by R. C. Martin
“You’re wet for me,” he mumbles, his voice soft. “You smell good, too, baby.”
I suck in a sharp breath, my hands reaching for his shoulders before I free a moan as his tongue swipes over my entrance and up to my clit. He hums, his hands holding my ass as he repeats the act. He takes his time, exploring me with his tongue, and I can think of nothing but him—his mouth, his hands, his voice. Every time he drives his tongue inside of me, he hums and my core flutters around him. When I come, my orgasm causes a ripple effect of tingles that rush throughout my entire body.
“Oh, shit, Owen!” I cry, almost losing my balance completely.
He gives my ass a squeeze, and I look down at him to find him grinning up at me. “Do you want more, Brooke?”
“Fuck, yes,” I reply without a second’s hesitation.
He chuckles, setting my foot back on the ground before he kisses a trail from my center, all the way up to my belly button, where his tongue flicks my piercing. As he stands to his feet, he captures one of my nipples in his mouth, and I moan, reaching up to run my fingers over his buzzed, black hair. It’s just as soft as I thought it might be, and I pet him as I hold him to me, enjoying the way he maneuvers his tongue around my nipple. When he’s finished with one breast, he moves on to the other, getting me so worked up, I feel squirmy.
“Owen,” I whimper when I can’t take it anymore. “Please,” I beg unashamedly.
“What do you want, Brooke? Hmm? What do you need?” he asks, lifting his head to press a kiss against my lips. He kisses me long and hard, our tongues battling in a blissful war, and I press myself up on my tiptoes as I cling to him, wanting to feel all of his warmth down the length of me.
I don’t know what’s happening; I don’t know what’s come over me; and I don’t care. What I do know is that he feels incredible—every hard, ripped, hot, smooth part of him—and I want more. I want it all. I ignore the part of me that knows sleeping with one of my closest friends is a terrible idea. Instead, I give in to what my body wants—what both of our bodies want.
“Owen,” I mutter, between kisses. “I want you, Owen. I’m so wet for you, I can hardly stand it. Take me, Owen—fuck me.”
He breaks away from our kiss instantly, reaching for my hips. I don’t realize what he’s doing until I’m airborne, flying backwards. I squeal and then giggle as I land on my back in the middle of his bed, and he flashes me that handsome grin before he crawls into the space between my legs. Then, without a word, he silences me completely as he buries himself deep within my core.
The groan that spills from his throat is so deep, so dark, so fucking sexy, I almost come before he even moves. He touches his forehead to mine, and I can tell by the sound of his breathing that he’s trying to keep his shit together. I watch as his eyes search mine, and what I see in his gaze makes me feel all warm and gooey inside. When he starts to ease himself out of me, my heart sputters as I pull in a shuddered breath. He drives back in, and I know I’m a goner. Here and now, in this moment, everything that was is no longer.
I can feel it. Like the very earth has shifted beneath me. No matter where we go from here, we’ll never be the same. I’ll never be the same. This moment, this feeling—his sea green eyes locked with my blue ones, his cock filling me up as he fucks me slowly, our mouths so close that as we pant, we breathe only each other’s exhale—I know I’ll never have this, whatever this is, with anyone else. Not ever.
“Fuck me,” he grunts, pounding his dick deep before slowly pulling out. “I’ve been missing this. I’ve been missing all of this.” As he repeats the words, he skims a hand up my side, around my breast, and then down again. Trailing his fingers along my thigh, he then grabs the back of my knee, hitching my leg up, allowing him to go deeper still.
I arch my back, whimpering, loving the way he feels inside of me. As he continues to take me hard, yet slow, the pressure inside of me builds until it’s so dense, I’m squirming beneath him. My hands are everywhere—feeling every place I can touch. When they settle on his ass, he bites his lip, and it’s so sexy, I moan at the sight.
“I can’t hold on much longer, baby. Shit, you feel incredible wrapped around me. Just right, Brooke. You’re just right.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he closes his lips around mine, pumping into me faster as he chases his release. When his movements become erratic, I know he’s close, and I’m so busy paying attention to him, I don’t realize he’s moved his hand until I feel his thumb on my clit. In seconds, the pressure inside of me explodes, and I scream as my orgasm wracks my body.
I know by the sound of his roar that he comes right along with me, but I’m too lost in my own pleasure to even acknowledge his. I’m still trembling when he collapses on top of me, and I wrap my weak limbs around him on instinct. He kisses my shoulder before resting his stubble covered cheek next to mine. I feel his hot breath against my ear as he tries to catch his breath. After a moment, he tells me, “That’s just the beginning of us, baby. Give me a minute—I’ll show you better.”
“Better?” I murmur in awe. “You can do better?”
Chuckling, he lifts his head to look me in the eyes. “Brooke—I’m going to make you come so many times, you’ll be begging me to stop.”
“Oh, god,” I breathe, my belly filling with anxious butterflies. Without thinking, I whisper, “I want that.”
“Mmmhmm,” he hums, bringing his lips to mine. “You feel it, too, baby. You feel it, too.”
I hear it when Kenzie comes home. I slowly make my way to my bedroom door, trying my damnedest not to make a sound, and then I press my ear against the barrier that separates us. I haven’t run into her since our fight yesterday morning. So much has happened since then. So much that it feels like it’s been weeks since we last spoke, not just a day. I miss her. I need her. This thing with Owen? It’s got me all frazzled, and I don’t know what to do—but I fucked up. I totally fucked up.
I know I need to apologize for the things that I said to her. As a matter of fact, now that I’m thinking about it, I can even admit that I probably owe Coder an apology, too. But while I listen to her as she moves about the kitchen, I can’t for the life of me think of the words to say. Every explanation I have starts with—Owen kissed me. And then we had sex. Then thoughts of my apology are completely forgotten because—Owen kissed me! And then we had sex! So much sex.
He wasn’t exaggerating when he told me that he could do better. He did better. Three times. I came—over and over. By the time he was through with me, I was so tired, I fell asleep while I was trying to catch my breath. When I woke up, he was spooning me.
Owen Perez was spooning me.
I panicked when I remembered all that had transpired between us the night before, our activities spilling over into the early hours of the morning. Even now, my body aches in the most incredible ways, my constant reminder of how delicious forbidden fruit really is. And that’s what Owen is. Forbidden. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself—and that’s what I’m going to tell him tonight.
I snuck out this morning, just as the sun was rising. When he texted me and asked why I didn’t wake him, I lied and told him that I had class and didn’t want to disturb him. The truth is, I skipped all of my classes today. I needed sleep. He wore me out—my mind, my body, my soul. Fuck—my soul.
Leaning against my door, I close my eyes and stifle a whimper as images of his handsome face fill my mind. The way he looked at me, the way he kissed me, the way he touched me—it felt a whole lot more significant than just sex. It was as if he was binding us together somehow. Whether he was fucking me hard and slow, or hot and fast, or even sweet and gentle, the things he said to me, and the look in his eyes—it hurts my heart even now just thinking about it.
Owen has always been hot. Just because he’s been living in the friend zone doesn’t mean that I’ve been blinded to the fact that he’s a dangerously handsome human being. That skin tone with those eyes? That body, athletic and sculpted to perfection? But then yeste
rday…
God, that stamina!
I shake my head clear, pushing myself away from the door and making my way to my closet. I can’t think about how beautiful he is, or the things he does to my body—physically or emotionally. I don’t even know where to start with the emotional shit, and I think it best I just leave it alone. After tonight, it won’t matter. We can’t keep kissing, and we definitely shouldn’t have sex anymore. It’s already changed us. I don’t want to ruin our friendship. There’s a chance I’ve already done that with Kenzie, and I don’t need to add to my tally.
As soon as the coast is clear, I’m going to hop in the shower, I’m going to get dressed, and I’m going to go see Owen. I know it’ll suck, and something tells me I’m about to hurt him. He waited for me—he fucking waited for me—for a year. Nobody has ever cared about me like that. But we can’t do this. I can’t do this. It’s too much too fast. I can’t wrap my head around it. I can’t explain it. It freaks me out, so I have to shut it down and put it behind me. Once I’ve talked to Owen, then I can talk to Kenzie.
Shit. How did I make such a mess in just a matter of days?
I don’t know how long I stand in front of my closet, completely lost in my thoughts. I snap out of it when I hear the front door open and close, signaling Kenzie’s exit. I feel like crap knowing that I just willingly stayed hidden when I could have gone out to check on her, but I’ll deal with all of that later. Tomorrow. After I’ve dealt with Owen.
Knowing that I need to get this over with, I pluck out an outfit and head to the bathroom.
I knock on his door and wring my fingers while I wait for him to answer. I hate that I’m so anxious, but he does that to me. In less than forty-eight hours, he’s totally messed me up. I’m off my game entirely, and I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing, which is not me! Nevertheless, as I hear him free the deadbolt before opening the door, I draw in a deep breath and pretend like I can do this. I have to do this.
When all that’s standing between us is air, I look into his eyes and open my mouth, only to find that I have no words. Not a single one. He’s smiling at me—his gaze soft and warm—and it makes me all gooey inside.
“Fuck,” I whine, closing the distance between us.
He chuckles, circling his arms around my waist as I reach for his shoulders. In seconds, our tongues are tangled together, and I’m completely lost in his touch.
So much for pretending.
I know that I should get up, but I don’t want to. The haze of morning feels so much more welcoming with Owen’s heavy arm draped across my middle. Looking over my shoulder, I allow my eyes to drink in the beautiful bulk at my back, his rich, caramel colored skin bare and radiating just enough heat to keep me warm beneath his sheets.
I free a sigh, looking at the ceiling as I lightly trace my fingertips along his forearm, which is resting comfortably around my stomach. We didn’t do much talking last night. And by not much I mean there was no conversation. There were fragmented sentences, loud moans, elongated groans, and deep grunts—but no complete phrases or coherent words. Yet, be that as it may, I feel like I know Owen so much more than I did before.
I’ve never seen Owen with a woman, not like this, anyway. Of course, now I know why; but I just mean to say that I didn’t know he could be like this. He’s always been sweet, kind, and generous. That’s just the kind of friend he is. And I’ve known him to be passionate, determined, and fierce—that’s who he is out on the soccer field. But this? Bold and dominant, yet gentle and romantic? I’ve never seen this side of him. Now that I have, I have no clue what to do with it. None whatsoever.
Sure that I won’t be able to figure it out while laying in his arms, I carefully begin to climb out of bed. I manage to get out from beneath his arm, and I’ve made it as far as the edge of the mattress when I feel his hand at my back.
“Baby, it’s early. Come back.”
My stomach erupts with butterflies at the sexy, gravely sound of his morning voice, and it takes every ounce of will power I’ve got to make it to my feet.
“I can’t, Owen. I need to get home. I need to get to class.”
He doesn’t get out of bed while I get dressed, for which I am grateful; but I can feel his eyes following my every move. For a moment, I’m not sure which is worse.
“I don’t like this part,” he says with a heavy sigh, sitting upright.
I zip up my coat and run my fingers through my messy sex hair before I ask, “What are you talking about?”
“You leaving while I’m still in bed. I don’t like this part.”
I ignore the fluttering in my belly and pretend that I don’t agree. Keeping my mouth shut, I offer him a feeble nod and then search for my purse. It takes me a second to find it, but when I do, I’m quick to throw it on my arm as I announce, “Well, I better go.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
Before I can stop him, he’s out of bed, pulling on the sweatpants he had on when I arrived last night. I look away from him, but it’s not quick enough, and what I see makes it all the more difficult to pretend like this is easy for me. Easy is the last word I’d use to describe this situation. Naked Owen makes my skin hot. Morning Owen makes my stomach tingle. And Owen Owen has fast become someone I want to kiss all of the time.
Needless to say, this is not easy. I’m confused beyond belief.
When I open the front door, a cold blast of air hits my face, making me shiver. Owen runs a hand over my hair and then drops it to the middle of my back, where he rubs circles against my coat.
“I’ll see you later?”
“Uh, yeah. Later,” I manage, anxious to get away from him. I cannot think when he’s touching me.
“Hey,” he grunts, taking hold of my elbow as I start to step outside. When I turn back to look at him, he flashes a sleepy smile at me and then murmurs, “I think you’re forgetting something.”
“I am?”
Chuckling, he tugs me toward him before dipping his head to brush his lips against mine. “Have a good day, baby. I’ll call you later.” He kisses me one more time and then lets me go.
For a moment, I’m so taken aback by how normal that felt that I don’t move. I’m pulled from my thoughts only when I feel his mouth against mine again, this time with a hint of his tongue teasing my lips.
“Get out of here, Brooke, or I’m taking you back to bed,” he murmurs, his nose touching the tip of mine, his sea green eyes alight with his amusement.
Stifling a moan, I turn away from him and hurry for the stairs. When I reach my car, I drop down into the driver’s seat and start the engine before propping my forehead against the top of my steering wheel. I close my eyes, and memories from last night are all I see. As it is now morning, it’s safe to say that my encounter with Owen didn’t go at all like I planned.
I’m in such deep shit.
After a long shower, I decide to attend all of my classes for the day. The last thing I need is to stay home and let my mind grow even more cluttered with thoughts and fantasies about Owen. When he sends me a text a couple of hours after our goodbye, I do the unthinkable and turn off my phone without even looking at the message. I need to get it together. I need to figure out what the hell I’m doing, and I can’t do either of those things with him flirting with me. So, I ignore him.
When the day is done and night falls, I make myself some dinner and then settle in for a few hours of homework. I’m no closer to having a clear head than I was the night Owen first kissed me, so I give up trying to sort through my feelings. Thinking homework will be an adequate distraction, I do my best to find my focus. I manage to fill a good chuck of my evening with work, and then an insistent knock sounds at the front door, yanking me from my concentration.
“Brooke?” calls Owen. He pounds his fist again, and my stomach knots up with guilt as he yells, “Brooke? Baby, I know you’re in there. Open the door.” I think about ignoring him. I’ve been doing a really good job of keeping my distance all day. But when he calls
out to me again—“Baby, don’t shut me out. Not like this”— I can no longer resist.
I scramble off of the couch and hurry to the door, twisting the deadbolt free before I open up. It’s cold outside, the bitter breeze nipping at my toes, but I barely notice. Owen barges right in, closing the door after him. When I open my mouth to say something, he beats me to it.
“Brooke, remember what I said about respect? Remember what I said about not just getting to talk when you wanted to talk? Baby—you’ve been ignoring me all day. Not cool.”
“I needed…time,” I admit with a helpless shrug.
“Time? Time for what?”
“Owen,” I mutter, coughing out a humorless laugh. “A week ago, you were—I don’t know! You were Owen! Now—now, I—fuck—I’ve seen you naked. You’ve seen me naked.”
“I’ve done a lot more than see you naked, baby.”
“And that—that,” I insist, pointing at him. “You keep calling me baby, and it makes me feel…” My words trail off, my mind and my heart at odds as to how to finish that sentence.
“How does it make you feel? Hmm?” he asks, taking a step closer to me. I retreat a step, but he’s not deterred. “How does it make you feel, baby?”
He advances toward me again, only this time, I let him. When he’s closed the distance between us, he hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me against his chest as he looks into my eyes and repeats, “How does it make you feel?”
“Why isn’t this weird?” I ask, ignoring his question as I slip my hands underneath the collar of his jacket, gripping my fingers around the back of his neck. “Why am I not repelled by the idea of kissing you? Why do I want to feel your mouth everywhere? Why, why, do I wish we were naked right now?”
“Stop fighting it.”
“Owen—”
