Page 45 of Caught Up In You

“Needy, are we?” Owen chuckles, running a finger along the damp spot blooming on the fabric. “You know, when I think about that night in the parking lot and all the things I regret not doing, tasting you is at the very top of the list.”

And then that same long, strong finger hooks into the elastic at the apex of my thighs and drags it to the side. When his tongue dips between my folds, I nearly levitate off the counter.

“Fuck please yes oh mygod,” I babble as his tongue makes gentle circles around my clit.

Owen’s hands slide beneath my thighs and lift them onto his shoulders. Then they slip beneath my ass to tilt me until I’m at the perfect angle for him. I let him manipulate my body as he pleases. I’m so far gone for him and for this that he could stand me on my head or suspend me from the ceiling and I’d simply beg for more.

Which is what I do when he sucks my clit hard between his lips.

“Please don’t stop,” I whine, followed by a string of expletives and pleas and prayers. My fingers thread into the thick waves of his hair, pulling him closer as my hips began to buck against his tongue.

Through the flood of pleasure, the absolute electric current of his attention, I think I hear sounds that could be distant footsteps, but it’s not enough to pull me away from this, from him. I feel like I’ve gone over the first hill of a roller coaster, and I’m not stopping until I’ve come screaming into the station.

And maybe I say something like this out loud, some garbled plea for more and harder andnow, because Owen pulls back just long enough to run two of his fingers through my slick heat before sliding them inside me. I feel the delicious stretch, the glorious fullness all the way in my throat, or maybe that’s just the scream I’m suppressing as his tongue laves my clit.

“Fuck fuckfuckI’m coming!” I cry, my head dropping back against the wall as Owen coaxes me to the most explosive orgasm of my entire life. My ears are ringing, and every nerve in my body is alight as I ride the wave of pleasure back down like a feather floating gently from the sky.

“You are delicious,” Owen says, his lips ghosting across the tender skin of my inner thigh.

I’m still heaving in breaths, my heart thundering in my chest, when I hear the creak of the door.

“Occupied!” Owen shouts in his most authoritative voice, the sound of which nearly makes me come again.

“Got it,” a man’s voice replies. The door shuts, and it takes me two full breaths to realize I recognize it. And the giggle that comes after it.

It’s Decker and Grace.

I huff out a laugh as I finally lock eyes with Owen, still on his knees between my thighs, wiping the glistening evidence of my orgasm from his lips.

“A popular hookup spot, I take it?”

Owen grins. “I got it from Dan, who got it from Archer, who I’m guessing got it from Decker.”

I shake my head. “You McBride boys are bad news.” I reach down for his elbows, trying to haul him to his feet, though of course he stands on his own. There’s not a thing I could do to move this wall of muscle against his will. He leans in to kiss me, and I lose myself in his lips and tongue once again. But as I reach for the zipper at the top of his flight suit, he pulls back.

“We’re done for tonight,” he says.

“Excuse me?” I try to sound indignant, but I think I just sound like a petulant teen.

Owen shakes his head. “I’m not fucking you for the first time in Mr. Dillon’s chemistry lab,” he says, and though I immediately begin to pout and start to formulate ways to change his mind (my hand on the shockingly large, hard ridge of his erection is my first gambit), he remains resolute. “When I finally get to be inside you, I want to take my time. I want you laid out beneath me. I want you to scream as loud as you want.”

“What makes you think there’s going to be another time?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him, but he levels me with that furrowed brow and those piercing blue eyes.

“Cut the shit, Wyatt. I want you, and once was not enough,” he says, reaching for a paper towel from the dispenser beside my head. He gently cleans me up and settles my leotard back into place. “I’m done dancing around this, debating semantics. If you don’t want to call this a relationship, that’s fine with me. I’ll call it whatever you want. A hookup. A situationship. Fuck buddies.” He throws his hands up, a smile on his face. “Hell, call it a pineapple. I just know that I’m not done making you scream my name. Not even close.”

I laugh hard enough that I hiccup. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed like this with a man, and certainly not after he’s made me come so hard I can barely spell my own name.

“Okay, then,” I say, swallowing the fizzy feeling in my chest. Because if Owen can take a detour from being a relationship guy, then maybe I can meet him halfway. “Let’s call it a pineapple. A pineapple sounds good. I want to…pineapple? Be a pineapple? Have a pineapple?”

He presses his finger to the crease between my brows. “Stop overthinking,” he says, then kisses the spot. Then he focuses his blue eyes on me like I imagine he used to focus on chemistry experiments at that table right over there. “Tonight we dance. Tomorrow we sleep. And tomorrow night? You’re mine.”

My stomach does at least four full cartwheels, landing somewhere high in my chest. I’m filled with an absolute blizzard of emotions, from desire to nervousness to a wicked case of church giggles and back again. I try to center myself, to return to this cold, empty classroom, to listen to what this man is saying to me.

I appreciate that he doesn’t invite me to sleep over, even if there is a very loud part of my brain that is screaming that being Owen’s little spoon would be the fucking best. But a) we both desperately need sleep, and if we get into a bed together, spooning will not happen—only forking. And b) that’s too muchtoo soon. It’s too close to what scares me the most. I need to walk away from this man while I’m still able.

So I just nod, letting him be in charge. He’s so very good at it, after all.

Satisfied, Owen grasps my hips and lifts, gently lowering me to the floor. Taking my hand in his, he leads me back through the blessedly empty halls, up the stairs, and past the lockers.

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