Page 70 of Pumped

Everest has permeated every corner of my life. He’s saturated me, through and through. He’s a part of me now, so intertwinedthat I wouldn’t be able to extricate myself from his clutches. I can’t imagine my life without him anymore. When I try, it’s just hollow, empty, nothingness.

“O?” Everest whispers into the night.

“Hmm?”

“We should talk.”

I sigh. My breath stirs Everest’s hair, which in turn tickles my nose. We do need to talk. There’s a lot we both need to say. But there’s also a part of me that’s terrified of what will happen when we pull wide that door.

It’s only open a crack at the moment. We can still slam it shut and pretend none of this ever happened. We can still sleep together and raise Ivy together—why risk everything by putting a label on it?

With my eyes squeezed tight, I murmur almost silently into Everest’s hair. “I’m scared.”

He squeezes my knee and turns to press his cheek against mine. “I know, babe. I am too."

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

EVEREST

I’m like ninety-five percent sure Owen feels the same way I do. He wouldn’t have reacted the way he did at the zoo today if he didn’t. He wouldn’t be scared right now either.

I’m scared too. I mean, it’s not like we can really turn back the clock or put the genie back in the bottle or anything. But like, saying the things out loud and putting labels on our feelings, that’s fucking terrifying. That’s serious stuff. And I’ve never been a very serious person.

I turn to gaze into Owen’s eyes. Light from the pool reflects off their amber color, making his eyes dance and shimmer. They’re mesmerizing.

“I love you.” The words kind of slip out without me thinking about them too much. They hang in the air between us while my heart lodges itself in my throat.

Owen’s response is a short, aborted inhale that I notice only because I’m pressed right up against his chest. We stare at each other, not breathing, not moving, just waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Pressure builds in me, pressing against my insides, my ribs, my skin. I know he wants to say it back to me. I can see it in hiseyes, the longing battling against the fear. Disbelief that we—of all the people in the world—could find ourselves here.

Silence stretches on, interrupted only by the sound of chirping crickets and the occasional car driving past in the distance. Owen’s throat works as he swallows and his tongue slips out to wet his lips.

Still, he doesn’t say the words. He doesn’t say anything.

Motherfucker. I can’t take the waiting anymore. Frustration bursts from me and I fling off the blanket we’ve been sharing. “Just say it back to me, goddamn it! I know you want to.”

Owen blinks once and a thin, hard barrier slams into place. He narrows his eyes and clenches his jaw. “Who says I want to say anything?”

You’ve got to be kidding me. Of all the fucking times for him to shove that stick back up his ass. He’s being difficult and stubborn for the hell of it. He doesn’t like being told what to do—especially by me. But news flash, buddy, I know him better than he knows himself.

“You are such a fucking asshole, you know that?” I say right before grabbing his face with both hands and hauling him toward me. I smash my lips onto his hard enough that our teeth bang together.

He makes a sound of protest, trying to push me off. But he doesn’t try very hard, and after a couple seconds, he’s pulling me toward him instead.

I slide my hands down his back and drag him into my lap, his knees going to either side of my hips. He stabs his fingers into my hair and tugs hard enough that I gasp at the spike of pain. Owen shoves his tongue between my parted lips and the invasion goes straight to my cock.

He fucks my mouth with his tongue, angling me exactly how he wants me with sharp tugs on my hair. He’s attacking me, devouring me, and my head spins from the onslaught.

Fuck, I love it when he gets like this. Aggressive. Controlling. Taking exactly what he wants and bossing me around while he’s at it. I never used to be submissive in bed, and Owen’s habit of power-tripping always drives me up the fucking wall. But there’s just something about that combo when he’s got his tongue down my throat that triggers every single pleasure switch in my brain.

I’m helpless in the face of his demands. I’m defenseless, powerless, weak.

“Fuck,” Owen murmurs against my lips when he finally comes up for air. “The things you do to me.”

ThatIdo tohim? Jesus. If it’s even a fraction of what he does to me, then we’re both doomed.

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