Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(54)
Author: Monica Murphy

“I’m not turning it off,” he whispers, reading my mind as he kicks off his own jeans and underwear. I try not to stare but I can’t help it. He’s just so beautifully formed, so perfectly male. “I want to see you.”

Before I can protest, he’s kissing me again, his mouth working its magic, his hand trailing down my stomach until it’s between my legs, testing me. Arousing me. He moans against my lips, a sound of utter male satisfaction, and then he’s gone. Kissing his way down my shivering body, his lips hot against my skin.

“Cold?” he asks, right before he drops a kiss just below my belly button.

“Nervous,” I admit, tilting my head down so I can look at him.

He’s watching me, his hair a mess from my hands, his lips quirked in the cutest little smile. “I’m nervous, too,” he murmurs, holding out a shaky hand. “See what you do to me?”

I stare at him, dumbstruck. How do I answer him? I can’t. I’m too overcome with emotion, foreign, powerful emotion that I could affect him this way. That I can feel his shaking fingers grip my hips and know that I did that to him. His hands slide down, along the tops of my thighs, farther down to part them, and I lean my head back, closing my eyes as I let myself be overcome by sensation.

His hair brushes against the inside of my thighs and then his lips are there, pressing soft, sweet, open-mouthed kisses. He grips my knees, keeping me spread wide open for him, and I can feel his breath against my slick flesh, then his lips …

Oh, God. A shuddery moan escapes me when he licks me there, his tongue doing a thorough search of my folds. He caresses my thighs with his fingertips, his mouth busy, his tongue circling in the most precise spot possible. All I can do is lie there and take it, my hands clutching the sheets beneath me as I lift my hips, wanting more but not quite knowing how to show it, let alone say it.

Owen seems to sense my struggle and he rests a hand low on my belly, stilling me as his tongue continues its thorough search. I’m writhing beneath his lips, my legs popping up of their own volition, my feet planted on the mattress. A ragged sound escapes as he slips a finger deep inside me and he sucks my clit into his mouth.

And that’s all it takes. I’m already so keyed up, so turned on, I explode with a little cry, my entire body trembling as my orgasm rushes through me, leaving me breathless, boneless, mindless with pleasure. It’s as if my entire system shuts down and he just killed me with his lips and tongue and fingers.

I’m lying in the middle of Owen’s bed, just as I envisioned the first time I went into his room. Naked and pale against the dark red sheets, sweaty and gasping for air, my arms and legs still trembling from the orgasm he gave me. My heart is racing so fast, I swear I’m going to have a coronary.

I’ve never felt better in all my life.

He’s moving up the length of my body, his mouth brushing against my skin until his cheek is pressed to mine, his mouth at my ear, his hot breath making me shiver. “Did you like that?”

His deep voice is full of promise. Full of everything I could ever want and everything I never knew I needed.

My own voice has left me completely, so all I can do is nod. He kisses my ear, my cheek, until finally his mouth is on mine. His tongue meets mine and I can taste myself, but it doesn’t bother me. Somehow, it kick-starts my arousal and I wrap my arms around his neck, my hands in his hair. Loving how he feels, naked and pressed tight against me, the heavy weight of his erection against my belly.

It’s going to happen tonight. I know it is. I’m definitely giving up my virginity to Owen and though I’m nervous, I’m also excited.

“I thought you were going to rip my head off,” he says after he pulls away from my lips. “Your thighs were clamped so tight around my head.”

He just loves to embarrass me, doesn’t he? I had no idea I’d even done that—that’s how mindless he makes me. “Owen, stop.” I let my arms fall from his neck, turning my face to the side.

Owen grips my chin with his fingers and makes me face him again. I stick my tongue out at him. “It was hot, Chels. I had no idea your thighs were so strong.” Grinning, he reaches down and grabs one of my thighs and hikes it so my leg is draped around his hip, the heel of my foot pressing into his backside. He rocks into me, his grin fading, replaced with a look of pure, unfiltered pleasure. “Okay, yeah, this is perfect.”

I don’t want to close my eyes. I want to watch him. Watch all the emotions cross his expressive face, the way his lids fall at half-mast, his lips parted, his cheeks ruddy. His chest is gleaming with a light sheen of sweat and I rear up on my elbows, then press my mouth to the center of his chest so I can lick the spot just above his heart, in between his pecs.

“Jesus, Chelsea.” He closes his eyes, his hand coming up to clasp the back of my head, and he just holds me there for a long, panted-breath second. “Can you feel what you do to me?”

I can. It’s amazing, how little old me can make him react so strongly, feel so much. It’s a powerful, heady feeling, one I don’t ever want to let go of. I kiss his chest again, lick his skin, groan when he tightens his grip in my hair and pulls me away from him.

Blinking my eyes open, I stare up at him, see the greedy gleam in his eyes. He looks like he wants to devour me.

And I desperately want to be devoured.

“I need a condom,” he says through gritted teeth just before he releases me.

Then he’s gone, rising from the bed and padding over to his dresser, completely comfortable in his nudity. I stare at him unabashedly, drinking in the perfect lines of his broad, muscled back, his firm backside, his thick thighs. A little sigh escapes me as he pulls open a drawer and goes in search of condoms.

I am so lucky. He’s so thoughtful, sweet, and funny. He writes me poems. Dirty ones, but I don’t care. They’re beautiful. He’s beautiful. Not perfect, but he’s mine.

And I am his.

He approaches the bed, what looks to be about ten condom packets clutched in his fist, and he drops them all on the bedside table, with the exception of one.

That one is in his hand and he’s tearing it open, taking the ring and placing it at the tip of his erection.

I watch him, my eyes wide, my mouth dry. He’s standing on the side of the bed, right in front of me, about to roll the condom on when he realizes I’m staring. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

I nod wordlessly.

His mouth quirks into a smile and he slips the condom on, then he’s on me, pressing me into the mattress, pressing his mouth to my mouth, his tongue tangling with my tongue. His hands are everywhere and so are mine, and soft little sighs escape me, just as low, deep groans leave him.