Page 65 of Fragile Hearts

He rolls my nipple between his fingers, increasing the pressure as I whimper with each movement. Tugging harder now, my moan echoes in the vast size of the room, which only seems to encourage Owen on.

“Rough, Owen,” I plead, my hand now covering his, guiding it down over my stomach to between my legs. “See what you do to me?” I ask, our joined fingers sliding through my wetness.

“It aches, doesn’t it, sweets?”

Fuck, his words are like a hard line to my pussy, soaking our hands and begging for my release. Grinding against his knee, needing more than just the hard press of his body.

“Inside me. Now,” I command, and he laughs, tsking at my demand.

“Not yet,” he tells me, his fingers strumming my clit, softly at first, upping the tempo as my body responds, humming with desire.

He can feel it, so in tune and understanding of what I need. Owen Sinclair worships me like I’m a fucking god to his dick.

“Tell me when you’re close, baby,” he purrs in my ear, his teeth grazing and nipping at my sensitive skin.

But I don’t need to, my thighs shaking, my head falling back, the soft moans that leave my lips, tell him what he needs to hear.

And he stops, leaving my clit throbbing, my pussy drenched as he makes his way back up my body. Each ghost of his fingers, each brush of his mouth is deliberate and controlled.

“Do you trust me, Sloane?” he growls, his hand back around my neck as a delicious tightness pulls in my stomach.

“Yes,” I moan out. My word is loud and needy but loving every second of this with him.

His hand returns, rubbing softly at first, and then rough and hard, taking me to the edge and stopping, over and over until I’m a writhing, wet mess.

“Owen,” I call out, his name a desperate plea on my lips, and when he rolls onto his back, grabbing my hips, he lifts me onto him.

“Ride me, baby, rough and hard. Make yourself come.”

His demand is like music to my ears, and I do what he says. Sinking down onto him, his dick filling me, the delicious feeling of fullness as he stretches me, my body opening up to accommodate him.

And as I move against him, my body humming and electrified and desperate, his fingers work over my clit.

It’s all I need to come undone. Clenching around him in the most powerful orgasm of my life. It shoots through me, my walls clenching around him as my head falls back, moans and whimpers leaving my lips on every exhale.

Owen’s hips thrust up to meet mine, rough and deep, his hands gripping my hips as he unloads inside me, coaxing every drop out of him.

“Oh my fucking god,” I mutter, collapsing on Owen’s chest. Both our breathing is heavy, our chests heaving, our hearts beating in time together.

“What a fucking way to start our morning and end our time here,” Owen whispers, his words soft and sweet, his hand tracing gentle circles over my warm skin.

I love everything about him. Every different trait, every touch, every word, every simple gesture, and all the obvious ones too.

It’s been a couple of days since our trip to Lanai, and we’re back into the swing of things at home. Surfing and class and work. Dinners in the evenings together, movies and falling into bed. Waking up next to each other, and the sex—oh, the fucking sex.

There’s nothing like it. I’m addicted, and I love it.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Owen asks, coming in the back door, his hair wet, no shirt on as usual.

He was out surfing despite being out on the water all day today for lessons with The Pipe Dream.

“Alana’s chicken long rice because I miss her,” I tell him, and he walks over, kissing my temple.

“I can get the jet and we can hop over to Oahu to visit her,” he says, and I laugh. Everything with him is just so simple.

Grab the jet.

Island hop.

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