Page 81 of Single Girl in the City
“One more and it’s game over.” He pulled back. “And, Angel, when that happens, I’m going to be inside you.”
How he managed to pull a condom out of his back pocket while she was riding him like a pony she’d never know, but he was wrapped by the next squeeze, up, slide, so he slid all the way home.
She gasped for air, but her lungs had stopped working and she was pretty sure she’d lost consciousness for a moment.
“You’re fulfilling one of my fantasies,” he informed her, his hands doing naughty things to her body.
“A teenaged fantasy?”
“Hell no. Ayoufantasy. And I’ve been thinking about this at least once a minute since we walked in. Although in my fantasy we started in the tattooing chair, not my swivel chair.”
“We can move.”
“We’ll see where the night takes us,” he teased and then kissed her silly. Then he kissed her again and again, ten times over and when she thought she couldn’t be any more turned on, Owen’s hands were once again at her waist. His forehead was pressed to hers, his eyes locked on as if they were about to pay witness to what was to be the greatest sexual duet of all time. She quivered just thinking about it.
Then they were on the move again, with him doing most of the heavy lifting—mainly because he turned her body to mush. He was calm and steady, practiced as he took over. There was no teasing or taking things slow. They did the exact opposite of slow. Going from zero to blow-your-mind in under two squeeze-up-slides.
He held her as if she mattered, and kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he never wanted this to end. She was on the same page.
For once, just this once, she wanted to pretend that their week wasn’t almost up. She wanted to know what it felt like to be cherished, treasured, and needed—and not worry about what came next.
Rocking into him, she matched his rhythm the best she could. Being on his lap made it difficult but, not being a slacker, Owen made up the difference. Taking over, taking her with him—taking them both to the point of sheer pleasure.
“Owen,” she cried out his name, and he whispered hers back. Not Angel or Abi, but her real name.
“Abilene,” he whispered again and there was something to his tone that had her heart pounding with hope. Hope that there was enough between them to carry them through the roughest of patches. To carry them through the minefield ahead.
Their pace picked up, almost frantic as he drove into her and she pushed down. Even if she wanted to slow down, she couldn’t. They were already committed—to the moment and to each other.
He pulled her to him, their chests pressed together, their bodies slick with perspiration. Her fingers clung to his biceps, his hands grasped her hips, her legs strangling his waist, all the while their lips devouring one another. It was the build-up of all build-ups, the orgasm that would forever change the course of her sexual existence.
“Now,” she begged against his lips.
The tiniest of smiles curved his lips. “Now works.”
Needing to maintain perspective, she slid her arms around his neck, forcing her to rest her head on his chest and her gaze away from his because she was pretty sure that she was building up to something beautiful and right, but something that, in the real world, had a zero percent chance of taking hold. So she did the best she could to guard herself from his always assessing gaze and all-knowing looks.
But somehow the disconnect took the genuineness away from their time together, cheapened what they’d shared. What were the odds that two personal and private people had found each other and shared their deepest darkest secrets—secrets that could never be taken back. Things that led naturally to a cherished friendship that felt invincible. But suddenly friendship wasn’t enough. The way he held her against him made her want for things she best not want for. But she couldn’t fight the way she felt, the scariest of emotions had quietly grown inside to the point that her chest burned with something akin to love—a love that was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
He’d brought her here tonight, designed the perfect tattoo of her—took time and care planning out this evening to show her, without words, how much he’d come to care for her. How he valued her opinion and her honesty.
She told herself to stay detached, but she felt the way she felt and tonight she wanted to feel it all. She was more afraid of missing out on the what-ifs than living a lifetime of safety.
He tilted her head up. “Stay with me. Right here.” He took her mouth in what had to be the gentlest kiss in the history known to mankind. “Whatever it is we can fix it, okay?”
Even though she knew there was no fixing it—her life was soon to be in Thailand, fulfilling the trip she and Jenny had planned—she found herself giving a watery nod.
Bodies pressed together so tightly even a coaster couldn’t fit between them, they rocked and moved, so hard that Owen had to wheel the chair back against the wall to gain the proper traction necessary. They landed with a thud and they both laughed, breaking the seriousness and bringing them miles from the doubts and back to the moment.
“God, your smile does it for me every time.” He kissed her. “Every time.”
“Everything about you does it for me.”
With a groan he spanned his hands up her back, running them everywhere all at once. From there, all it took was one well-timed motion and they both went off like rockets, the sensation going back and forth between them, until it was all too much to contain. He whispered her name and she bit down on his shoulder—hard.
And sometime later, when she woke up and found herself wrapped around him like a pretzel—she sitting on him, he sitting on the chair, the chair slightly spinning—she realized that this was a defining moment in her life.
The moment she’d fallen in love. And she’d fallen hard. So hard that when she’d finally pull herself up, there’d be floor marks from when she’d landed face-first. So she clung to him so that she didn’t fall any further.
