“You said you didn’t care who had sex,” he says, his tongue wetting his bottom lip before he holds it between his teeth, his eyes seducing me.
“Yes,” I breathe again, relaxing into him, my thighs falling farther apart.
“I’ve had a lot of sex, Kensi,” he says, his eyes blinking in slow draws as he peers up at me, his gaze growing more intense, his smirk honest. He owns his reputation, and as much as it bothered me, alone with those girls in the bathroom—right now, it’s only making me crave him more. “But I have never wanted to feel what it’s like to be inside someone more than I do right now. To feel someone I love. Fuck, Kensi, I want to touch all of you.”
His fingers grip against my legs, squeezing my muscles, his hands barely able to contain themselves. I reach down for them, running my hands over his knuckles, then leading the way as I lift my sweatshirt up and over my head, quickly stripping my bra away next, leaving my breasts bare and cold, waiting for Owen.
His touch comes fast and hard as he sits up, his hands clutching at my back and his lips meeting my neck first. I arch as he pulls me into him, his tongue tasting its way down my neck to my nipple. Owen brings it into his teeth, looking up at me as he lets it slide from his grip slowly, his tongue circling the peak as his lips stretch into a satisfied smile.
I slide my hands up Owen, moving his shirt up his frame until he pulls it the rest of the way from his body. He reaches around me, lifting me and rolling me to my back, his mouth back to my breasts, which he sucks and kisses until they feel wonderfully raw.
He begins to kiss lower, hooking his thumbs at the waist of my leggings, dragging them down a few inches before stopping to let his kiss tease along my abdomen, kissing my bare hips as he slides the material further down my body, his fingers tugging at the small lace panties I wore with the hope he might see them.
Owen moves to his knees, pulling the rest of my clothing away completely before running his hands up my legs. He slides lower on the bed, kissing the inside of my knee, and I let my legs fall open, reaching for the pillow above my head to hide the redness building on my cheeks. Owen stops me, though, pulling on the corner of the pillow and moving it to the floor.
“Uh uh,” he says, his tongue flicking against my thigh, dangerously close to my center. “I get to watch you. I want to see your face.”
“But I’m embarrassed,” I admit, squeezing my eyes shut, then letting one slip open. Owen slides up to my neck, kissing my ear.
“You’re beautiful,” he says. “And I want to watch you come apart for the very first time because of me.”
“But you…I’ve…you made me, last time,” I say, stretching my arm over my face, hiding. Owen lifts it and holds it over my head, kissing me lightly, his lips speaking against mine.
“Not like this I haven’t,” he says, brushing his lips down my body until he stops at my very center, his tongue taking long strokes against me, my legs spreading farther, wanting more with every pass of his mouth.
I grip the sheets and tug at the blankets, wanting to hide my face, but more because I feel like every touch of his tongue against my most sensitive parts is bringing me closer to losing control. Everything feels swollen, as if one more touch anywhere will send me over the edge, then Owen slides a finger into me, and the first wave crashes over me. My body shudders against his hand, and he holds on strong, pushing against me, his movements unrelenting until I feel every sensation stop, every pulse slow within me.
I. Am. Numb.
“That,” he says, his mouth grazing against my ear, “was just the beginning.”
Warmth rushes down my body, and a small whimper escapes my lips as Owen pulls away, standing in front of me. He removes his pants, and my eyes look, but quickly. There’s so much of him—I don’t know how it could possibly work. But I want it; my body is yearning for him to be inside of me.
Owen reaches for his dresser, taking a small packet from the top drawer, tearing the package with his teeth. I glance again as he holds himself, sliding the condom on with his other hand, and as nervous as I am about the pain, I’m more hungry to move past it, to feel him.
He kneels between my knees, his finger moving up and down my center, sliding in and out, relaxing me and exciting me all over again.
“I want you, Kensi. Please, I have to have you,” he says, and I reach down, gripping his forearm, nodding at him, begging him.
“I want you too. Just…go slow,” I say, my heart firing a billion beats per minute in my chest, my body clenching in anticipation of everything.