Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(67)

Never, ever did I allow my heart into the equation. Another embarrassing admission: I never felt anything for those girls. The majority of them are nameless. Faceless. They could have been anyone. It’s not like I’ve been with hundreds of girls but for a while, there was an endless stream of them. All of them interchangeable, not a one of them special.

Until I met Chelsea.

We’re wrapped all around each other and I feel like my body is permanently fused with hers. Her hair is spread out all over my pillow; her scent is embedded in my skin. I can still taste her on my tongue, still hear the little whimpers and whispers of my name when I made her come with my lips and fingers.

She was being quiet so Wade wouldn’t hear us. She worried about that. She worries about everything. Her image. What she’s doing, how helpless she feels when she doesn’t understand what to do. Sex leaves her feeling helpless. She doesn’t have to say it.

I can tell.

But I’m here to catch her. Here to teach her whatever she wants to learn. It all just comes naturally because after all, sex is an instinctive act. The most basic act two human beings can commit. And I can see that happening within her. Her hips are lifting, her legs wrapped tight around me. My c**k feels like it’s going to burst, and it takes everything within me not to just heave two sharp thrusts inside her tight little body and come.

I take it slow, though. I promised I would. I’m patient, infinitely patient with Chels.

Because she’s worth it.

She’s clutching my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin, and I welcome the bite of pain. I was so damn afraid I’d hurt her when I first entered her body and I’m pretty sure I did, though I definitely don’t think she’s hurting now. Whatever pain she can inflict on me I welcome, because then we’re equal.

And I like being equal with her. With Chelsea. I like opening my eyes and watching her, learning a rhythm with her, our bodies in sync, my hands mapping her skin, learning just how to touch her to drive her wild.

She’s mine. She might not know it yet, but I can’t stand the thought of letting her go. The nameless, faceless girls—they’re things of my past. Banished forever. I don’t want to be with anyone else.

I just want to be with her.

“Owen.” Her soft, breathless voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I drop a kiss on her forehead before swooping down and kissing her lips. She can barely keep up, her mouth slack from her out-of-control breathing; her br**sts are crushed against my chest and her hands slide down my back, until they settle on my ass and she’s pressing me deeper. “You feel so good.”

Fuck, so do you, I want to scream at her. Too good. Too f**king good. She’s too good for me. She’s definitely worth it, but I’m not worthy. How did I end up with this girl, anyway? One minute I don’t want to be near her because she’s trying to force me to do something I most definitely don’t want to do, and the next I’m chasing after her like a dog in desperate need of attention. I wanted her attention. All of it. All the time.

I still do.

“You close?” I ask, my voice rough, my entire body wanting to be rough. I need to ease her into this so I don’t hurt her, but I’m desperate to unleash everything I have on her. Fuck her hard. Drive her out of her mind. Make her as addicted to me as I am to her.

She offers this tiny little nod and squeezes her eyes shut, as if she’s focusing every bit of concentration within her to make herself come. Her teeth sink into her poor, ravaged lower lip and I bend down, suck her lip between mine and give it a gentle pull. Lick it. Savor her taste, the whisper of breath that gusts across my mouth. I swallow it, wishing I could swallow her.

I’m a man possessed—overwhelmed and confused and full of joy and scared out of my ever-lovin’ mind. What’s happening between us, I’ve never experienced before. I think I know what Chelsea’s feeling and it’s scary as f**k.

But at least we’re doing it together.

Hesitating, I remain still and inhale sharply, goose bumps washing over my skin. A sure sign I’m about ready to blow, though she’s not ready yet. I can tell she’s not. The familiar tingling has formed at the base of my spine, insistent as all f**k, and my balls literally ache.

“Don’t stop,” she urges. The sound of her voice kills me and I drop my forehead to hers once more, trying to gain some control.

“I gotta stop,” I tell her. “If I don’t, I’m going to come. And you’re not ready.”

“I’m ready.” She runs her fingers through my hair, and I really f**king love it when she does that. Her touch feels so good. I want to lean into her hand every time, like I’m a cat or something. “Do what you want, Owen. You won’t hurt me. I’m not made of glass.”

She’s giving me permission to use her. And I don’t really want to, because she’s different. What we share together is so different from what I’ve done with other girls. “But …”

“I already came.” She streaks her fingers down my cheek as shock courses through me over what she said. Look at my tentative Chelsea, saying I made her come.

“I want you to come again,” I tell her just before I crush my mouth to hers. I increase my pace, using her because she gave me permission, but I’m also going to make sure she gets off, too.

Reaching between our bodies, I brush my fingers against her clit. She hisses against my lips and I continue stroking her, keeping time with my thrusts, keeping time with my breaths. With hers. She shudders and moans, licks my lips with her tongue as if she can’t get enough, and then she’s thrusting her head back against the pillow. Her perfect neck is arched, her pink lips parted, but no sound is coming out beyond her sexy little pants of air.