“Yeah,” she breathed, opening her legs as he moved over her and settled between them. “I’m sure, Owen.” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him as close as she could make him. “I want you to make love to me.”
There was something too raw and naked in her last words, and she was afraid she had given too much away. But it was too late to take them back, and part of her didn’t even want to.
With a strange groan, Owen sank into her once more, and she tried to wrap her legs around his hips. It took her three attempts, since her muscles were tired and trembling, but she finally got her legs linked around him.
He didn’t move immediately. Just buried his face in her neck. “Amy,” he said, his voice muffled and unspeakably dear. “I am. I always have. I’ve never done anything else.”
Something lurched in her chest as she tried to understand what he meant. “Owen? What do you—”
He raised his face and placed one finger on her lips, silencing her with the gesture. Meeting her eyes, he murmured, “Don’t talk. Don’t think. Don’t try to work it out. Some things we just can’t control.”
She was about to cry again. About to shatter. About to be completely overwhelmed. So she made one last-ditch effort to stop it. “There’s an appalling kind of irony to your telling anyone in the world not to talk, think, and control.”
He smiled slightly in response but refused to lighten the mood. “Amy,” he said softly, his tone almost pleading. His hard length inside her felt familiar, felt complete, felt so incredibly right. “Why won’t you understand?”
Opening her mouth again, she would have asked another question, but he silenced her with a kiss. The lovely pressure of his mouth on hers was so sweet that the tears that had collected in her eyes streamed helplessly down her face.
“Owen,” she whispered against his lips, sniffing and hoping that her nose wouldn’t start running. “What—”
“Shh.” He continued pressing little kisses into her mouth, and then he started to move inside her.
Slowly, gently, with a lingering rhythm, Owen made love to her—just as she wanted. Her legs tightened around him with every deep thrust, and one of his arms edged under her shoulders so he could pull her chest toward his as they moved together. They were kissing constantly, his lips and tongue stroking her mouth as his hard cock stroked her most intimate self.
The pressure started building again with the rich friction of his motion inside her, and she angled her hips to get more stimulation on her clit. Moaning against his mouth, she arched beneath him as the sensations continued to collect at her center.
Soon, her breathing became too urgent, and she tore her mouth away from his. Tossing her head on the pillow, her eyes happened to land on the clock. “Faster,” she urged him breathlessly. “Running out…time.”
“I don’t care.” His voice was a husky caress. He mouthed the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “Amy, it doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah…does,” she panted, arching her neck back and clawing at his shoulders as her orgasm approached too damn slowly. “You wanted…to win.”
He made a strange noise in the back of his throat and continued the steady thrusting of his hips. “Amy, baby,” he said thickly, his face hidden because he was now nuzzling her neck. “That was never what this was about.”
“But,” she objected, hope flooding her chest at the implications of what was happening but reason trying to keep her joy in check. “You said—”
“I say a lot of things.” He found her throbbing pulse and kissed her there. “They’re not always what I mean.”
She wanted so much to believe him. Wanted so much to allow herself to believe that he was trying to express something without words.
She had to make sure. She breathed, “Why don’t…you say what you mean?”
He lifted his head up. Met her eyes. Told her everything she needed to know. “Why don’t you?”
Because she was afraid. Because she didn’t think he loved her back. Because she thought it would lead to heartbreak. Could his reasons be as simple as that?
His eyes, his mouth, his hands, his cock, his body was telling her the answer. All of him was loving her, adoring her, asking her to love him back.
She did. So much. Held him tightly with her arms and her legs. Squeezed him with her inner muscles. Moved her hips with the rhythm they were making, allowed it to push her toward release.
“Owen,” she cried, on a taken breath—wondering how everything had been made right in such a short space of time. Her heart, her body was exploding with a fullness she’d never imagined before. “Owen.”