All the Way (Hot Jocks #2)(22)

“Owen,” I say, but I don’t get a chance to get another word in before he shuts me up the best way he knows how—with a tender yet demanding kiss that leaves me spinning.

My mouth falls open in shock at first, then stays open to accommodate his tongue, which gently strokes mine. Holy shit, kissing him is just as mind blowing as I remember, if not better.

With his abundance of enthusiasm and bulky size, I almost expected Owen to be a rush-to-finish kind of guy. But based on the way he kisses—with total gentleness and a surprising amount of slow affection—I think I’m about to have everything I thought I knew about him be tested.

His lips are warm and soft, and the deep, drugging kisses he teases me with are heating me up from the inside out. I fight off a shiver as his tongue sucks on mine, and everything turns molten all at once. His mouth descends, kissing a wet, warm path along my throat while his fingertips skim over the bare skin on my arms.

As I steady myself on his shoulders, Owen’s hands slide from my waist to my backside. I let out a small hum of approval to signify that yes, he has my permission to keep his hands there, and he tightens his grip in response. Even through the silk of my dress, I can feel the calluses of his fingers as he acquaints himself with the curve of my ass.

Holy crap! My entire body floods with endorphins, and I struggle for breath.

Since the attack, I’ve lived with the constant fear that I’d never feel like this again. I lived thinking fear would always win. But now as Owen holds me in his arms and kisses me breathless, I realize that maybe fear won’t win, and hope will come out victorious.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back just a fraction. His voice is deep and husky, his eyes filled with desire, but his meaning is crystal clear—this won’t go any further unless it’s what I want.

“Very,” I say, bringing my hands underneath the lapels of his jacket to touch his firm chest.

His stormy gaze penetrates straight through me. Yes, he’s intense and masculine and a tiny bit overwhelming with all that bulky muscle, but he’s also Owen. I trust him completely, and I know he’d never hurt me or move at a pace I didn’t agree to.

“Let’s take this to your bedroom?” he whispers, his breath hot and tantalizing against my ear. It’s a statement, but he poses it as a question.

“Okay,” I say on a breathy sigh.

I can feel him smiling against my neck. “Lead the way.”

And I do.

Gladly.

Weaving his fingers with mine, I lead Owen down the hall and through my bedroom door. Over the course of our four years of friendship, he’s only been in here a grand total of maybe four times, but by the way he pulls me onto my bed, you’d think we had been in this exact position hundreds of times. There’s something so natural about the way we move together, collapsing onto my fluffy white comforter and tangling ourselves in each other.

The scruff of his stubble scratches pleasantly against my skin as he kisses down my throat to my collarbone. I wait for panic to grip me, for my fears to overwhelm me, but it doesn’t happen.

With one sweep of his thumb across my breast, he expertly finds my nipple through the layer of silk, pinching and tugging gently at first, then a bit rougher, pulling a heady moan from my lips that I can’t control. I lift my hips in pleasure as a needy buzz builds in the space between my thighs. I want him, no, need him to touch me there.

Owen pulls away momentarily to ditch his tuxedo jacket, giving me a prime view of those deliciously broad shoulders. I’ve seen him shirtless dozens of times during summer trips to the beach, but it’s always been strictly “look, don’t touch.”

As he climbs on top of me, I can’t resist reaching out and running my fingers underneath his now untucked shirt and along his chiseled eight-pack. I crane my neck forward, hungry for another kiss, but instead, he plants his arms firmly on either side of my head and squints down at me like I’m a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“We should talk things through first.”

I frown, staring up at him. “Talk what through?”

“We need to talk about boundary lines before we kick things up a notch.”

Haven’t we already kicked things up a notch? Last time we got physical, he gave me a quick kiss and then said good night. Now he’s straddling me in my bed, and I’m eager for more.

“What kind of boundary lines?”

“Like, what’s okay and what’s not okay with you. What are some things that might trigger a flashback? Is there anything that takes you back to that moment? I don’t want to take things too far, or say or do something that makes you uncomfortable.”

My heart squeezes at his thoughtfulness and need to protect me. “You’re not going to make me uncomfortable, Owen. I trust you. And if you do for some reason, I’ll just tell you to stop. Is that what you meant?”

He nods while climbing off of me and plopping down by my side. I guess this conversation isn’t over.

“It’s a good start. But like, what if I were to, I don’t know, pin you down to the bed? Or like, bite your neck or something? Or talk dirty? Would that freak you out?”

My nose scrunches as I weigh his words and let them sink in. “I don’t think so.” When he doesn’t look convinced, I try again, placing my hand against his firm bicep. “I’m comfortable with you. I feel safe. You don’t need to worry because I know you’ll never hurt me, and I know you’ll stop if I say no.”