She stalled with her hand on the lock and looked back at the evidence of her mania strewn about the living room. Pride wouldn’t allow her to let the girls see it. Yet she unbound the door and opened it wide for him.
Owen stood in the hallway with his hands by his side. She was struck by how much taller he was than her when she didn’t have three inches of stylish heels helping her out. Red colored his cheeks, and his chest rose and fell as though he’d run all the way here from the station. It wasn’t possible, or maybe it was … for him.
Muscles in his neck and jaw flexed. Unlike the previous weeks, the weather had turned cold and biting. The jacket that’d been lying over the back of his chair at the station, the one that should be wrapped tightly around him, was nowhere to be seen. Gooseflesh prickled the intricate tattoos coloring his arms.
When she reached for him, the rigidity in his shoulders eased. His skin chilled her fingers. She wrapped her hand around his wrist, pulled him inside, closed and locked the door, and then turned to face him. His gaze roamed the living room for a long quiet minute.
The boyish blondness of his hair glinted in the daylight that streamed in through the large windows. Her fingers itched to thread through the windblown top and scrape across the prickly sides. The back of a man had never intrigued her as much as the front, but she studied every inch of Owen’s neck, his shoulders. His T-shirt clung to the dip and sway of lats, and his jeans hugged his glutes. She longed to wrap him in her arms, rest her head on his back, and forget about everything but him.
“I’ve always led with logic.” He braced his hands on his hips. His body spread wider. She hadn’t thought it possible. He consumed her little foyer. The imposing breadth comforted her in a way no man’s had done before.
Logic. Gen rarely used the skill. Knowledge and impulse ran her life … just not where Owen Graham was concerned.
“It’s kept me safe.” Owen turned to face her. “It’s kept me detached too.”
“Impulse has always done the same for me … because there was never any emotion driving it.”
“Two different approaches. Same outcomes.”
“Outcomes we’re destined to repeat.”
“No.” His head shook as vehemently as his rebuttal in the small space. He stepped forward, crowding her.
“No?” Her chin jutted.
“We don’t have to.” His gaze locked on her mouth. “You could trust me.”
She licked her lips and arched a brow.
“I trust you, Gen.” He pinned her with his electric gaze. “If you say Perry did it, I know you’d never say that unless you had serious ammo backing it. You’re holding back. Tell me what makes you think he did it. I’ll do everything in my power to haul him in, acquittal or not. We’ll get justice for Pamela and the children.”
Her heart exploded with pure joy. He trusted her. He was here for her. What if she couldn’t open up to him? What if she drove him away? Fear and doubt hit her like shrapnel. Its sharp edges carving holes in her happiness.
So she did what she did best.
Gen slipped her right hand in the back of his collar, wrapped her palm around his nape, and dropped her gaze to his mouth. “Kiss me and don’t stop.”
Mere inches separated their faces. Desire filled the gap.
“Gen.” His teeth dragged over his bottom lip, then clenched tightly. Indecision battled in his bright blues. He knew this was a tactic.
She leaned forward onto tiptoes and dragged her tongue from the corner of his mouth to the crest of his upper lip.
He held perfectly still.
Challenge accepted.
Her head dropped to his chin. Unyielding teeth grazed his jawline and snagged on the meaty hinge of his jaw. He released a low groan. It rumbled from his throat and tickled its way through her lips, down her throat, and caressed her breasts. Just like that, it changed from a challenge to pleasure, her pleasure.
She touched her left hand to the center of his chest and pressed him back. He walked willingly until his shoulder blades met the small strip of wall between the kitchen and bathroom. His throat worked on a deep swallow. She licked her lips.
“Don’t do this, Gen.”
“Owen,” she scolded while her fingers made a meal of his shoulders and chest. “Don’t do what?” The ridges of his abdomen created a ripple under her touch. Her fingers stopped at the edge of his shirt and hooked on to the material. She lifted the edge, worked the fabric up an inch, and lowered her mouth to his hot skin. With each inch revealed, she traced the light and shadows of his stunning torso. His breaths grew heavy.
Gen straightened and peeled the shirt over his head. She dropped it on the floor. Her gaze drank him in. Ruddy cheeks. Wide chest. Thick, inked arms. Half-lidded gaze.
“Talk to me,” he begged.
She dropped to her knees in front of him. “That’ll be hard.” The leather of his belt loosened under her diligent hands. “A lady isn’t supposed to speak with something in her mouth.”
“You’re no lady, vixen.”
“I’ve been called by many names but never vixen.” His zipper gave way under her touch. She dragged the front of his pants down and groaned. Of all the penises she’d seen in her day, this was by far the prettiest. Not a freckle. Not a wrinkle out of place. Not too big. Not anywhere near small. It stood at perfect attention. It looked pristine, almost untouched.
God, please let him know how to use this thing.
Any other day, with any other dick, she’d have taken it to the back of her throat in one deft stroke. It was her signature move. It let them know exactly who they were dealing with, and it got them going. As ridiculous as it sounded even in her own head, this was a dick to savor.
She started with a taste, a simple slip of her tongue around the smooth tip. The heady flavor drew her lids closed and elicited a moan. Her lips arranged kisses in its wake and down the shaft to the base. She used the flat of her tongue and relished in his full flavor from bottom to top.
When she glanced up, he was watching her intently. His eyes were drunk with lust. His cheeks flushed. The desire to take him past climax pooled in her belly and dipped devilishly low. She would take him all the way but slowly. After licking her lips and lavishing the tip of his cock, she tortured them inch by delicious inch. The slow bob, suck, lick, and swallow drove her own desire. Her hips rocked in pace with the seduction. Her breasts shimmied with every withdrawal. Before long, they both panted.
At any moment, she expected Owen, the consummate gentleman, to try to pull her up and spare her from the mess for which she longed. But with each stroke, he surprised her, sinking deeper into the rhythm, thrusting with greater abandon. She scooted closer, slid her hands from the front of his pants to the firm globes of his ass, and grabbed hold. It ramped the tempo.
The flesh between Gen’s legs slicked and swelled with each pass. She wanted his touch, needed it in her aching center, but this wasn’t about her. A first, for certain. She focused on the feel of him, stretching her throat, abrading her swollen lips, swelling inside her mouth.
“Gen.” His fists clenched at his sides. He groaned her name and tensed.
Heat shot into the back of her throat. She held him deep and tight, drawing out his climax. His body tightened. He shivered around her and then collapsed against the wall. His chest rose and fell. Triumph danced over her, plumping her breasts and stroking her clit. She popped him out of her mouth, licked her lips, and grinned like a vixen.
Owen’s expression stalled her celebration. His brow was pinched and his gaze narrow. The muscles in his jaw worked as though she’d told him off, not gotten him off.
She stood, ready to defend herself.
He kicked off his boots and pants, yanked her loose silk blouse from her torso, and turned her to face the wall before she could form a single word. His fingers splayed across her back and roamed up her shoulders, sweeping the straps of her bra off with them. Hot, insistent hands plunged into the cups of her bra. The touch forced her back ag
ainst his chest where she melted.
The expression had not been anger but hunger. A yearning she felt all too acutely. It hollowed her out in anticipation of him filling her up.
“Gen,” he growled. She’d never heard her name said in so many different ways with so many different meanings.
His lips nibbled a trail from her earlobe down her neck. He pinched and worked her nipples so precisely her knees quivered.
“Yes.” She arched against him. Her question turned into a sigh punctuated with a moan.
“You frustrate and satisfy me all at once.” He gripped her shoulders and walked her forward.
“I know the feeling,” she panted. The more swollen her sex became, the emptier and achier she felt.
“Not yet, you don’t.” His breath was hot on her cheek. The timbre rumbled from his chest and vibrated against her back. He pulled her bra down to her waist.
“I do,” she groaned.
His laughter filled the intimate space between them. In a flash, he plastered her hands to the wall, shoved her shoulders down, and tilted her hips up, poking her ass into the air.
“I’m not into that dominant, submissive stuff.” There, splayed out and not in control, vulnerability caught her breath.
“Your hands are up, so you don’t fall over.”
“Sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
He nipped and dragged his teeth down the center of her back. Gen’s mouth fell open on a sigh, proving he had every right to be.
Owen reached around, unfastened her pants, and dragged them down her hips inch by tormenting inch. His hands, lips, teeth, and tongue took turns ramping her lust. She swayed and wiggled her ass, trying in vain to rush the pace. His palms pressed her cheeks together. He buried his face in the cleavage he created. Her nipples brushed against the uneven wallpaper. Hot, fast breaths created dew across her lips.
Finally, he released her slacks. They cascaded to the ground in a puddle along with the slight confection of lace she called panties. She kicked them to the side and focused on his touch. Fingers that had been cold only minutes ago warmed the curving planes of her thighs. His nails bit in just so, and he spread her legs unnaturally wide. When those sinewy shoulders burrowed between her thighs, her breath caught. Silky hair tickled the crown of her cheeks a moment before they were spread. The wet, firm tip of his tongue caressed the length of her swollen clit.
He worked her as slowly and maddeningly as she had him. Taking his time, he sampled each intimate part enough that her legs shook. She hovered on the crest of an all-encompassing orgasm, but each time she threatened to crash into the maelstrom, he changed the tempo or location.
Gen panted with her lips against the wall. She clawed at the wallpaper in search of a handle to keep her upright. Her moans ricocheted into her ears, nudging her that much closer to climax.
“If you want it, you’ll have to beg,” he growled.
“Beg?” She managed to sound appalled, though she was a quivering mess.
“Or”—his lips grazed hers as he spoke—“you could trust me.”
“We’re not just talking orgasms anymore, are we?”
“You wish.” He pressed the flat of his tongue to the front of her clit. His rhythm and tempo, his groans of pleasure and determination to master her body shoved her over the edge of oblivion.
Worries evaporated in the heat of explosions ignited one by one throughout her body. They started in her toes and shot upward. They stole her breath. They stole her thoughts.
Twenty-Three
The moment her body quit convulsing, he grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. She stood on shaky legs by sheer force of will. If she fell, Owen would have won. He’d given as good as he’d gotten, but no angels were singing. What could she say? Forget the block, she’d been around the world, and she’d had great orgasms before. Better even. She stared at the slightly uneven etching his well-formed muscles created just above his heart and found herself not unable but certainly unwilling to look him in the eyes.
With every passing breath, fear rushed in, polluting the freshly cleansed parts of her brain. Desire had been a part of her life for decades, but she’d never desired something that scared her. And now, she wanted to trust Owen Graham.
His fingers laced around her neck, and his thumb lifted her chin. She met his knowing gaze. The self-satisfied smile she’d anticipated was a heart-wrenchingly tender smile, if not a little devilish.
“Are you ready?” His voice was husky.
“For what?” Hers quaked as though he was asking her in which manner she wanted to die. She knew exactly what, and she wasn’t ready, not even a little bit.
He grabbed her waist and lifted her high. His arms hugged her tightly, securing her to the warmth of his chest.
Gen encircled his hips with her legs and wrapped her arms around his neck. Their naked bodies pressed together. Hell, they’d shared bodily fluids, but that was far from the most intimate thing that passed between them. She didn’t know what it was. She was wise enough, though, and experienced enough to know it was rare.
Owen walked them into her bedroom. Midday light filled the room with a hallowed glow. Or maybe it was just the man—the unsuspecting, caring, beautifully sharp-edged man. She smoothed a hand over the back of his head. A thousand hairs pricked her palm, rough and rigid, the exterior he shows the world. Then she reached the supple and soft top. Her fingers luxuriated in the feel, in the man she tried her best not to love.
His eyes closed. He whispered her name. His lips toyed with hers. A cascade of slick skin on skin. The tender touch of his mouth continued across her cheek, and then he buried his face in her hair. His arms tightened around her in an embrace. It was more shocking than any sex toy or maneuver she’d tried. It was her first true, real, deep, feel-everything hug maybe ever.
Her legs, arms, fingers, and eyes clamped tight. She clung to him, hugging him with all she had. And just like that, the tumult inside her drifted away, a heavy fog obliterated by the intense light of the sun. Owen wasn’t the sun, but his intensity cleared her head.
When he levered back, she braced his hard, handsome face in her hands.
“I’m ready.”
“What is it you think you’re ready for, vixen?”
“To beg.”
Any smugness that had quirked his mouth melted away. He stopped in front of the bed. His arms released her, more than that, they shrugged her off like a bad outfit. She fell and flailed. The plush white duvet caught her, puffing around her ass and elbows. Her mouth fell open.
He stood rigid and angry at the end of the bed. His hands were loose at his sides, but his chest expanded on a deep breath. It clearly wasn’t the answer he’d wanted.
“What the hell?” Gen scrambled to her knees and stretched her arms wide. “You gave me options.”
His head shook. He took a step away from the bed and drew another breath. It gave her a good look at his body, though this wasn’t the time to be thinking about how magnificently formed it was. She was about to lose any chance she had of possessing such a spectacle. Even more amazing than his body was the heart that beat inside it.
“Don’t leave, please.” Her hand shot out toward him.
“I gave you options because I thought it’d be enough, but …” He laughed, but there was no amusement in it. His head cocked into the air as though looking for answers.
“Owen.” Gen stood, and he took a step back. She lifted her hand in surrender and sat, taking a more vulnerable position than when she was on her knees. “I haven’t pushed men away because I’ve never let them get close enough to hurt me. Not even a catnap after sex. I don’t do intimacy. Never have and never will.”
His jaw flexed.
“Or so I thought,” she added. “I care about you. And that’s enough to make me bar the door and never answer my phone again, but here you are. I let you in. It might not seem like much, but it’s more than I thought I had to give. You make me want things that scare the shit out of me. I
want to trust you. I want to wake up next to you in the morning. I want you to stay.”
“You act like intimacy is easy for people.”
“It seems pretty natural for you.”
“Only because I love you enough to try.”
He could have shot her in the heart and hurt her less. Her hand involuntarily slapped over her mouth. It was her turn to shake her head. Tears threatened to fill her eyes. She blinked them away.
“Don’t say that,” she breathed.
“Why not?”
“It’s too much.”
“It is what it is.” He shrugged. “Want me to go now?”
Gen stood once more and walked to him. He stayed where he was, his blue gaze tracking her. She stopped in front of him and pressed her lips to the skin above his heart. Once. Twice. Three times.
Owen’s fingers dived into the hair at her nape and pulled her face to his. His lips were insistent and ravenous, tugging and suckling at her mouth. Gen’s arms threaded around his neck and yanked him close.
This man. This aberration of the species. He was a mystery.
Her feet left the floor, and she went willingly into his embrace. The world tilted once more, and her back hit the pillowy duvet. His body followed her down, warming her front. His heavy legs pinned her to the bed. Whether intentional or not, it kept her from spreading her legs and maneuvering the heavy cock that hung between his legs where she wanted it most.
Despite the tempo his kisses set, he took his time, savoring each part of her mouth. She dragged her fingers over the carved topography of his back and shoulders, mapping him as she’d never bothered to before. Every muscle weaved its way into another, bulging and contracting under her touch. His lips moved lower, tracing her jaw and neck, before plunging lower still. He didn’t drive straight to the nipples, which was where she wanted him. No, he forced her to enjoy the sweet scratches and hot kisses he used to outline her clavicles and heavy breasts.
The longer he touched and tasted, the more she undulated and sighed. Moisture slicked between her legs as though she hadn’t come minutes ago.
Why (Stalker Series Book 2) Page 22