Page 89 of Pour Decisions
Why hadn’t I gotten rid of it? Burned the damn thing to ash? The skirt belonged to college Delia and all the shit she’d dealt with. I’d ruined a good thing by wearing it again.
Owen was on his feet in a flash, palms pressed to my cheeks gently, his ocean depths boring straight into my soul when our gazes collided. “I’m not him, Whiskey. I want you for so much more than sex. We’ll set this fucking skirt on fire together if that’s what you want. Do you understand me?”
I nodded. The way he looked at me, with such hope, respect, and admiration, did wonders to replace those old, painful memories with these fresh, happier ones.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, I understand. I know this is different. That this is more.”
Owen grinned. “It’severything, Whiskey. Now sit back and relax. I’m going to take care of you. Make you forget every other man but me.”
Anticipation built along my skin as he once again knelt and immediately flipped my skirt up around my waist.
And groaned.
“No panties?”
“Easier access,” I smirked.
“You are…” Owen’s soft exhale fanned across my pussy, sparking heat in my core. “...my fucking dream girl come to life.”
“And you’re the man I always wanted for myself but never thought I could have.”
Owen only stared at me in wonder for long moments, as if stunned he was here with me. I grinned at him, one of those big, dopey things, silently telling him the feeling was mutual.
“I’ve thought about this pussy far too much,” he said at last, clearing his throat and returning his attention between my thighs. “About tasting it, fucking it with my fingers, about how good it would feel wrapped around my cock. I’ve gotten myself off with images of you in mind, groaning your name to my empty house, wishing you were there. I want to destroy this pretty little cunt, Delia. Until you’re begging me to stop.”
“You filthy man.”
At last, he touched me, swiping a finger through my slit, collecting my desire on the tip of his finger. “And you’re a dirty girl,” he said. “Already fucking dripping for me. But don’t worry, Whiskey”—he stared up at me, those bright blue eyes now stormy, pupils blown wide—“I clean up my messes.”
And then he stuffed his finger into his mouth, moaning around it as he licked the digit clean. Like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
I reached out and cupped his face, the stubble on his cheeks like sandpaper against my palms. God, I wanted to feel that on the delicate skin of my inner thighs, rubbing them and my smooth pussy raw as he feasted on me.
“Owen, you have to touch me now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and dove in.
He started with one long drag of his flattened tongue from the smooth skin below my entrance all the way to my clit, and I bucked against his face. It had been so long since I’d let a man touch me like this, and the fact that it wasOwen? My brain chemistry was forever altered from that one lick.
He toyed with me, pressing kisses to my lips, running his tongue along the creases of my thighs, but never quite putting his mouth where I needed him. My hands dove into his hair, attempting to direct him, but the man was a brick wall and easily resisted.
“Patience, baby.”
Baby. Fuck, I shouldn’t love that so much. “Say it again.”
“You like that, huh,baby?” he asked against the skin of my thigh, and his words zinged through my entire body.
Such a small word. Four letters. Two syllables. But it felt like so much more. Like a claiming.
Without warning, Owen dove in, giving me another long drag of his tongue that ended with him sealing his mouth around my clit. I moaned loudly, falling back onto my elbows on the felt of the pool table, and he chuckled into my flesh, the rumble delivering a delicious friction to that bundle of nerves. While his lips and little scrapes of his teeth worked me over, he raised his hand and dipped a finger into my entrance, only up to the first knuckle. I squirmed closer, needing to be filled by him. Wanting him to make good on his promises to fuck me with his hand. To ruin me.
“More.”
“Touch yourself,” he said, pulling away. “Show me how you make yourself feel good.”
“Why?”
