Page 71 of Pumped

I whimper as my body hums with the need to fuck. My cock strains painfully against the zipper of my jeans. My balls ache and my skin tingles and I dig my fingers forcefully into Owen’s hips to keep myself from throwing him onto the ground and fucking him into it.

A shiver rushes through me.

Owen leans back enough to scowl down at me. “Are you cold?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer before climbing off my lap and dragging me to my feet. He grabs the blanket and wraps it around me. “Why didn’t you tell me you were cold?”

He shuffles me toward the sliding glass doors that take us straight into the basement. I roll my eyes at how overbearing he is, but I don’t say anything. This is his way of showing he cares. This is his way of saying he loves me.

Owen manhandles me into the media room and deposits me on our makeshift bed. I grab his wrist to pull him down next to me before he can dart off again.

“Come here.” I draw him close, turning so I’m facing him. With his face bracketed between my hands, I stare into his eyes. “Owen.”

He cocks one eyebrow. “Yes?”

Then, with my whole chest, with all the feelings springing from the deepest parts of my soul, I say those three little words to him again. “I love you.”

Owen blinks, his eyes growing wide and a little watery. His breath hitches and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Now you say it back to me. I love you. You can do it. I believe in you.”

His brow furrows but his bottom lip quivers. “Fuck you,” he murmurs with way more affection than the actual words let on.

“Close! You got one of the three! Let’s try again! I. Love. You.” I give his cheeks a squeeze for encouragement.

He growls, low and rumbly, a split second before he launches himself at me. I tumble backward and Owen scrambles on top of me. He slips his hands into mine, fingers intertwined, and pulls them up above my head, pinning my arms to the bed.

“I love you, you fucker. Is that what you want to hear? I fucking love you and it’s driving me fucking crazy.”

He peppers frantic kisses and not-so-gentle love bites all over my face and neck and shoulders. I tilt my head away to give him better access and he latches onto my collarbone. When he licks along its length, it feels like he’s licking my cock.

“I love you beyond reason, beyond understanding. I love you when it makes no goddamn sense.”

He kisses me, hungrily and desperately, then teasing and playful. My cock strains against the front of my jeans and Owen rotates his ass on top of my groin.

I groan as arousal ripples through me, turbocharged by the love and affection I have for this man. I tug on my hands. I want to touch him. I want to fill my palms with his ass. I want to feel the smooth heat of his skin. But Owen’s grip doesn’t budge, not even an inch.

I whimper into his mouth, begging, pleading. My hips come off the bed, unable to stay still. Owen growls and drags his cheekagainst mine. The rough scrape of his beard has my cock pulsing and my body twitching. My vision blurs and my ears ring. A strangled sound escapes my throat.

“Owen,” I gasp.

He lifts his head and glares into my eyes. With a squeeze of my hands, he says, “Don’t fucking move.”

I jerk as his order sends a spike of pleasure through me. My stomach clenches at the pressure building in my groin. Fuck, I need him. I need him so goddamn much it rocks me to the core. How is it possible to want someone so much, to feel like my whole life is wrapped up in him? Like I’ll die if he doesn’t touch me, doesn’t kiss me. Like I can’t breathe unless he’s looking at me like he hates me and loves me at the same time.

Owen’s glare doesn’t waver as he cautiously removes his hands. The second mine are free, I flip them around to grip the sheets under me. The grunt of approval he makes sends my heart soaring and a helpless whimper escapes me in response.

He grabs the hem of my shirt and rucks it up to reveal my stomach and chest. But then he doesn’t do anything. He just sits his ass on my cock, hands pinning me by the shoulders, and stares at me.

Seconds tick by. Fucking minutes. And still, he just stares like he’s trying to memorize every inch of my body.

“Owen, please,” I sob. I can’t take it anymore. I need him to do something—anything!

Owen’s gaze flicks up to mine and he holds it as he leans down. He licks my left nipple, bathing it with his tongue. Then he blows a stream of air right over it, making it pebble so hard it fucking hurts.

“Fuck.” I slam my head back and yank on the fabric in my hands.

He does the same with my right nipple and when the cold air hits my wet skin, I nearly buck Owen all the way off. He slamshis ass back down, the impact on my jeans-covered cock both painful and delicious. He’s killing me. I’m literally going to die and it’s going to be Owen’s fault.

He draws patterns across my chest with his tongue before sealing his lips around the dip on my sternum. When he sucks, it feels like he’s siphoning my soul out of me and drinking it down so I can become a part of him.

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