Page 83 of ICED
“Maya,” he rasps, voice thick with sleep. “You alright?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
He lifts a hand to brush my hair from my face, his fingers lingering at my jaw. “You sure this is…”
I kiss him. Hard.
He groans into my mouth, hands finding my hips, and suddenly we’re back to that place we never quite left. I grindagainst him and feel him stir beneath me, hard and hot even through the fabric of his boxers.
He grips my hips tighter. “Maya, baby... are you sure?”
I pull back just enough to look into his eyes, my lips swollen, heart pounding. “Yes. Please. I want you.”
That’s all it takes.
His mouth crashes into mine, desperate and consuming, and his hands slide beneath my sleep shirt, skin to skin. My breasts brush his chest, nipples peaking as the friction builds. He cups one, thumb flicking across it until I moan.
He rolls us suddenly, laying me back on the narrow sofa, covering me with his body. His kiss softens, turns more respectful. He kisses down my neck, my collarbone, pulling the shirt up and over my head. He pauses, breath caught, when he sees me bare beneath.
“Fucking hell, Maya,” he breathes, dragging his tongue over my breast before sucking it into his mouth. My back arches.
I reach for his boxers, tugging at the waistband, and he growls against my skin. “Condom’s in my wallet; jacket pocket.”
I’m sliding out from beneath him in an instant, stumbling to grab it, heart hammering. When I return, he’s kicked off his boxers, and Jesus. My breath catches.
He tears open the packet and rolls it on, and I straddle him again, lining us up. His hands are on my hips, grounding me, eyes locked on mine.
“Take your time,” he murmurs.
But I don’t want slow. I sink down onto him in one smooth motion, gasping as he fills me. We both groan, clinging to each other like the world might stop spinning.
“Fuck, Owen,” I pant, rolling my hips.
He grips my waist tighter, thrusting up into me. “You feel…God, you feel perfect.”
It’s messy and raw, my thighs are burning from the effort,but I don’t stop. I ride him like I’ve needed this for years. Because maybe I have.
He sits up, pulling me closer, kissing me like he can’t get enough, one hand tangled in my hair, the other slipping between us to circle my clit.
I shatter with a cry, clinging to him as my orgasm rolls through me. He follows with a grunt, thrusting deep one last time before stilling, his arms wrapped around me, his face buried in my neck.
We collapse together in a tangle of limbs, breathless and trembling.
I don’t move. I curl into his chest, his arms tightening around me, and I let sleep finally take me.
I wake before him, tucked into the crook of his arm, the weight of his hand splayed warm over my hip.
For a second, I let myself just feel the peace, the closeness, the impossible rightness of it all.
Then the panic creeps in.
What have I done?
I shift slightly, staring up at the ceiling, my heart suddenly too loud in the quiet. This wasn’t part of the plan. I wasn’t supposed to let him all the way in. Not like this. Not when I can’t promise I won’t bolt the second things get too real.
Owen stirs beside me and tightens his hold, murmuring something low and contented into my hair. And somehow, that soft sound, like he trusts me with his whole damn heart, makes it worse.
Because I don’t know if I deserve it. Not yet.
