Chapter 9 Liv
Liv
I tug Owen through my door and am thrilled when he pushes me up against it.
“Liv,” he breathes into my neck, his hands already skating down my body, over my curves.
Thank god. I’ve never had to wonder if a guy was into me—until tonight.
The way Owen’s hand grazed my back protectively, the glint in his eye, the slow trace of his thumb over mine at the gala—it all felt real.
But I’ve also never pretended to date someone before, and maybe Owen’s just a fantastic actor.
I hadn’t wanted our night to end, but I was ready to say goodnight at my door, thank him for his service, and never see him again…until he asked to kiss me like a goddamn cinnamon roll.
Now his mouth is consuming mine, soft and hungry. His hand drags up to cup my breast, and my nipples tighten under the thin fabric of my dress. He squeezes just hard enough to make me gasp out his name.
“Owen.”
“Is this okay?” he asks as his mouth moves down the column of my throat. He shoves his jacket off my shoulders into a heap on the floor.
“Please,” I tip my head back to give him access, and his teeth skim across my collarbone, sending a shudder across my skin.
Okay, not a cinnamon roll.
My hands tangle in his hair, and I pull his mouth back to mine, wanting to taste the bourbon on his tongue, wanting to feel more of his body pressed into mine, wanting more. I catch his lip with my teeth, and his groan slides down my throat.
Without breaking our kiss, he bunches my dress up my thighs, and he pushes his hips into me, locking me between the door and his erection.
“Yes,” I gasp into his kiss, my hands working between us to untuck his shirt. He leans back just enough to let me, his fingers gripping the sides of my bare thighs.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, his green eyes—now a deep emerald—locking on mine. My gaze flicks down my body, just for a moment, before traveling back up to find his desire unmistakable.
“Goddamnit, Liv,” he growls. “Hold this.” He thrusts the rumpled fabric of my dress into my hands. I clutch the burgundy silk, lifting it a little higher, exposing my black lace underwear like a vintage can-can dancer.
“Goddamnit,” he repeats under his breath and drops to his knees.
I stay frozen, holding my dress up, my heart hammering against my ribs. He sits back on his heels, hands on his thighs, his hooded eyes gazing up at me, pupils so blown they’re nearly black.
“Lean back,” he instructs, and I do. I rest my back against the door, but I can’t take my eyes off his face. “You are mesmerizing,” he says, awed.
“Owen…” My voice is hoarse. I’m not sure what I want to ask for, or maybe I am.
“Let me taste you.” he says, low, steady, and full of heat.
It doesn’t sound like a question. It lands like a command, sending a shiver down my spine.
And god, I want to obey. I nod. He leans forward and cups my hips, kissing the skin just below my belly button.
“Use your words, Liv,” he whispers into my skin. Fuck.
“I want to feel your mouth on me.”
He kisses my pubic bone over the top of my underwear, about three inches higher than I want him.
“Good girl,” he praises, and my legs almost give out.
His chuckle vibrates my skin as he moves his kisses to the top of my thighs and slides his hands around to the curve of my ass, kneading the flesh.
He nips at the skin of my hip bones, and I want to thread my fingers in his hair and direct him where I want him, but I can’t because I’m still holding my dress, and I somehow think that was by design.
I also can’t see what he’s doing, but his mouth is warm against the crease of my hip before he presses a kiss between my thighs. I let out a moan.
Owen hooks his fingers into my underwear and slides them down my body, using his hand on my hip to help me step out of them.
Before I put my second foot down, he guides my leg over his shoulder.
I feel a little like a baby deer, perched on one heel-clad foot, but Owen’s hand on my hip and my weight balanced on his shoulder stabilize me.
“Gorgeous,” he murmurs from under my dress before his tongue presses flat against my slit, and my whole body pulls tight.
“Oh, god,” I scream out as Owen sucks my clit into his mouth and I’m relieved that apartment 1A is vacant because there is no way the entire complex didn’t just hear me.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” Owen coaxes, between flutterings of his tongue and nips of his teeth. I let one hand drop my dress, and it cascades over his shoulder, but he doesn’t break his rhythmic devouring of my clit, sucking and twirling and breaching my entrance.
“Owen, oh god,” I say between breathy gasps, and he plunges two fingers inside with no warning, rough and perfect. And I come apart. My orgasm blindsides me, and my whole body convulses. He continues to lick and nip between my legs until I’m boneless.
I tug at his hair, desperate to have him up here, desperate to kiss him, and he complies, rising and taking my face in his hands. He kisses me hard, sucking my lip and licking into my mouth. I can taste myself, and it’s fucking hot.
My hands find his belt, and I fumble to get it off, pulling it free in a long, whipping sound. Owen never stops kissing me, his mouth rough, his tongue searching. I can’t help myself, and I palm him through his dress pants.
“Goddammit, Liv,” he groans, and I love knowing his curse word of choice.
I unzip his pants and slide my hand beneath the elastic band, finally gripping him.
I squeeze, he slams his hand against the door over my head, and I jump a little.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, regaining his composure and returning to his more gentle demeanor, kissing me carefully, while I stroke his impressive length.
“I like it, Owen.” I bite his lip a little to reinforce my statement. He groans, and I stroke him harder.
“You have to stop,” he grits into my mouth, then slides his hands under my ass, like he plans to hoist me into his arms. “Can I take you to bed?”
“No,” I say, cupping his face, pulling his mouth to mine.
Owen stills, and my post-orgasm brain catches up to what I said.
“I mean, I want to…right here.” I kiss him again, and I can almost feel the moment my words click into place in his brain.
He slams me back against the door, and I yank at my dress to give him access.
His erection presses against my thigh, but he waits.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs, as I lick the skin below his jaw. “You don’t owe me anything.”
I pause for a moment, and so does Owen, searching my face, and I can only imagine what I look like. My lips are swollen, almost bruised, my hair is wild, and I’m sure my mascara is smudged, but I strangely don’t mind.
“I feel…safe with you,” I say, a little vulnerable, “like I can be a little messy and a little frantic and you won’t mind.”
“Not at all, Button,” he says and kisses me gently this time. For several minutes, we’re tender, languid. His fingers thread in my hair, my back pressed against the door to my apartment. I’m not wearing underwear, and his fly is undone, but other than that, we’re both fully clothed.
“Owen,” I say between kisses, “I want you inside me now.”
He takes a moment to fish a condom from his wallet, and I push at his waistband until his pants pool on the floor.
Then he hoists me into his arms, his forearm braced under my ass.
I wrap my legs around his waist and kiss his neck.
I can feel his dick against my slick entrance and every nerve ending in my body is already singing.
“Please,” I am fully aware I’m begging now, but I need him closer.
Owen swears again under his breath and shifts my weight, spreading me so wide, my muscles burn.
I have a bed, and there’s a couch ten steps away.
Hell, there’s a counter next to us, but Owen follows my wishes, shifting me again until I feel him press into me.
My body is open to him, I’m soaked, and my legs are splayed wide around his waist, but there is still a delightful strain as he enters me, a slow stretch.
I arch my back against the door, a little whimper escaping my lips.
“You okay?”
“More.” I try to pull him to me with my calf around his back.
“Unreal,” he says, dropping his head to my breastbone once he’s fully seated. “You feel so god dammed unreal.”
I am full, exquisitely full, of Owen and of the gasps of air I’m trying to pull in when he begins to move his hips.
This angle, this position, has him so deep inside me, he’s hitting every possible nerve ending.
My back banging into the door with every thrust, his fingers digging into the flesh of my ass where he’s gripping me.
I hope I can see his fingerprints tomorrow.
My fingers scrape at his shoulders, and he responds by thrusting rougher.
Once, twice, three earnest thrusts before he drops my feet to the ground and spins me in one quick movement.
Pushing me against the door with a hand flat against my spine, kissing the hollow behind my ear, and reaching around to cup my breast again.
“I just need…” I wiggle my ass back into his lap and he tucks my dress up over my hips, wedging himself back between my thighs.
I’m so wet he slips in easily this time, and he grabs my hip bones, slamming me back against him.
I’m not going to last. I can tell from his labored breath, he’s close too.
He reaches around my waist and presses hard and fast circles on my clit until I cry out and he shudders his release behind me.
He spins me around again and finds my mouth, holding my chin and devouring my kisses. I slump against the wall, and he peppers me with kisses on my cheekbone, my ear, my eyelids.
I want him to scoop me into his arms and carry me to bed.
I want him to crawl in next to me and hold me until four a.m., when I want to wake up with his head between my thighs.
Then I want him to stay until morning, kiss me awake, and make me believe this is more than it is.
But it’s not. This is pretend. And some very real, very good casual sex. That’s all it can be.
Because I’m not the girl you stick it out for. I’m the one who needs a fake fiancé—because the real ones eventually leave. I’m too much work and somehow never enough. The one who lets you down or falls short of what you hoped I’d be.
“I should get cleaned up,” I say, turning away from his kisses. Owen’s lips trail after mine like a magnet until I gently touch his chest.
“Oh, right,” he says, pulling back and zipping up his pants. “Right, I should…I should go.”
“Yeah, probably,” I say, smoothing my dress down.