Chapter 12 Owen
Owen
“I’m all sandy and I smell like grease,” she says as I slide the key card into my hotel room door. “Would you mind if I took a quick rinse-off shower?”
“I think you smell delicious,” I tell her, kissing the hollow behind her ear. “But of course. You get in the shower, and I’ll call for more towels.”
We walk to the hotel room, and it’s almost bizarre how comfortable we both seem. Liv kicks off her sandals in front of the closet and reaches her hand behind her neck to stretch. I can’t take my eyes off the soft curve of her neck. I want to lean in and press a quiet kiss there.
She offers me a gentle smile, and it’s like we’re coming back to our hotel room after a day of being tourists on a couple’s getaway.
She’s going to take a shower while I order room service, and then we’ll get into bed to eat French fries and cuddle.
I’ll rub her feet, sore from walking around and seeing the sights all day, and the foot rub will turn into more intimate caresses, evolving into lazy vacation lovemaking. Suddenly, that’s all I want.
“What?” She looks at me laughing, and I realize I’ve been staring at her during my daydream.
“Nothing.” I look down, and I know I’m blushing.
“You are pretty adorable,” she says, coming close and wrapping her arms around my neck.
“I’m not sure if adorable is a compliment a man likes to hear,” I chuckle, but I grip her waist and kiss her slowly.
“It is.” She pulls back and smiles, and all I can think is—I want to remember this. The crinkle in her eyes, that perfect bow of her lip. I want to carry it with me, always. “I’ll be right back.” She gives me another quick kiss and disappears into the bathroom.
The water turns on, and of course, I’m picturing her naked on the other side of the door. But I’m also picturing waking up next to her tomorrow, all sleep-mussed and warm skin pressed against mine. And I’m almost as excited about that.
Last night was fast and frantic and hot as fuck, but I want to take my time tonight. I want to revisit all the ways I’ve learned to make her gasp and sigh, and I want to spend hours—maybe the rest of my life—learning all the other ways to please her.
When housekeeping delivers the towels, I momentarily wonder what to do with them. I knock gently on the bathroom door. “I’ll leave your towels on the hook here.”
“You can come in,” she calls through the closed door. My pulse rate increases, and I’m instantly hard. Chill the fuck out, dude. I step into the steamy little room and set the towels on the sink. “Here you go,” I say, and start to back out.
“Stay,” she says. “I want to talk.”
“Okay,” I say, a little unsure, and lean against the counter. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she pokes her head out from behind the shower curtain. She’s all wet and flushed, and soap bubbles are dripping down the side of her face. “I just want to talk more.” Then she tucks herself back into her shower. “How did you decide to become a literary agent?”
“Oh, I—” My insides heave with how much I love this.
“I wanted to be a writer in college. I attended a panel discussion about the publishing industry, but I was more fascinated by the agent on the panel. I went up to her after the talk, and while everyone else was asking if they could pitch their book idea, I asked if she would tell me how I could do her job.”
“Really?” she asks from inside the cloud of steam. “That’s so cool. What did she say?”
“She offered to meet for coffee, and then offered me an internship when I finished school, and then offered me a job. I’m still with her agency today. It’s worked out pretty well.”
“That is wild to me,” Liv says. The water shuts off, and suddenly I panic, heading for the door.
She pulls back the shower curtain, still blocking most of her body, but I can see the curve of her bare hip and the swell of her breast behind the thin curtain, and my breath catches.
“Hand me a towel,” she holds out her hand, and I do.
“I’ve had, like, a million different jobs,” she says, stepping out of the shower and tucking the towel between her breasts. Her skin is pink and flushed and still damp, and I want to lick off every water droplet from her body. “And you’ve had one job since college?”
“I guess I’ve always known what I wanted when it was right in front of me.”
Liv looks up from where she’s rubbing a towel through her hair, and her gaze catches on mine.
She pulls her lip between her teeth, like she did that first night at the bar.
This time, though, I reach out and glide my thumb across it, coaxing it free, and let my thumb linger against the soft curve of her mouth.
“What do you want right now?” she says, her voice a little breathy.
I push off the counter and scoop her body into my arms. She lets out a delighted squeal.
“You in my bed,” I say, and walk out of the bathroom.
She had pinned her hair up to keep it dry in the shower, so when I lay her down on the bed, her brown waves fan out on my pillow, just like my fantasy. Only the real thing is a million times better.
She gestures for me to join her on the bed and I climb on next to her.
“Last night was hot,” she says, lacing her hand with mine and tugging me down, “but I want to take our time tonight.”
“Button, we have all the time in the world.”
We don’t kiss right away. Instead, we both look at each other like we’re looking beyond our faces, right into each other’s souls.
My hand grazes the delicate line of her jaw, and she leans into it like she’s been waiting her whole life to be touched exactly like this.
I drag my thumb across her cheekbone and her eyes flutter closed.
“I like the way you touch me.”
“I like touching you.” I trace my finger across her collarbone before bending down and pressing my mouth to that spot on her neck I’ve been eyeing all night. She lets her head roll to the side, giving me access, and I kiss up the column of her throat, to the soft spot behind her ear.
“I want you to touch me more,” she says and places my hand flat against her chest, right above the knot of her towel.
Her heartbeat flutters under my fingers, a little fast and erratic, and I could die right now knowing I have this effect on her body.
I untuck the towel from between her breasts, but leave it draped over her body.
She’s like a present, and I want to take my time unwrapping her.
Her hands fist around the hem of my shirt, tugging me closer, and I let her peel it off me before pressing my mouth to hers. She tastes like marshmallows and bourbon and everything else I’ve ever craved.
“Whatever you want, Liv. Let me give it to you.”
I kiss down her body to where her towel is draped over her chest. She takes the edges and opens it, revealing her gorgeous honey skin, still flushed from the shower.
I’m captivated by the rise of her perfect curves, her pebbled nipples, the most delicious shade of peach, waiting for my mouth.
Last night, we never got our clothes off.
Now she’s splayed before me, completely naked, like an offering to the gods, and I will bow at their altar every day for this woman.
“Fuck, Liv, look at you,” I say with mind-numbing reverence. I lower my mouth to her breast and suck her nipple into my mouth. She sighs my name, and I feel it inside my chest.
I knead and massage one breast while my tongue flicks across the other peaked nipple. Her nails drag through my hair with a delightful scrape, and I use my teeth to apply a little pressure, testing her boundaries.
“Yes,” she breathes out and pulls my mouth tighter to her. I bite down just enough to make her gasp, then soothe the spot with my tongue.
Her breath hitches as my hand travels down the curve of her waist until it finds its home between her thighs.
I had wanted to take my time, but the way she arches into my touch, trusting and needy, I can’t make her wait.
Hell, I can’t wait. I slip my finger into her core, and she is so wet and ready for me, I immediately add a second finger.
She gasps my name, and I nearly lose it at the rawness in her voice.
My mouth finds hers again, deeper this time. Not rushed. Just…greedy. Like I’ve waited years for this.
My fingers pump with a slow, deliberate rhythm. And she whimpers these little mewls of pleasure. My dick is so hard, caged against the fly of my jeans that it is almost painful, but I can tell she’s close and there is no way I’m going to stop.
“Owen,” she gasps, “harder.”
I take her breast back into my mouth and suck and flick and nip until she’s writhing underneath me. Circling her clit faster with my thumb and pushing down with the pressure I now know she craves.
Her muscles begin to clench around me and I pull back enough to look at her, because damn if I’m going to miss the way she looks when she crashes at my touch.
Her body trembles with these little aftershocks of her pleasure, and I pull her into my arms and stroke her cheek and the skin of her ribs. That I made her come apart feels like a privilege, not a right—and I plan to earn it, every time.
She rolls into me and buries her face in my chest, and I’m pretty sure she inhales. I hope I smell like her. She fumbles with the button of my pants, and I chuckle at her post-orgasm lack of dexterity.
“Do you need some help, Button?” I kiss her temple.
“Can you take these off, please?” she says, a little exasperated.
“You tell me what you need, Liv,” I say, rolling onto my back and undoing my zipper. “Say the word and it’s yours. Every time.”
She helps me slip out of my pants and underwear, and my dick springs to attention. I’m momentarily embarrassed by how hard I am for her, but she just smiles.
“Looks like we have the same effect on each other,” she says before she palms me in a few hard strokes. I groan, grab a condom off the nightstand, and pull her on top of me.
She sits up, her thighs bracketing my hips, and she looks like a goddess. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair is wild, and she’s slick against me. She moves, grinding against me, and her eyes close again, her head tipping back.
“Yes, there you go, sweetheart. Take what you need.”
“I need you inside me,” she says, and she rises on her knees and positions me at her entrance. Then she locks eyes with me and slowly, so fucking slowly, lowers herself down on me until I’m so impossibly deep. Both of us are wound so tight that neither of us moves, or else we’ll both explode.
When our breathing has slowed, she begins to rock, controlling the pace and the angle and her own pleasure while I get to watch and feel her slick and tight around me.
I place my hands on her thighs and squeeze, silently encouraging her to keep going.
Then my hands slide around the curve of her ass to pull her tighter against me.
It feels so damn good.
We both are spiraling up, and I’m ready to follow her over the edge, when she slows her pace again and catches her breath. I can’t help but marvel at all that she is above me and around me.
“The way you’re looking at me right now—” she says, opening her eyes, locking her gaze with mine.
“Is it too much?”
“No,” she leans forward and kisses me, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more seen in my life.”
She rests her head against my forehead, her fingers curling around the back of my neck like she’s anchoring to me, like she wants me to stay. Forever.
Usually, I fall fast and burn out faster. But this…this is steadier. Like settling into something real. She doesn’t need saving. She doesn’t need me to fix a damn thing. She just wants me. And I want her. Maybe—for once—that’s enough.
“Owen, can you—”
“Yeah, I got you.” I move beneath her, taking over the work, but she’s still in control. God, she’s in control. She sits back up, and I reach between our bodies, and she grinds against my knuckles, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.
“Everything about you is perfect,” I say, picking up my pace when I can tell she’s getting close.
“I don’t want to be perfect,” she breathes out just before coming. “I want to be real.”
She unravels and folds over my body, letting out little cries as I drive up into her hard, chasing my own release. We’re almost perfectly timed, like we were made for this. Like we were made for each other.
I pull her tight to my chest, kissing her temple and the line of her shoulder. She’s still wrapped around my body, and I’m still inside her, and I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.
I want to tell her she is perfect, just as she is. I want to rage at her mother, her asshole ex, or anyone else in her life who made her feel like she wasn’t enough or too much, or anything other than exactly who she is. But she doesn’t want perfect.
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“You make me feel like I’m enough,” she whispers into my neck. “I didn’t realize how much I needed that…until you.”