She nodded. “Is your dad doing okay?” She’d been worried.
Owen smiled, his expression softening. Her core turned to butter at the sight.
“He seemed pretty good. When I said I was heading out tonight, he told me to stay out late and try to have a life.” He laughed. “Where was that version of my dad when I was in high school?”
“There’s a reason I moved all the way here from Missouri,” Rose said. “My parents worried about everything I did. If I lived with them, they’d probably still insist on final approval over what I wear.” She cringed.
“But some things do change, right? I left him dinner and laid out his pills with labels for when to take each one. It’s like I’m the parent now.”
“Nurse Crowley,” she said. “I’m impressed.”
“Well, the slacker parent. Let’s not take things too far.”
She laughed. “So you—?” She let the question dangle, trying to sound casual. In control. Not horny and out of her mind.
“So I don’t need to rush tonight.”
He took a step closer. Her heart shuddered.
He stood in front of her, his head bent low. Using his first two fingers, he raised her chin. Another inch and they’d be kissing.
His touch alone made her feel something heat up inside. It was like he’d lit a burner under her, and she immediately started to boil.
“Dinner?” he asked, his voice quiet and low.
“Where are my manners? I should be pouring you wine.”
“We could always skip the main course and head straight for dessert.”
“You brought dessert, too?”
His lips, so close to hers. But he barely brushed her skin before bringing his mouth to her ear. Close, again.
But not close enough. Never enough for what she wanted.
“You’re the dessert.” He caressed her cheek.
Breathe.
But her mouth was dry and her legs quivered underneath her.
Jason never talked to her like that. Never made her feel like that—like somebody wanted. She had to stop comparing the two of them. It wasn’t fair.
But as Owen pressed his lips to hers, she couldn’t help but think of the two of them. I’ve never had anything like this. Nothing could have prepared her for the way this man kissed her. As though he was starving—and going to devour her whole.
He pressed her up against the wall. She put her arms around him, drawing him tight. Maybe she should have waited, asked what they were doing this time—so she could brace herself and not be disappointed if he left her again.
But she couldn’t form the words. Or pull her lips from his long enough to try. She needed more of his body, the heat of his tongue, his strong arms as he lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him.
He kissed her against the wall, against the edge of the kitchen table, against the arm of the couch. Books toppled off a table. Who cared? Every touch, every reminder of his strength, the way he held her, only made her want more.
When he at last dropped her on the bed, she fell back laughing, giddy with desire. She reached for him again, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head.
She was helpless, writhing underneath him. She pressed her hips up, feeling his erection notch between her thighs. It made her groan with pleasure to know how hard he was. To know it was all for her.
“I’m going to fuck you tonight,” he said.
“Oh really?” She laughed.
“No more of this waiting around shit.”
“You changed your mind?”
He ground up hard against her, so there could be no question of what his body wanted. Even if his mind might still be a mystery to her.
“I’ve wanted you this whole time.” He bit her lower lip and tugged. “As long as you’re sure it’s what you want.”
“Please,” she panted. He released her wrists to run his hands along her sides, pulling up her blouse. She took advantage of the opportunity to tug up his shirt, too, feeling the ripples of his back muscles, the searing heat of his skin.
“I love to hear you say that,” he said, sliding his hands under her bra and pulling on her nipple.
“Please?” she echoed.
He groaned, and she brought her lips closer to his ear. “Please,” she panted again, heavy with need. “Fuck me, Owen. Please.”
They still had their pants on. But Rose spread her legs around his torso. When he drove into her, the friction from his jeans was perfect. Right there.
He cupped her through her pants. An ache spread through her. A need.
“When I look down at you,” he growled, “when you spread your legs and beg—I mean literally beg—for my cock inside you, I want to be sure you absolutely mean it. That it’s not something you’re doing just because I happened to stop by tonight. Or because you think you have to, or you’re supposed to, or it’s the thing to do. Because you’re getting over someone else. Because your friends told you to have fun.”
Rose’s breath caught. It was like he’d seen the text messages they’d sent. He could see right through her.
But when she inhaled to protest, he silenced her again.
“I want you to do this because you’re going to fucking explode if you don’t get it.”
He slid his fingers inside her pants, her underwear, and found her clit. She whimpered.
“That’s it,” he urged her as her hips rocked against his hand. “I want you desperate for this, beautiful. And I’m not going to fuck you a minute before.”
Oh God. She squeezed her eyes shut. It was too much sensation, from his lips in her ear to the pressure on her clit. She was going to explode already.
He eased off. He didn’t break contact with her, but he didn’t rub her quite so hard. “Not yet,” he told her.
“You have a really perverse idea of what women want,” she gasped, squirming against him to try to press firmer and relieve the building need.
“Have you ever been fucked the way you really want it? Don’t answer right away,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips to silence her. “Think about it. I’m not talking about okay sex. Not even good sex. I don’t just mean did you come, did it feel good, did it scratch your little itch.”
He teased his fingers over the fabric between her thighs, teased and stroked but wouldn’t give her more. She whimpered, not knowing what to say, what to do.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he whispered in her ear when she didn’t answer. “I won’t judge a single fucking thing.”
“I don’t know,” she finally whimpered.
“You’ve always been good, haven’t you?”
She nodded.
“Too good,” he said.
Was she really that readable? That predictable? Did he know everything about her life just by looking at her? Did he know she’d done everything she was supposed to…and how rarely she’d let herself go?
“I’m not like you think I am,” she said, even though it was hard to form words with his skin, his heat, his scent this close to her.
“What do I think?” he asked.
“You think I’m some wild woman you need to unlock.”
He nuzzled her neck, kissed her cheek. “True.”
“But I’m not,” she said.
“Oh?” That kiss again.
“I’m not like that.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me, Rose.”
Her name in his mouth. The way he said it, round and soft. Like she really was a flower, something beautiful he wanted to hold. God, he so clearly had the wrong idea.
She thought about Jason and Annabeth. Not in that intrusive, painful way that had been searing into her ever since she walked in on them. But Annabeth’s
cries. The way her head had been thrown back. That pleasure she’d abandoned herself to. The pleasure Rose had to admit she’d never known.
The closest she’d come was the last time with Owen, when he’d gone down on her forever, making her close her eyes and feel it, without worrying about what might come next. Was that what he was talking about? Was it enough?
He kissed her temple. “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”
“Nothing,” she said. Not wanting to admit that she was thinking about him—and sex. And Jason—and sex. And whether she was any good at this at all.
“You’re so in your head,” he said.
“It’s kind of attached to my neck.”
He let his forehead rest against hers. “Let it go,” he whispered.
“I can’t.”
“Yes,” he said. “You can.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re not a stone, Rose. Nothing is set.”
She exhaled, soft and slow. It wasn’t that easy. Her mind wasn’t a switch she could turn on and off at will. It didn’t always catch up to what her body wanted.
She was already in the mood. Why did there have to be more?
“Don’t move,” Owen said to her and slid off the bed. The sudden absence of his warmth made her feel empty and lost.
“What?” she said, starting to scramble up after him.
“I said, don’t move.” He leaned over and gently pushed her shoulders back down.
“But where are you—”
“I’ll be right back.” He shot her a look when she started to rise to see what he was doing. And, okay, also to check out his ass in those jeans. Where was he going? It wasn’t like there were a lot of options in the studio apartment. He’d already pulled out a condom and put it on the nightstand. And he wasn’t going to the bathroom.
“Owen?” she asked.
What the hell was he up to now?
Chapter Fourteen
Owen found what he was looking for in his bag. Then he brought it back to the bed. Rose’s eyes widened.
“I know a way to help you relax,” he said.
“I can’t,” she said immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Because?” he asked.
“Because I can’t!”
“Why not?”
He had to know. Why was she so hell bent on denying herself?
“Do you trust me?” he asked gently when she didn’t answer.
“I do,” she said without hesitation. “Definitely. It’s just that this is different for me.” She smiled. “But maybe different is good.”
He smiled right back at her. “Different is exactly what you need.”
He guessed that she still had the two restraints. She could have gotten rid of them, but he didn’t think so. There was too much curiosity, too much intrigue around them—no matter how much she tried to deny it.
But two wasn’t enough. Not for what he wanted to do for her. Not for the fantasies that had been keeping him awake at night, his dick hard as a hammer in his pumping fist. He held the two new restraints that he’d bought and asked where the other ones were.
She pointed under the bed and bit her lip as she gave him a delicious grin. Fuck, yes.
All this teasing and build up was torture for his cock, which just wanted to be inside her already.
But every move, every moan, every cry was going to be so much sweeter if he waited until she was completely out of her mind. No more wondering and worrying, convincing herself she was somehow not good enough, not sexy enough, not fun enough to have what she wanted. Until she knew with every cell in her body that this was what she wanted—that what she wanted was him.
He didn’t need to have known Rose when she was with that asshole Jason to bet his family’s whole company on the fact that that prick had never made her pant. Made her beg. Made her need.
If Rose thought she was tame…it was only because no man had made her wild. Owen was going to change that. Starting now.
When he had everything ready, he stripped down as she watched and then climbed back on top of her, hovering above her with his thighs on either side of her waist. She ran her hands up his legs. His cock was standing straight up, and she went to touch it, to stroke it like she’d done before.
It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to push her hands away.
“Not yet,” he whispered and drew her arms up over her head, pulling off her shirt and slipping off her bra as he went.
He looped one end of each restraint over the poles at either end of the headboard. They weren’t trying to hide these from anyone, so they didn’t need to go under the bed. Before he slid her wrists inside, he kissed each one, bringing his lips to the soft skin of her arms. Perfection.
She lay there underneath him, her arms spread and bound, looking up at him with wide, skittish eyes. He saw nervousness there, the uncertainty at doing something new.
But he also saw excitement, the way the nerves mingled with something else to make it thrilling. To make it more.
“You look incredible,” he murmured, bending down to kiss her lips. She tugged against the restraints—a reflex to touch him, to respond the way she normally would. But it was that much hotter that she couldn’t.
“I guess I’d better be careful,” she said as she pulled on the restraints. Testing. Teasing.
“The whole point is to not be careful,” he said.
“Because you fixed the bed?” She practically snorted in his face.
He picked up the next restraint and dragged the leather feather-light over her breasts. Her nipples puckered and hardened even more at the touch.
“I fucking hope we break it,” he said. “Prove me wrong.”
He loved the way she resisted and begged for it at the same time, the struggle taking place inside her and across the sheets.
“There’s more?” she asked, eyes wide as he drew the leather down her body. When he got to the waist of her jeans, he kept going all the way down, removing her pants and underwear until she was completely naked before him. He trailed the leather, teasing, down her thighs, raising goose bumps in its wake.
“I never do anything halfway.”
She moved like she was going to sit up, but the wrist restraints held her in place. Fuck. It was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, watching her reach for him and realize she couldn’t. She was at his mercy, spread out and beautiful. His cock was so hard that it hurt.
He traced the restraint the rest of the way down her leg. He looped it around her ankle, again kissing the delicate skin before tethering her to the bed, tightening the strap until it held.
When both her legs were bound, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. She formed an X across the bed, her arms and legs spread wide, hair tumbling every which way. He licked his lips and began stroking his cock. Just a little. Enough to take the edge off. He moaned as he watched her naked body squirm, testing her new limits.
“You can’t do this to me.” She tugged on the restraints.
“I thought you were begging for it,” he teased her.
“But I want to touch you.” She bit her lip, pouting. He leaned over and kissed her frown.
“Then it’s too bad that you’re mine for tonight.”
He knew she wasn’t afraid of what he might do but of what she might do. How she might let herself give in.
He threw his leg over her and straddled her again, his balls resting on her stomach, his cock standing straight up. No matter his position of power, he bent down and kissed her lips softly, tenderly. His way of letting her know.
The restraints didn’t change anything. It was still him holding her, kissing her. This was all about how out of this world he was going to make her feel.
He brought himself over her face. “Do you still want to suck my cock?” he asked.
H
er tongue darted out quickly, and it made his cock jump to see that perfect pink. Then she opened her mouth for him, and it was all he needed. She may have been bound, but that gesture—it was all her own. It was every sign of what she wanted him to do.
He thrust his dick into her open mouth, pushing it over her slippery tongue, back, back, into the warmth of her throat. In and out he brought his cock, letting her tongue dance over him, swirl the tip, and take him deep again. He painted her lips with his precum, mesmerized by the sight of her greedy for him.
He wanted to explode into her mouth, watch her swallow every last drop. But it was too soon, and he had too many other plans for her. When he withdrew from her mouth, she whimpered, but it turned into a groan as he lay on top of her and kissed her, his cock pressing hard into her thigh.
She arched her hips up, but he still wasn’t going to fuck her. Not yet.
He kissed his way down her body, spending time on the sensitive side of her neck, sucking on her nipples as they tightened in his mouth. He got lower, kissing and nibbling the insides of her spread thighs, until he was finally…there.
With every flick of his tongue over her clit, she tugged on the restraints. But there was nowhere to go. Exactly how he wanted it.
He could feel the transition, the moment when she stopped fighting it and let herself give in. Her hips circled. Her thighs tightened. The leg restraints became a brace to give herself leverage, rather than something to struggle against.
Her moans became louder. Deeper. Closer together as her chest rose and fell, panting at his touch.
He slid a finger inside her, then another, teasing her g-spot as his tongue circled the sweetness of her clit. Had he ever loved tasting a woman the way he loved the taste of Rose?
“Owen,” she panted. Again, over and over, crying out his name.
“Don’t come yet,” he murmured into her warmth. He stroked the tender place inside and rolled her clit in his mouth. “Don’t you dare fucking come.”
“I need to,” she gasped, writhing against him.
“You can hold off.”
“I can’t, I can’t, I’m going to—”
“Not yet.”
Wrong Bed, Right Man Page 8