by R. C. Martin
But he’s Owen!
Owen is just a friend. He’s like a puppy. Loyal, cute, and fun to have around. He’s smart, he’s got pretty sea green eyes, and he’s great with a soccer ball, but he’s just a friend. I met him through Kenzie our freshman year in the dorms. At first, when we all started hanging out, I thought she might be into him, so he was immediately shoved into the friend zone. Nothing ever happened between them, but his fate had already been sealed. He was our puppy.
Then, last night, he shattered that illusion. Now everything I know about him is in pieces, scattered around my feet. I don’t know who he is; I don’t know why he kissed me; and I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about it. No. Worse. I crave it. That kiss was not meant to stand on its own. It was the kind of kiss that’s supposed to be repeated in a variety of ways in various places—with or without clothes.
Holy shit!
I snap my eyes closed tight, groaning as I shove aside thoughts of Owen touching me in intimate places. This cannot happen. This will not happen. Owen is just a friend. Just a friend. Not a sexy friend, not a friend with benefits, just a friend who kissed me once, reminding me what it feels like to be swept off my feet. It can’t happen again. It won’t happen again, and I need to make sure he knows that.
My head still pounding, I crawl across the room on my hands and knees until I reach my bed. Pulling myself up onto my mattress, I reach for my phone, which is sitting on my nightstand. I don’t think about the fact that it’s been plugged in and is now fully charged—no doubt because of Owen. I don’t remember getting home last night, proof positive that it wasn’t me who plugged in my phone and grabbed the ibuprofen along with a glass of water, arranging all of it just beside the bed. Not that any of that matters. That’s just Owen being Owen. He’d do that for anyone.
Refusing to think anymore of it, I open up the text app and find our thread before typing out a new message.
Hey…we need to talk.
I press send, holding my breath as I stare at the screen, wondering how long it’ll take him to respond. I don’t know why I’m so anxious. I’ve made up my mind, and things are not going to change between us. Yet, as I wait, I can’t ignore the knots that plague my already sensitive stomach. When his reply appears on my screen, my heart races as I blow out a sigh of relief. I’m quick to read what he sent.
Yeah. We do. I’m at the gym until seven. I’ll come over after?
I’m actually relieved to learn that he’s at work, which gives me the day to get my shit together. I’m about to respond with an affirmative, thinking that having the advantage of home field will be a good thing—then I remember Kenzie. I just made a gigantic mess of our friendship with that stupid fight. The last thing I need is to confront Owen if she’s here, probably hating me for the things I said.
I shake my head—an act I regret immediately—and shrug my shoulders, telling myself that I can only deal with one issue at a time. Deciding to work in chronological order, I put my thumbs to work and then hit send.
I’ll come to you. How about eight?
I slip between the covers, laying my head down as I await his reply. What I really need is to go back to sleep, snooze away this massive hangover, and start this day all over again. Before I drift off, my phone alerts me to another message.
Works for me. See you then.
I pull down my visor, flipping open the mirror before I apply a coat of lip gloss. I tell myself repeatedly that I didn’t put too much thought into my outfit—that my holey jeans are ratty, not designer, my Uggs are warm, not cute, and my oversized sweater is practical, not fashionable; also, the messy bun on top of my head didn’t take me too long to perfect, because I wasn’t trying to perfect it for anyone.
“He’s just Owen,” I speak aloud to my reflection.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I smack the visor closed, grab my purse, and climb out of my car. Owen lives in a studio apartment just a couple blocks away from Kenzie and me. I’m not quite sure how he does it, but on top of school and his crazy soccer habit, he works almost thirty hours a week at a gym here in town to afford this space.
He’s over at our apartment more than we’re over at his, but I have no trouble finding my way to his door, located on the third level of his apartment building. I knock, ignoring my nervous butterflies, my eyes bouncing everywhere as I wait for an answer. When the door swings open, I stifle a startled gasp, my gaze taking in the man in front of me.
He’s wearing black gym shorts, which show off his tanned, toned legs, and his work polo, with the gym insignia over his left pectoral. I also can’t help but notice how the sleeves are wrapped tightly around his thick, sculpted biceps.
Okay. Maybe not a puppy. Maybe more like a Doberman.
“Hey,” he says in greeting, smiling at me fondly. “Come on in.”
I offer him no more than a nod, suddenly completely unsure of my voice, and walk past him into his living space. He’s got it sectioned off into halves. His kitchen and sitting area are on one side, his bed, closet, and bathroom on the other. The place is littered with gym bags, tennis shoes, cleats, dirty clothes, textbooks, water bottles, and empty containers of protein powder that haven’t made it into the recycling bin just yet—but I’ve seen worse.
I stop looking around in an attempt to focus my thoughts, sure that the easiest way to go about this will be to just do it. Rip that bitch off like a Band-Aid. Stopping in the middle of the room, I clear my throat and then turn to face him. Before I can even open my mouth to speak a word, he interrupts me—not with his words, but with his body.
I suck in a sharp breath as he hooks an arm around my waist, snatching me up against him. My hands fly to his chest—his warm, hard, nice chest—and my eyes open wide as I look up at him in shock.
“Let’s get something straight, all right? We don’t just talk when you want to talk. If I have something to say, you have to listen, too. It’s about respect. I respect you, baby, and if this is going to work, you have to do the same.”
My jaw falls open as I rear my head back, pushing against his chest in an effort to escape his hold. His arm only grows tighter around me, and I scowl at him as I cry, “Baby? I’m not your baby! And why are you holding on to me so tight? I don’t know what you think is going on here, but I came over here to say—”
“Okay, I see we’re going to have to work on the respect thing—but that’s all right. I can be patient.”
“Owen—”
“You kissed me back.”
I clamp my mouth shut, not sure how to respond to that. He’s not wrong. I totally kissed him back. Now, as I sneak a peek at his lips, my belly fills with a longing I can’t ignore. Lifting my eyes back up to meet his gaze, I swallow hard. There’s a look of determination darkening his sea green irises in a way that I’ve never seen before. It makes me want to kiss him.
It makes me want to do a lot more than kiss him.
Wondering what in hell has gotten into me, I shake my head clear and try shoving out of his hold again, but the fucker is strong—shit! “Owen, let me go.”
“No,” he simply states.
“Owen!”
“You kissed me back. I took a chance last night. I did what I’ve been wanting to do for months. I got tired of watching you flaunt yourself in front of other guys—like you aren’t worth so much fucking more—so I did it. I said to hell with the consequences, and I did it. I took what I wanted.” He pauses, bringing his face so close to mine, I can feel his breath against my lips before he goes on to say, “And you. Kissed. Me. Back.”
Months? He’s been wanting to kiss me for months?
I go slack in his arms, too busy trying to process all that he’s just said to put up anymore of a fight. If I thought I was freaked out before, I was wrong. I’m totally freaked out now. This is not going to be like ripping off a Band-Aid. Not even close. All that he’s saying, all the things I’m feeling in response to what he’s saying, it doesn’t make sense. It can’t make sense.
He’
s. Just. Owen!
I scrounge my brain for something—anything—to say in reply. Then it hits me, and I blurt out, “I was drunk. It didn’t mean anything, Owen.”
“Bullshit,” he replies stubbornly. “I took you by surprise, just like I knew I would. You’re so goddamn oblivious sometimes. Beautiful, funny, smart—but so fucking oblivious. That is, until last night. Then I kissed you. I kissed you, and you felt it. You could taste it, baby.”
“Stop calling me that,” I whisper, my voice lacking any and all conviction.
The truth is, every time he says the word, my stomach fills with butterflies. I don’t know why. I can’t explain it. It’s all so much—his body holding mine, his heated gaze speaking of a reality that I didn’t even know existed, his sweet words making me wonder if this is real—it’s all just too much.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie. “Whatever you think is going on between us, it’s not.” That one is not a lie. We’re friends. There is no us. There can be no us. That’s too complicated. Grabbing hold of my renewed confidence, I go on to say, “It was a party, Owen. I don’t even remember half of the night, so you can’t tell me—”
He interrupts me again. Only this time, it’s not words coming out of his mouth, it’s his tongue sweeping over mine. I curl my fingers around the fabric of his shirt, balling my hands into fists with every intention of pushing away from him, but then he grunts.
The longing that was in my stomach drops down between my legs, and my fight vanishes into thin air. When his free hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, he kisses me deeper, and suddenly, I need more.
I let go of his shirt, shrugging my purse from off of my shoulder. It drops to the ground, and I can tell by the noise it makes that the contents of the inside have now spilled all over the floor, but I don’t care. I don’t even think about breaking away from this kiss. I can’t. Furthermore, I don’t want to. Instead, I reach up and slip my arms around his neck. With our lips still locked, he guides me backwards, maneuvering me until I’m up against a wall.
Without thinking, I hitch my leg around his hip, eliciting another grunt—this one accompanied by a thrust of his hips. I moan, my core ignited in desire, curious to know what he’s hiding in those shorts. To my surprise, I don’t have to wait for long. He reaches down with both of his hands, gripping the back of my thighs. He lifts me from my feet, and my legs circle around his hips before he grinds against me again. I can feel his erection through my jeans, and the sensation he causes makes me feel reckless and needy.
“Owen,” I sigh into his mouth.
“You feel it, too, baby,” he mumbles, kissing along my jaw and down my neck. “Say it.”
I whimper, afraid of what all of this means; but then he presses his erection against me again, and my words tumble out of my mouth. “I feel that—oh, god, do I feel that.”
“I want you, Brooke.” He drags his lips to my ear, pressing a kiss there before he repeats, “I want all of you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to fight my desire. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex, that’s for sure. I can’t deny that my body is thrilled by the prospect of an orgasm. Nevertheless, it’s impossible to ignore how bad of an idea this is.
“We can’t,” I breathe, my voice catching when he nibbles on my earlobe.
“We will,” he counters. His teeth graze over my jaw just as one of his hands reaches up and cups my breast, massaging me over my sweater.
“Oh, god—why does that feel so good?” I whine, clamping my eyes closed even tighter as I arch my back, pressing into his touch.
“I’m trying to tell you, baby—you feel it, too.” He brushes his lips against mine before he murmurs, “I’ve been waiting for you to see me, waiting for you to open your eyes and see what’s been right in front of you all this time. I couldn’t wait anymore. I couldn’t stay silent anymore. I’m going to make you mine, Brooke. Do you understand me?”
“Fuck,” I cry, clapping my hands over my face. “Where is this even coming from? What is happening?”
“Here,” he insists, taking hold of one of my wrists and guiding my hand to his chest. I uncover the other half of my face as I look down and see his fingers covering mine, our hands pressed against his heart. “It’s coming from here, baby.”
My breath catches in my throat when he moves his hand from over mine, slipping it under my sweater. He doesn’t take his eyes away from mine as he places his palm flat against my chest, just above my breast.
“Your heart is racing,” he announces, a slow smile tugging at his luscious lips.
I stare at him, completely speechless, no longer sure of what I came over here to say. My silence doesn’t deter him in the slightest. Before I can get my wits about me, he’s carrying me toward his bed. With one hand at my back, the other gripping my ass, he stops when we’ve reached our destination, but he doesn’t let me go. Just when I think he’s beginning to reconsider, he speaks.
“I’m going to put you down. I’m going to take your clothes off. You’re going to help me take off mine. Then, for the rest of the night, I’m going to show you what us looks like.”
“Owen,” I mutter as I slide down his chest and onto my feet. “I don’t—I don’t—” I don’t know how to finish that sentence. There’s something about the way he said that—I’m going to show you what us looks like—it makes me want to know. I’ve never been so curious about anything in all my life.
“If you don’t want this,” he starts to say, pushing my coat over my shoulders and onto the floor, “then you’re going to have to tell me to stop.” He reaches for the hem of my sweater, and as he begins to tug it up over my torso, I don’t speak a word. My eyes search his face as he continues to undress me, and I don’t see Owen—my friend. I see Owen—the man. It’s strange, seeing someone so familiar and yet so new. I don’t know what to make of it, but I do know one thing.
I don’t want him to stop.
I raise my arms when he’s got my sweater as high as he can go without my assistance. As soon as he’s discarded the garment, he kneels down in front of me. Tapping my leg, he looks up at me and commands, “Boot, baby. Let me have it.”
I do as he says, holding onto his shoulders as he removes one boot and then the other, taking my socks, too. My jeans are next; but when he starts to reach for my panties, I grab his hands and shake my head before I murmur, “You first.”
He stands to his feet once more, removing his polo shirt as he straightens to his full height. He’s wearing a tank underneath, and instead of removing it himself, he takes my hands and slides them beneath the thin fabric. I splay my fingers over his abs, my breaths growing shorter and shorter as I let him guide my hands up. Counting as I ascend, I realize he’s got an eight pack. Eight.
Good God, he wasn’t kidding—he’s been standing in front of me all this time, and I never noticed.
Now anxious to see all of him, I shake off his touch and yank his covering up his chest. He reaches behind his head, grabbing the tank top at his shoulders before pulling it off and tossing it behind him. When he hooks his fingers in his shorts next, I swallow hard. He shoves them, along with his underwear, to his knees, where he lets them go. They fall to his feet, and my gaze automatically falls to his dick.
It’s perfect. Not too long, not too short; not too thin, not too thick; it’s all the same color—and veiny, like he’s so hard for me, all of his blood has descended to his cock.
“You can suck it, if you’d like,” he mutters.
I look up at him from beneath my lashes, quirking an eyebrow at him to express just how presumptuous I think he’s being.
“It’s yours, baby. Has been for a while now. You’re the only one I want. You’re the only one I think about. I haven’t been inside of another woman in a year. So if you want to suck it,” he pauses, reaching out to gently run the back of his fingers down my cheek, “It’s yours.”
“Holy shit,” I whisper, now staring at him in shock.
I mull this over for a second and then shake my head at myself before grabbing my waist and popping my hip. “You’ve been waiting for me for a year? What is wrong with you, Owen? Why didn’t you just say something?”
“I could give you a list of excuses, baby,” he mutters, sliding his arms through mine and around my back. He pulls me against him, and my stomach erupts with butterflies at the feel of his dick pressed up against my belly. “But they’re all irrelevant. We’re here now.”
He slides his hands down, dipping his fingers underneath the waistband of my panties before he reaches further to grab hold of my bare ass. His touch makes my nipples tingle and my breath catch, and I decide that he’s right. I don’t care about his reasons why. I’m too distracted by right now.
“You on the pill?”
“Yeah.”
I gasp when I hear a loud ripping noise. Then I feel my torn panties slip down my legs and around my ankles.
“Owen!”
He ignores me, unhooking my bra, revealing my now aching breasts. “Fucking hell, you’re gorgeous—even more beautiful than I imagined.” He wraps me in his arms, smashing my naked body against his as he buries his face in my neck and says, “I intend to savor every inch of you. You’ll be mine, do you hear me? All mine.”
I don’t get a chance to respond before he sinks down to his knees. He lifts one of my legs, hooking my knee over his shoulder, spreading me open in front of his face. He grazes the tip of his nose along my seam, smelling me, and I feel a blush creep into my cheeks.