Chapter 58 George
GEORGE
Back at my apartment, Owen is cooking me dinner, and I am shamelessly watching him as I lean against the edge of the dividing wall.
I know I should be hungry. All I’ve had since we left Vermont is a package of chips and a slushie.
But I am far too distracted by the sight of the man in my kitchen to think about food.
He’s trying dutifully to pretend he doesn’t notice me. Scurrying around, washing vegetables, chopping things. But I’m pretty sure by the extremely focused way he is not looking at me, he is very, very aware that I am blatantly checking him out.
I clear my throat, and the blush that rises on the back of his neck confirms my suspicions. It is also enough to draw me to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and nuzzling against the warmth of the skin at his nape.
“When I said you didn’t have to help, I didn’t mean you should actively interfere with the cooking process.” His voice is teasing and low.
“Mmm, can’t help it.”
He tips his head back, resting it against my shoulder. “Doesn’t seem like you’re trying too hard.”
“In my own defense,” I slip under his arm, placing myself between him and the counter, his arms caging me in. “I don’t want to.”
Owen leans in, brushing his lips against mine. I bring my hands up, into his hair. He hums, pressing into me, pinning me against the counter.
After a minute or two of this, he reaches out and shuts off the faucet I was only dimly aware was running.
“Executive decision,” he says, trailing kisses along my ear and down my jawline. “Dinner can wait.”
“Good choice,” I take him by the hand and step backwards toward the bedroom, pulling him along with me. “Step into my boudoir.”
“Wow, the boudoir on a first date?” He smiles, then carefully removes my glasses, setting them on the nightstand before he pulls his sweater and my shirt off me for the second time today.
“Does this really count as only the first date, though?” I ask as he slides my glasses back onto me, and I get to work removing his clothes.
“Maybe not? Miss Matched might count.”
“Not the walking tour of New York?”
He bends to nip at my jawline. “Mmm, maybe. Maybe we need to do that again. Together.”
I’m momentarily distracted by the idea of all the places I can take Owen and things we can do if we’re actually in the same place.
“Oh! Have you seen the High Line? I think you would love the High Line. Plus, there’s this great Vietnamese restaurant not too far from the northern end—”
He’s laughing at me. Silently, but he’s shaking as he buries his face in the spot where my shoulder meets my neck.
“Hey!” I protest, but now I’m laughing too.
He pulls back to look at me. “George. I definitely want to do all those things. And there are a few places in Vermont I’d love to show you whenever you can make the time to spend a couple days up there. But right now, I would really like to continue this.”
The man makes a very compelling point. He hooks a finger into the waistband of my pants and leads me to the bed.
The mattress dips under our weight. Our mouths meet again, limbs tangling as we finish undressing each other without breaking the kiss.
When our remaining clothes are discarded on the floor, Owen presses his lips in a torturously slow, deliberate trail down my body.
I reach down and lift his chin to stop him.
“Hey.”
He looks up at me, pupils blown, breathless. I brush his hair back, fingers combing through it. “My turn.”
His brows knit together. “But—”
I take the opportunity to slip out from under him, rolling him onto his back. I lean down and press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I promise you, I will let you. But… first I want to take care of you.”
He looks like he’s going to protest. But I slide my hand down his body, across his hip, along the inside of his thigh, keeping my eyes trained on his.
And I see the moment he acquiesces. I can’t imagine how this man could ever have become convinced he doesn’t deserve to be treated like he’s special, but I think I’m going to make it my new life’s mission to make sure he knows just how much he’s worth.
I dip my head and slowly begin taking him apart. I take him into my mouth, teeth scraping gently down his length. His head falls back against the pillow. I pull back, swirling my tongue, and he lets out a little sound. I take him in again, and he gasps, angling his hips to give me better access.
It’s quiet here. Just us and the sounds of our breathing, our heartbeats. He lifts his head slightly to look at me. I can’t help it, I slide back up to catch his lips with mine again.
I pull away, breathless.
“Just a minute,” I say, before retrieving a little bottle from the bedside table. I hold it up, raising a brow in question. He nods, dropping his head back and letting out a sinful groan that goes straight to my crotch.
I nestle back down between his legs. His fingers slide into my hair. I take him in again, slide my lips around him, a slick finger teasing, then pushing inside him. His hips buck.
“Oh, God, George,” he breathes.
All I manage is a moan in response. I keep up my rhythm, quicken my pace. He whimpers, almost senseless now. I crook my finger, and search until I find the spot that makes him arch up. His fingers tighten in my hair.
His breathing grows ragged, and I know he’s close. I flatten my free hand against the warmth of his skin. I look up and see he’s watching me with something like awe. I lock my eyes on his, and it’s just him and me, together, here. Finally. He cascades over the edge.
As he settles, I pull back, bringing myself up to sit on my heels, but he chases me, taking my lips with his, pulling me against him.
“Mmmm,” is all he manages. Then, “now you,” as he tries to maneuver me onto my back. But I’m too close. Way too close.
“No, I…” I pant. But I can’t form words. Instead, I take his hand and bring it to where I need it, wrapping mine over his.
The skin of his palm is rough and warm and it takes embarrassingly little. But pleasure shoots through me and then bliss, burning white hot and then slowly, slowly, slowly fading to embers. And then I’m grinning against his shoulder. “Jesus.”
He runs a hand along my jaw, planting a kiss on my ear. Soft, gentle, familiar. “Next time,” he whispers.
I lean into him, his steadiness, his warmth.
“Next time.”