longer than necessary to make sure I don’t look recently fucked, fingers brushing against my skin in the process, but I can’t find it in me to stop him.