Page 71 of ICED
So I do. Slow. Testing. Tender. And then not.
Because the second our mouths touch, everything explodes.
His hand comes up to cradle my jaw, and I open to him with a gasp. His kiss is hungry but careful, as if he’s memorising me. As if he’s been holding back so long, he doesn’t trust himself not to shatter.
I thread my fingers into his hair, tugging him closer. He groans, low and rough, and I feel it in my knees.
“Maya,” he murmurs against my lips. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
I shake my head, already dizzy. “Don’t stop.”
His mouth crashes back onto mine like he’s been starving, and I’m so far gone I don’t care that we’re still in the kitchen, that I’m still wearing a cupcake-smeared apron, that my heart is thundering in my chest like it might break free.
He presses me gently against the counter, caging me in with his body but not overwhelming me. Never overwhelming. Always aware. Always Owen.
I reach for the hem of his hoodie, fingers slipping beneath the fabric, and the feel of his skin under my hands undoes something in me. He’s warm, solid, trembling just slightly beneath my touch.
He breaks the kiss long enough to help me tug the hoodie over his head, hair mussed, lips swollen. He’s beautiful in that rugged, open way that makes me ache.
“Still good?” he asks.
I nod, breathless. “Still good.”
His hands slide under my apron, palms flat against my hips, pulling me closer. I can feel the hard line of him, and it sends a jolt of heat straight through me.
I wrap my arms around his neck and lean up, whispering against his jaw, “You’ve got frosting in your hair.”
He grins. “You gonna lick it off?”
“Maybe.”
He leans down like he’s about to dare me to, and then…
A creak. Footsteps. My heart plummets. We freeze.
“Muummmy,” Lila’s sleepy voice calls from the hallway. “I need a drink,”
I suck in a breath, press both palms to Owen’s chest, and shove him gently back. He moves immediately, grabbing his hoodie and turning away, like he’s not half-naked and fully hard in the middle of my kitchen.
I swipe at my mouth, my hair, my apron.
Lila pads into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and clutching her stuffed bunny.
“Hi, Bear,” she mumbles.
Owen, bless him, squats down like nothing is wrong. “Hey, Jellybean. You okay?”
“Had a dream I was stuck in a box. It was scary.”
He smiles. “Was it at least a chocolate cake box?”
She shakes her head solemnly. “But there were ants.”
“That’s no good,” he says. “Chocolate cake should never have ants.”
“I’m thirsty.”
I grab a clean glass from the cupboard and fill it with water, bringing it over as she leans against Owen’s shoulder like he’s her human-sized teddy bear.
