Just a Number(38)
Three days’ worth of pent-up frustration is unleashed, and I press myself closer to Owen, taking his lower lip between my teeth and twisting my fingers into his hair. Hearing that what happened this weekend was just a small bump in the road—one that, to be quite honest, only foreshadows a much larger one that could send our lives into a tailspin—is such a relief. However, I don’t just need to hear it; I need Owen to show me.
“Mmmf, Amy,” he mumbles against my voracious lips, and when he pulls away, I focus on his stubble-ridden jawline, kissing and nipping a trail toward his ear. “We should talk about this.”
I know he’s right and I should use every ounce of self-control I have to end the kiss. It’s not like I don’t realize that jumping back into bed will only prolong this conversation further—something we’ve already proven can be detrimental—but I can’t find it in myself to pull away from him. I don’t want to talk. Not yet. I want to get lost in him. I want to forget that Friday ever happened—just for a little while—and get back to the way things were. We can talk after. I promise I’ll be a grown up just as soon as we’re done.
He loosens his grip around my waist, lowering me to the floor as he tries to back away, but I refuse to relent. I slide my hands down his chest and tug on his tie until I’ve removed and tossed it aside. “I tried to talk to you on Friday,” I tell him softly, an edge of anger still audible in my tone as I unfasten the buttons on his shirt and push it open. “You brushed me off.”
“Because—”
“I know,” I interrupt, looking up at him as I pull the hem of his shirt from the waist of his pants and push it down his arms. “But I don’t want to talk. Not right this second. After, I promise.” My attention falls to his belt, and I begin tugging at it impatiently, my fingers trembling with anticipation. “What I want right now, is you.”
Everything happens so quickly after that.
Groaning, Owen slides his hand over my jaw until his fingers curl around my neck, tugging on the hairs that are currently pulled up in my messy bun. I don’t care, though; the prickling sensation of pain only reminds me that this isn’t a dream. His lips crush mine, our teeth hitting occasionally until we’ve found our rhythm, and his other hand slides up under my sweater and toward my tits. My skin prickles with goosebumps under the warmth of his touch, and desperation burns through my veins. Unable to wait any longer, I quickly pull away, yanking my sweater and bra from my body in one fell swoop before frantically undoing my jeans while kicking my shoes off. As I work to remove my clothes, Owen is doing the same, both of us driven by nothing more than pure, carnal lust and need and loving every second of it.
There will be no sweet and sensual undressing of each other this time.
Once our clothes have been tossed aside, I reach forward and wrap my hand around Owen’s neck, pulling him forward until his body crashes into mine, forcing us to topple over onto the bed. I use this momentum to roll us over until I’m straddling him, and I can feel his erection resting between my legs, tempting me…teasing me. I rock my hips over him, and he groans into my mouth, his fingers curling into the flesh of my hips and pulling me forward roughly until I cry out with pleasure.
There will be no sweet and sensual love-making this time, either. And I’m more than okay with that.
I break our kiss and look deep into his eyes as I lean over him and reach for the bedside drawer to grab a condom, but Owen stops me. Every cell in my brain momentarily shuts down as he guides me over his cock, aligning us and pulling me down onto him. The feel of his skin against mine is so sensual, the passion between us so intense, that I find it hard to think rationally, and for the first time ever, I find myself wondering if this is how guys feel during sex. It’s fucking amazing, and my body moves as if completely detached from all sense of reason.
Eventually, I am able to wade through the fog of lust and desire long enough to try and be responsible. “Wait,” I pant, unable to stop my hips from moving. Every cell in my body is charged and crackling, and I just don’t want it to end.
As I go back and forth on what I should do and what I want to do, Owen lifts his head from the bed and kisses me softly. “It’s fine,” he assures me, and one more look into his eyes tells me everything I need to know, and I don’t question it again. I only thank God I’m on the pill.
Our bodies continue to move together in a desperate attempt to put this weekend behind us. Our kisses are firm, making our lips swell and redden, and our teeth nip hungrily at sensitive patches of flesh. This is make-up sex at its finest, and I can feel our mutual frustration and misery of the last few days fading away as things between us continue to heat up and escalate. The beginning of my orgasm closes in around me when, out of nowhere, Owen rolls us over, withdraws from between my legs, and flips me over with a low growl.