Chapter Twenty-Four #3
“You seemed happy about it.”
“I was happy about it.” His forehead drops briefly against mine while he exhales hard. “That’s the problem.”
Warmth spreads low through my stomach at the sight of him. Flushed. Disheveled. Emotionally open in ways I’m starting to realize are incredibly rare for him.
His hands slide slowly beneath my shirt, palms warm against my bare skin as he pushes the fabric upward. I lift my arms automatically so he can pull it over my head, and the second my bra comes into view, his expression changes.
There it is again. That look. Like he still can’t quite believe I’m letting him touch me. That I’m his. The tenderness in it makes my chest ache.
“You’re beautiful,” he says quietly. “And it’s not just the way you look, Remy. It’s who you are.”
My pulse stumbles hard enough that I have to kiss him again immediately before he accidentally gives me an emotional breakdown right here on his couch.
Owen groans softly into my mouth as I grind down against him instinctively, the hard length of his cock trapped between us. The friction sends heat shooting straight through my body.
His hands tighten hard on my hips. “Remy.”
The warning in his tone only makes me do it again. This time, Owen’s head falls back against the couch cushion with a rough curse.
“Oh, you think you’re funny now?”
“A little.”
“You’re going to kill me.”
I smile against his skin and reach between us to shove my leggings and panties down enough to free my pussy. Cool air brushes against slick skin immediately.
Owen’s eyes darken the second he notices what I’m doing. “Shit.”
I shift higher onto his lap, guiding his cock against me slowly. The tip catches against my clit first, pulling a sharp breath from both of us. Owen’s hands flex against my waist hard enough to leave marks.
“Remy,” he says again, visibly trying to hold onto control by brute force alone.
I look directly into his eyes as I slowly lower myself onto him.
The stretch steals my composure. “Oh, my God.”
Owen groans low and broken beneath me, eyes squeezing shut while his head drops forward against my chest.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck, baby…”
I sink fully into his lap inch by inch, both of us breathing unevenly by the time I’m seated completely on his cock. For a second, neither of us moves. Owen’s forehead rests against my collarbone while his hands spread wide across my back.
“You okay?” he asks hoarsely.
“Yes.”
His eyes lift to mine slowly. So much trust sits there naked and visible that my throat tightens around it. Bracing my hands against his shoulders, I begin moving carefully. The first slow roll of my hips pulls a strangled sound out of Owen immediately.
“That’s…” He visibly struggles for words. “Fuuuuuck.”
A laugh slips out of me softly. “You’re really articulate during sex.”
“Sorry, my brain stopped functioning ten minutes ago.”
I smile helplessly and move again, slower this time, feeling the drag of his cock deep inside me. The angle makes my entire body shiver.
“There?” he asks, already shifting his grip to help guide my hips.
The attention to my reactions feels almost unbearably intimate.
“Yes,” I whisper.
His eyes darken instantly at the sound of that word. Then his hands tighten gently on my waist while he helps me ride him slower, deeper. And the entire time, he never breaks eye contact.
The room slowly fills with the soft sounds of us losing control together. Skin against skin. The quiet creak of the couch beneath us.
Owen’s hands stay locked on my hips while I ride him, guiding me gently whenever my rhythm falters. Every thrust drags another rough sound out of him, and the effect it has on me is almost embarrassing.
I love this version of him. Just Owen, flushed and emotional beneath me, looking at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever touched.
His head tips back when I grind down harder against him, exposing the strong line of his throat. “Fuck.”
Heat floods low through my stomach instantly. Leaning forward, I kiss along his neck while his grip flexes harder against my hips. The movement shifts the angle between us enough that my clit drags perfectly against the base of his cock.
My entire body jolts. “Owen.”
His eyes snap back to my face immediately. “There?” he asks roughly.
I nod quickly, already struggling to think clearly. “Again, please.”
The corner of his mouth pulls slightly upward. “C’mere.”
Before I can process the command, he wraps one arm tightly around my waist and shifts us suddenly. A startled laugh escapes me as my back hits the couch cushions and Owen settles over me between my thighs without breaking contact.
“Show-off,” I accuse.
His forehead drops briefly against mine while he smiles. “Goalie core strength. Very important.”
I laugh again right before he thrusts deep enough to completely erase the ability from my body. “Oh, my God.”
“That’s my girl,” he says softly, like hearing that sound matters to him.
The new angle is devastating. Owen braces himself carefully over me, one massive hand planted beside my head while the other slides beneath my thigh to hold me open for him.
The intimacy of that almost overwhelms me because being opened up by someone else doesn’t make me feel vulnerable. It makes me feel cherished. Every thrust lands deep now, controlled and deliberate.
“You feel so good,” he says hoarsely. “Damn, Remy. I’m so happy that you’re my girl.”
The raw sincerity in his voice sends heat spiraling straight through me. I wrap my legs tighter around his waist and pull him down into a kiss. Owen groans softly into my mouth, losing the careful rhythm for a second before catching himself again.
“You’re trying to kill me,” he says.
“You’ll survive.”
“I’m not sure I want to.”
I laugh shakily against his lips, but the sound breaks apart when his hand slides between our bodies and his thumb finds my clit.
Pleasure crashes through me instantly. “Owen—”
“I know.” His voice drops lower, rough with focus. “I’ve got you.”
My stomach tightens unexpectedly. Because he means it. In every way that matters.
My orgasm builds frighteningly fast after that. Every thrust. Every slow circle of his thumb. Every filthy sound he makes when I clench around him.
“Please,” I gasp helplessly.
His forehead presses against mine while his movements grow rougher, less controlled now. “Come for me, baby.”
Pleasure tears through me hard enough to pull a broken cry out of my throat while my entire body locks around him. Owen groans deeply against my mouth the second he feels me come apart beneath him.
“Fuck, Remy. I love you.”
The words hit me right in the center of my chest. Warmth floods through me so fast it almost hurts.
“I love you too,” I whisper immediately.
Owen’s expression completely caves in after that. He thrusts hard twice more before burying himself deep inside me with a rough groan, his entire body trembling through the orgasm.
Then, suddenly, we’re both just… breathing.
Tangled together on the couch. Sweaty. Boneless. Completely spent.
Owen holds me for a long moment afterward, pressing slow kisses against my skin while his fingers trace lazy circles against my hip beneath my ruined leggings.
The realization comes upon me without warning: Loving someone doesn’t feel terrifying.
Because lying here with Owen wrapped around me feels like finally coming home.