In no time at all, River’s lips crash down on mine. His mouth is hungry. We ignite, going from zero to Autobahn in mere seconds, teeth clicking, tongues lashing, and hands traveling everywhere. Mine grab at his waist, yanking him against me. His rope into my hair, tugging, pulling.
I rip my glasses off and our mouths go wild. We consume each other, swallowing kisses, drowning in desire, hunting for more.
More kisses, more closeness, more connection.
And in this kiss, I feel sparks of hope. Flickers of tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.
We don’t kiss like lovers saying goodbye.
We kiss like this could be the real thing. Like we could be doing this again, and again.
Exploring each other in new ways every day.
Hiking trails.
Listening to podcasts.
Having each other’s bodies.
That last one echoes in my head, a persistent drumbeat.
Have me, have me.
And in this war of emotions and wants, the need to get closer to him wins all the battles.
As we grab at each other, clutch at shorts and pants and skin and hair, I somehow find the will to stop the kiss.
But only because I have something vital to say.
My breath falls in broken pants as I meet his heated gaze. “I want you to fuck me, River. Fuck me tonight. Fuck me now.”
His breath shudders beautifully. “God, I was hoping you were going to ask.”
17
River
Make it good for him.
Make it so damn good for Owen.
That’s all I can think as I grab a towel from the bathroom, spread it on the mattress in the guest room.
Manners matter in bed, and that also applies to being a good guest, so I don’t want to get the sheets sticky.
“On the bed, hottie,” I tell Owen, who has his glasses back on. “I’ll get the goods.”
“Yes, Mister Bossy,” he says, flopping onto the bed, hands behind his head, watching me as I hunt for my jeans, grab my wallet.
Flipping it open, I fish for a condom, and a lube packet, then fling them to the bed. Like a pro athlete, Owen lifts his arm, catches them.
“Whoa! Who knew the publicist for the baseball team could catch too?” I say, then join him on the mattress.
“Yes, such critical skills,” he says drily, then sits, and removes his glasses. He sets them on the nightstand with the condom and lube, then reaches for me once more, and brings me close. His tone is no longer playful. It’s vulnerable. “Kiss me again.”
“I knew you’d like kissing. Called it, didn’t I?” I ask, kissing him as I straddle his waist. We’re both still clothed—and I can’t wait to change that. But I also want to take my sweet time in bed with Owen.
“How could you tell?” he asks as he brushes his lips over mine.
I kiss Owen back lightly, then run my nose along his neck. He smells like chlorine from the hot tub, and I don’t mind at all, since it’s mingled with all his Owen-ness. “You give off these very sensual, soulful vibes,” I say. I kiss his neck, working my way up to his ear.
“I do?” he asks, a little breathless as his hands curl around my hips, anchoring me in place.
“Mmm. You sure do,” I whisper, and I bite his earlobe, then travel back to his jaw, his chin, his lips. “It’s like a cologne. Eau de Slow and Sensual Fucking.”
He laughs, then moans, arching his hips, seeking contact. “I want it like that tonight.”
I press down, grinding against his erection. “Yes,” I murmur. “That’s what I mean. You’re soooo . . . open.”
Owen gives a soft smile.
“Tell me what else you’re into,” I say, my gaze pinned on the man under me.
He takes a beat before he speaks, his eyes flashing with vulnerability. “You.”
And that answer rocks my world. Grabs my heart. “Same,” I murmur, then brush a kiss to his lips because . . . how could I not kiss him after that?
When I break the kiss, I reach for his wrists, circle my hands around them, then pin them over his head, pushing them into the pillows. Stretching his neck, Owen moans roughly.
“You’re into that, aren’t you? Me pinning you in place?” I ask.
“Sometimes,” he says, with a shuddery breath. I push his wrists harder into the pillows.
His reactions make my body twitch with pleasure. I want to draw out more joy from him, more bliss, and I’m pretty sure I know how—Owen likes it when I tell him what I want to do to him. Oh yes. I’ve got my friend’s number in bed, and I am going to dial it hard. “Think you’d want me to tie you up sometime?”
Owen’s full, sensual lips part on a filthy yes. His eyes lock with mine. I let go of his wrists and skim my fingers down his arms. Goose bumps seem to roll over him. He writhes under me, gasping, panting.