25. Delia
My body quivered in anticipation with that proclamation, of him giving himself fully to me before he’d ever even had me, and something deep inside my heart seemed to settle.
This man was endgame for me. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name.
In response, I arched into him, feeling his hard length press against my stomach, his hands anchoring at my waist. His words never failed to turn me into a pile of mush, and I wanted to see what else he could do with that mouth.
“Then give me all you’ve got, QB.”
His lips captured mine in an instant, his tongue sweeping in, exploring. I met him with equal fervor, driving my fingers into his hair and knocking his hat from his head. He pulled away, only far enough to press kisses to my cheeks, to nibble at my jaw and lick a path down my throat. His stubble deliciously scraped my skin.
And then, he was on his knee before me—only one, like dropping down after receiving the snap in victory formation at the end of a football game.
“This little fucking skirt,” Owen said, rubbing the hem between his fingers. “Every time you wear it, I go insane.”
I stilled at the sense of deja vu that washed over me, and though I tried to recover quickly, Owen was too perceptive to have missed it.
“What’s wrong?”
“He—” I croaked, then swallowed and tried again. “He said something similar to me once…about this exact skirt.”
Why hadn’t I gotten rid of it? Burned the damn thing to ash? The skirt belonged to college Delia and all the shit she’d dealt with. I’d ruined a good thing by wearing it again.
Owen was on his feet in a flash, palms pressed to my cheeks gently, his ocean depths boring straight into my soul when our gazes collided. “I’m not him, Whiskey. I want you for so much more than sex. We’ll set this fucking skirt on fire together if that’s what you want. Do you understand me?”
I nodded. The way he looked at me, with such hope, respect, and admiration, did wonders to replace those old, painful memories with these fresh, happier ones.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, I understand. I know this is different. That this is more.”
Owen grinned. “It’s everything , Whiskey. Now sit back and relax. I’m going to take care of you. Make you forget every other man but me.”
Anticipation built along my skin as he once again knelt and immediately flipped my skirt up around my waist.
And groaned .
“No panties?”
“Easier access,” I smirked.
“You are…” Owen’s soft exhale fanned across my pussy, sparking heat in my core. “...my fucking dream girl come to life.”
“And you’re the man I always wanted for myself but never thought I could have.”
Owen only stared at me in wonder for long moments, as if stunned he was here with me. I grinned at him, one of those big, dopey things, silently telling him the feeling was mutual.
“I’ve thought about this pussy far too much,” he said at last, clearing his throat and returning his attention between my thighs. “About tasting it, fucking it with my fingers, about how good it would feel wrapped around my cock. I’ve gotten myself off with images of you in mind, groaning your name to my empty house, wishing you were there. I want to destroy this pretty little cunt, Delia. Until you’re begging me to stop.”
“You filthy man.”
At last, he touched me, swiping a finger through my slit, collecting my desire on the tip of his finger. “And you’re a dirty girl,” he said. “Already fucking dripping for me. But don’t worry, Whiskey”—he stared up at me, those bright blue eyes now stormy, pupils blown wide—“I clean up my messes.”
And then he stuffed his finger into his mouth, moaning around it as he licked the digit clean. Like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
I reached out and cupped his face, the stubble on his cheeks like sandpaper against my palms. God, I wanted to feel that on the delicate skin of my inner thighs, rubbing them and my smooth pussy raw as he feasted on me.
“Owen, you have to touch me now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and dove in.
He started with one long drag of his flattened tongue from the smooth skin below my entrance all the way to my clit, and I bucked against his face. It had been so long since I’d let a man touch me like this, and the fact that it was Owen ? My brain chemistry was forever altered from that one lick.
He toyed with me, pressing kisses to my lips, running his tongue along the creases of my thighs, but never quite putting his mouth where I needed him. My hands dove into his hair, attempting to direct him, but the man was a brick wall and easily resisted.
“Patience, baby.”
Baby . Fuck, I shouldn’t love that so much. “Say it again.”
“You like that, huh, baby ?” he asked against the skin of my thigh, and his words zinged through my entire body.
Such a small word. Four letters. Two syllables. But it felt like so much more. Like a claiming.
Without warning, Owen dove in, giving me another long drag of his tongue that ended with him sealing his mouth around my clit. I moaned loudly, falling back onto my elbows on the felt of the pool table, and he chuckled into my flesh, the rumble delivering a delicious friction to that bundle of nerves. While his lips and little scrapes of his teeth worked me over, he raised his hand and dipped a finger into my entrance, only up to the first knuckle. I squirmed closer, needing to be filled by him. Wanting him to make good on his promises to fuck me with his hand. To ruin me.
“More. ”
“Touch yourself,” he said, pulling away. “Show me how you make yourself feel good.”
“Why?”
“So I know what to do.”
I sat up and stared him down. “Aren’t quarterbacks supposed to be good with their hands?”
“I’m amazing with my hands, Whiskey. Don’t get it twisted. But there’s nothing more important to me than your pleasure, and I don’t want to do anything you don’t like.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
Tentatively, I slid my hand down my body, lightly brushing my fingers over my pussy. If such a thing were possible, his eyes darkened further, like the ocean in the throes of a hurricane. That muscle in his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together.
I spread myself open with two fingers, then used those same digits to slowly circle my clit.
“Tell me how it feels.”
“Incredible,” I answered honestly. I was so keyed up it wouldn’t take much to set me off. “I like to start slow. To toy and tease myself. It makes me come that much harder when I finally let go.”
“My girl likes edging,” Owen said. “Noted.”
I increased the pressure a touch, and a moan fell from my lips, my head dropping back and eyes closing.
“I don’t think so,” Owen said, and my head snapped up. “Eyes on me.”
“Only if you touch me.”
“Fuck yes,” he said, not even taking a beat to think about it. “I’m gonna fuck you with my hand while you pleasure that pretty pink clit. How does that sound?”
“Yes please,” I whimpered, bearing down harder.
Owen moved forward and once again slipped a single digit into my entrance. He exhaled softly as I involuntarily clenched around the intrusion, sending shivers skittering across my skin.
“How many fingers? Two? Three?”
“Three,” I breathed, desperate for him to fill me.
Owen chuckled. “Needy, filthy little girl,” he said. “We’ll start with two and work our way up.”
Making good on his promise, he slid two fingers inside me, and I underestimated exactly how big his hands were. I’d never felt more full in my life. The stretch stung briefly before soothing into pleasure that zinged up my spine. My own hand faltered as he slowly pumped in and out of me, his eyes locked on that spot where we connected.
“We had a deal,” he growled, and I hastily started moving my fingers over my clit again. My arm jerked, barely able to focus as he fucked me.
There was no finesse left in my movements when Owen finally took pity on me and lifted his other hand, brushing mine out of the way to spread me open himself. As his fingers picked up speed, he sealed his mouth around my clit. I’d already been hovering on the edge, the pressure in my core a slow build.
But Owen was done fucking around.
That wave stacked higher and higher as his hand pumped faster, as his tongue flicked over me, fluttering in a cadence designed to wring maximum pleasure.
I broke apart seconds later, my pussy pulsing around his fingers, my arms shaking violently as I struggled to hold myself upright. The wave crashed and crashed, pulling me under repeatedly. When I was sure it would recede, Owen suckled me, twisting his fingers and sending me under again.
When I finally floated back to the surface, my chest was heaving, and Owen was grinning wickedly at me, all satisfied arrogance.
Then again, he had every right to be.
“Holy fuck,” I breathed, all other words having completely deserted me, my mind wiped blank.
I felt the loss immediately when he withdrew his fingers, and I watched with rapt attention as he brought his hand to his mouth and individually licked them clean.
“My new favorite flavor,” he said through a grin.
“Come here.” I grabbed him by his collar and he let me pull him to his feet until he was bent over me. I craned my neck and he met me halfway, our mouths crashing together. My taste on his lips and tongue was intoxicating, and I wanted to make him feel even a fraction of the pleasure he’d given me.
I reached for the fly of his jeans, but he stopped me .
“What’re you doing?”
“I want to make you feel good,” I said against his mouth, making another grab for his waistband.
“No,” he said, firmly but gently pulling my hands away.
I reared back at that. “No?” I said with a brow quirked. “Owen, you’re hard as a statue.” I palmed him through his pants for emphasis, and he hissed through his teeth. “Let me take care of you.”
“Later,” he breathed, though I could tell his control was barely leashed.
“Later?” I repeated dumbly.
“We have time, Whiskey,” he said, tapping his watch. “Remember what you said in New York?”
Realization dawned, and I grinned. “ Days in bed.”
“ Days ,” he confirmed. “So first, we’re going to go somewhere more private, and then maybe I’ll let you have your wicked way with me.”
Anchoring a hand at the back of his neck, fingers filtering through the strands of his hair, I brought his mouth to mine again. “Lead the way, QB.”