Chapter Sixteen #2
Something hot flashes across his face at that. Relief mixed with hunger mixed with something almost emotional enough to scare me. Then his hands slide beneath my blouse. The first touch of his palms against my bare skin pulls a sharp breath out of me. He freezes instantly.
“Too much?”
The care in his tone hits somewhere deep and dangerous.
“No,” I whisper quickly. “No, I just—” My brain completely blanks when his thumbs stroke lightly across my waist. “Oh, my God.”
A rough laugh escapes him. “Yeah. That’s kind of where I’m at, too.”
I kiss him again before he can say anything else unbearably sincere, because if this man keeps looking at me like I matter, I’m going to make some truly life-altering decisions.
Owen kisses me like he’s trying very hard not to lose his mind.
Unfortunately for both of us, I’m not particularly interested in helping him keep it.
My hands slide under the hem of his training shirt, palms flattening against warm skin and hard muscle, and the second I touch him directly, he sucks in a sharp breath against my mouth.
There it is again.
That complete lack of ego.
Most men want to seem unaffected. Controlled. Skilled. Owen reacts to me like his body forgot how to manipulate.
It’s insanely hot.
I push his shirt higher, and he breaks the kiss long enough to drag it over his head before tossing it somewhere behind him without looking. My brain short-circuits for a second at the sight of him.
Broad shoulders. Defined chest. Scars scattered across hard muscle like faded souvenirs from years on the ice.
He’s huge up close. Not in a threatening way.
In a way that makes me abruptly, viscerally aware of being a woman standing alone in an office with a very large hockey player who looks at me like I’m his favorite thing on earth.
The wildest part?
I trust him completely.
That realization hits me right as Owen’s hands settle under my thighs.
“Jump,” he says softly.
I do.
Apparently, without hesitation, because his expression flickers briefly when my legs wrap around his waist immediately. Like he felt the trust, too.
His mouth crashes into mine as he lifts me effortlessly onto the desk, papers and folders shoving aside beneath me. Metal clatters to the floor behind us.
Probably important, but not my problem right now. Owen stands between my knees, breathing hard enough that I can feel it against my chest while his hands slide up my thighs beneath my skirt.
“You’re killing me,” he says against my mouth.
The honesty in it sends heat straight through me.
I tug him closer by the waistband of his athletic shorts until his cock presses firmly between my legs. The friction pulls a helpless sound out of both of us at the same time.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper.
His forehead drops briefly to my shoulder like he’s trying to regain control. “You have no idea how hard today was.”
My hands slide into his hair automatically. “You think you had a hard day?”
He laughs once against my skin. “Fair point.”
Then his fingers brush beneath the edge of my panties, and every coherent thought immediately evacuates my body. He swipes the fabric down my legs and away.
I jerk slightly at the first stroke through slick heat, and Owen goes completely still.
“Still okay?”
The fact that he asks while visibly shaking from restraint nearly ruins me emotionally.
“Yes,” I whisper immediately. “Please don’t stop.”
His eyes close for half a second at the word please.
Then he groans softly and kisses me again while his fingers slide through me slowly, like he’s memorizing what I feel like.
Heat coils tight in my stomach instantly.
My body responds to him frighteningly fast now, already sensitive from the way he wrecked me in his kitchen.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he says against my mouth, sounding almost stunned by it.
A shiver rolls through me. His thumb brushes my clit lightly, and my head falls back before I can stop it.
“Owen.”
“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “That’s exactly how I feel when you say my name.”
I’m never going to recover from this man.
His fingers curl deeper while he watches my face, and the intensity of his focus makes heat flood straight through me again.
Then his breathing catches sharply. “Oh,” he says quietly.
I blink dazedly back at him. “What?”
A slow smile spreads across his face.
“You trust me.”
And somehow, terrifyingly enough, he’s right. The words hit me harder than they should.
“You trust me.”
Before I can figure out how to respond to that emotionally catastrophic observation, Owen kisses me again. Slower this time. Deep enough that I feel it everywhere while his fingers keep moving between my thighs in steady, devastating strokes.
I break the kiss first with a shiver. “Condom.”
“Right.” He sounds almost reluctant about the interruption, which does absolutely nothing helpful for my current state of mind.
He steps far enough away to dig his wallet out of the discarded gym bag near the office wall, and I take the opportunity to attempt one coherent thought. Unfortunately, the coherent thought immediately dies when I get a full view of him tugging his shorts down enough to free his cock.
Oh.
Oh, wow.
There’s a very specific kind of panic that comes with realizing a man this large is looking at you with complete emotional sincerity while also being built like a Norse fertility god.
My brain chooses fuckery. “That seems medically unnecessary,” I blurt out.
Owen freezes halfway through opening the condom wrapper. Then he laughs. The laugh of a man who knows exactly what he’s working with.
The sound fills the office so suddenly and warmly that my chest squeezes painfully.
“You’re funny when you’re spiraling,” he says.
“I’m not spiraling.”
“You just inspected my dick.”
“I’m assessing risk.”
His grin turns slow and dangerous. “And?”
My face feels about 1,000 degrees too warm. “Pending further investigation.”
The look he gives me after that nearly melts my internal organs. Then he rolls the condom on with quick efficiency and settles between my knees again, all humor fading from his expression the second his hands settle on my thighs.
There’s that intensity again.
That impossible focus.
Once Owen decides to give someone his full attention, he doesn’t know how to do it halfway.
My pulse stumbles hard when he drags his knuckles lightly along my collarbone. His eyes search mine for another second anyway before he kisses me softly and reaches between us to guide himself against me.
The first slow push inside nearly stops my heart. “Oh, my God.”
Owen’s head drops instantly to my shoulder with a rough sound. “Remy.”
Everything about this feels overwhelming all at once. The stretch. The heat. The sheer size of him. But underneath all of it is this strange, dizzying feeling of rightness that scares me almost more than the physical intensity does.
He stills halfway inside me immediately. “Too much?”
The concern in his voice cuts through the haze instantly.
“No.” I tighten my arms around his shoulders. “No, just—wow. Your dick no longer personally offends me in any way. Chef’s kiss. No notes.”
“Yeah. That’s kind of my review, too.”
I laugh softly despite myself, and the movement shifts us together enough that both of us suck in sharp breaths simultaneously.
Owen’s fingers dig into my hips hard enough to leave marks. “Fuck,” he whispers.
Then he lifts his head and looks directly into my eyes as he slowly pushes the rest of the way inside me.
The eye contact nearly destroys me. Not because it’s dominant. Because it’s vulnerable, like he’s letting me see every single thing he feels.
“Owen,” I say.
His eyes close briefly, like hearing his name from me physically affects him.
“You feel…” He shakes his head once. “I can’t even think right now.”
Honestly? Same.
For one suspended second, neither of us moves.
Owen stays buried inside me while his hands grip my hips. The entire room feels strangely still around us. The buzzing fluorescent lights. The distant hum of arena equipment somewhere down the hallway. My own pulse roaring in my ears.
Everything narrows down to him.
To this.
Then Owen kisses me again, and whatever fragile thread of composure I had left snaps clean in half.
He moves slowly at first, drawing almost all the way out before pushing back into me with a deep, deliberate thrust that makes my knees buckle.
The sound that leaves him in response is completely wrecked. His forehead presses against mine while he thrusts into me again, harder this time, and the desk shifts beneath me with a soft scrape across the floor.
“You feel so fucking good,” he says hoarsely.
The raw honesty in his voice sends heat spiraling low through my stomach. Just Owen sounding genuinely overwhelmed by me.
My fingers tighten in his hair as his rhythm starts to build. Every thrust drags another helpless sound out of me, and the effect it has on him is immediate. His breathing roughens further. His grip flexes against my hips hard enough to make me gasp.
“There,” he says instantly. “Right there?”
At my quick nod, a slow, almost disbelieving smile flashes across his face before he does it again.
And again.
The angle punches straight through me every time.
“Owen—”
“I know.” His voice breaks slightly. “Fuck, I know.”
Something about the fact that he sounds just as overwhelmed as I feel sends another wave of heat crashing through me. Most men try so hard to seem controlled during sex. Owen reacts like he physically cannot hide what I’m doing to him.
It’s unbelievably intimate.
I pull him closer by the neck, kissing him hard enough to interrupt whatever thought he was trying to form next. He groans into my mouth immediately, thrusting deeper in response, and the sudden force of it pulls a sharp cry out of me.
His eyes close briefly. “Do that again.”
I genuinely don’t know what I did. Apparently, my body figures it out anyway because my hips roll against his instinctively on the next thrust, and Owen completely loses the rhythm for a second.
A rough sound tears out of him. “Oh, that’s mean.”
I laugh softly despite the fact that I’m rapidly losing all motor function. “You’ll survive.”
“Debatable.”
Damn, I’m in so much trouble with him. The realization lands hard right as his hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit with terrifying precision.
My entire body jolts. “Owen.”
“I know,” he says again immediately, like he can already feel exactly what I need. “I’ve got you.”
That truth lands deep enough to scare me a little.
He does have me. His forehead drops to mine again while he thrusts into me harder now, rougher than before.
Every movement feels intentional. Focused entirely on me.
On my reactions. On the sounds he keeps pulling out of my throat like he’s addicted to them.
“Look at me,” he says softly.
I do. Big mistake. The expression on his face nearly undoes me completely.
My pulse stumbles hard enough to hurt. “Owen.”
His eyes darken immediately at the sound of his name in my mouth. Then he kisses me again while his hand keeps working between my thighs, and I realize with sudden, terrifying clarity that this man is going to absolutely ruin me.
The pressure building low in my stomach turns almost unbearable. Every thrust. Every stroke of Owen’s hand between my thighs. Every sound he makes into my mouth. It all keeps tightening and tightening until I genuinely don’t know how my body is supposed to hold it.
“I can’t…” I gasp.
“I know, baby.”
Baby.
The word hits me hard. My entire body clenches around him hard enough that his head drops briefly to my shoulder with a strangled groan.
“Fuck, Remy. You feel so good wrapped around my cock.”
The sound of my name nearly pushes me over the edge by itself.
I cling harder to his shoulders while he thrusts into me faster now, the desk scraping rhythmically across the floor beneath us.
Somewhere in the depths of my brain, I vaguely register the horrifying reality that we are absolutely one hundred percent going to get caught someday if we keep this up.
Unfortunately, my survival instincts remain completely offline.
Owen kisses along my cheek, my throat, my mouth again like he can’t decide where he wants to touch me most. Every movement feels desperate now. Not careless. Not selfish.
Needy.
That’s what destroys me emotionally.
The fact that he wants me this much.
His hand tightens slightly against my hip while his thumb circles my clit harder, and my entire body jerks violently in response.
“There,” he says immediately, voice rough with focus. “Right there, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
The praise sends heat crashing straight through me.
I’m done for.
Completely.
The orgasm hits hard and fast, ripping through me so suddenly that I lose the ability to do anything except cling to him while a broken sound tears out of my throat.
Owen groans softly against my mouth the second he feels me come apart around him.
“That’s it,” he murmurs shakily. “Fuck, that’s it.”
My entire body trembles through the aftershocks while he keeps moving inside me, slower now but somehow deeper, trying to stay connected to me for as long as possible.
My fingers curl into my palms. This doesn’t feel casual to him either.
“Wow,” I whisper weakly.
Owen lifts his head enough to look at me, and the expression on his face nearly wrecks me all over again.
He looks overwhelmed. Emotionally overwhelmed. Like watching me come apart did something profound to him internally.
“You’re okay?” he asks immediately.
I stare at him for a second. This giant, emotionally complicated hockey goalie is currently buried inside me, visibly struggling to hold himself together, and his first concern after I just shattered all over him is whether I’m okay.
That should not be this attractive.
I laugh shakily, trying to catch my breath. “You realize you’re setting the bar catastrophically high for the rest of the male population, right?”
A startled laugh breaks out of him. The sound warms my chest instantly.
Then his expression shifts again. Softer this time. Almost vulnerable. “Good,” he says quietly.
My pulse stumbles. That look right there? That’s the dangerous thing. It’s the way Owen looks at me afterward.
He kisses me slowly while his hand slides up my back in a lingering stroke that feels almost absentmindedly affectionate. The sweetness of it catches me completely off guard.
I melt against him before I can stop myself. And the second I do, Owen exhales softly against my mouth like that surrender matters to him, too.
That’s when the terrifying realization finally lands fully.
I don’t just want him.
I feel safe with him.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.