Four Years Later (23 page)

“Salty,” she whispers.

I stretch out beside her, brush my lips against her forehead. “Delicious.”

She loops her arm around me and nestles close, her face against my chest. The room is quiet, I can still hear her accelerated breaths, and I run my fingers over her tangled hair, again and again, hoping to soothe.

“That was …” Her voice drifts off.

“Good? Okay? So-so?”

Chelsea giggles and presses a kiss to my chest. “It was wonderful and you know it.”

“Glad to hear it.” My cock is throbbing, reminding me it has needs too, but I tell the greedy bastard to back off.

“But what about you? Don’t you want to …”

“Come? Not tonight, Chels. Tonight is all about you.” I kiss her forehead again, needing her to know how much she matters to me though I’m not sure how I can put it into words.

So I remain quiet, just holding her, trying to calm my racing heart, enjoying the blankness that still lingers in my brain. I could go to sleep like this.

If a certain naked Chelsea would stop wiggling against me.

“But aren’t you …”

I love how she can’t come right out and say it. It’s kind of cute. “Hard? Hell yeah. You want to feel it?”

“No!” She pauses, and I muffle a laugh. “Yes,” she says shyly. “I do. Really.”

“Then go for it.” I pull away from her slightly so I’m lying on my back, practically daring her to make a grab. I remove my arm from beneath her and fold both arms behind my head, going for casual, easygoing nothingness.

Inside, though, my nerves are rioting. My body’s screaming for her to touch me. I doubt she’ll work up the nerve.

There’s no way after what he gave me that I’m not going to give him something in return.

My body is still a shuddery, limp mess. I’ve never been very comfortable touching my body. I’ve read books that have given me pleasurable tingles between my legs and I’d try a few times to touch myself there, but I never was really comfortable with it.

I’ve lived such a sheltered life. Parents who never talked about sex but a father who was out screwing every woman he could find. The contradiction there is a psychiatrist’s dream, I’m sure.

I’ve read enough and watched enough TV and movies to know that sex can be amazing. Can feel so good. Usually it just scared me. Not with Owen, though. And the way he just touched me …
God
.

That had been amazing.

He thinks I’m not going to touch him in return, though. I can tell by the teasing tone of his voice, the smug look as he flops flat on his back, his arms behind his head, a little smirk on his face.

I prop myself up on my elbow and study him. Starting with his strong, muscular neck, his firm collarbone, his beautiful chest. His nipples are flat, brown, and small and his tanned skin is stretched taut over solid, beautifully shaped muscle. His stomach is ridged and flat, that dark brown trail of hair leading from his navel toward his erection fascinating. Without thought I reach out, drag my finger through the downy soft hair. Following down, down, until I brush against his erection.

It twitches and moves beneath the fabric of his boxer briefs, and I draw my hand back as if it just tried to bite me.

Owen laughs, and I turn a murderous glare on him. “Don’t make fun,” I say, my voice prim.

“Ah, Chels. Never. You’re just too cute.” He cups my cheek, his thumb gliding over my skin. “You’ve never touched a guy like this before, have you?”

“No.” I feel silly, being so inexperienced, and I shouldn’t beat myself up over it. When would I ever get a chance to do something like this? I’ve been alone and socially awkward most of my teenage years. Boys never paid attention to me.

Now I have the most beautiful boy I’ve ever met lying in a bed with me, telling me I’m beautiful, kissing me, bringing me to orgasm with his fingers.

It’s a pretty heady feeling.

“Let’s free the beast.” He starts to tug down his underwear and I laugh at him calling it a beast, then help him, my hands brushing against his firm thighs, his knees, his hairy calves. Until his underwear is around his ankles and he’s kicking them off onto the floor. Naked and bare before me, he resumes his casual position, and all I can do is stare.

I gaze at his erection, fascinated with the shape, the way it arcs toward his stomach. It’s thick and veiny, the head plum-shaped, and a bit of creamy liquid leaks from the tip.

I wrap my fingers around the length of him, marveling at how small my hand looks. He’s big, not outrageously scary or anything, but nothing small either, and I remember how uncomfortable it had felt at first when he slipped his finger inside me.

And supposedly he could push that thing inside me? My body clenches tight just thinking about it.

“You going to hold it or do something with it?” His voice is strained, and he sounds like he’s almost in pain.

“What do you want me to do?”

He reaches out and grips my hand with his, squeezing his erection, showing me how he likes it. He handles himself roughly, tugging and pulling, and I follow his lead, reaching down to caress his balls because you know, I’ve gone this far, so …

Why not?

“
Jesus
. Just like that,” he encourages, removing his hand from the top of mine, and then I’m on my own. Stroking him hard, then touching him soft. Trying my best to drive him crazy the way he just drove me out of my mind. I trace the distended veins, mapping them with my fingertip. He trembles beneath my touch, his entire body tense, sweat forming on his skin. I can smell him. I want to taste him.

He likes it. I like it. I wish I had the nerve to draw him into my mouth, lick the tip of his erection with my tongue. I want to, but what if I do it wrong? What if I somehow screw it up and he ends up laughing at me?

I don’t know if I could ever recover from that.

“There’s no textbook on how to touch my cock, Chels.”

His words, specifically the use of one particular word, make my entire face burn, especially when he’s so close to figuring out what’s running through my mind. I just flat-out don’t know what to do or how to do it.

“What if I mess up?” I ask, my voice a mere whisper.

“Baby. You touch me and I love it.” What I’m loving is how he just called me baby. “Just do it. Touch me. I’m so close to exploding, I’ll probably come all over your fingers within seconds, so be prepared.”

Um. Wow
. He’s just so matter-of-fact about it. I wish I could be the same.

I hold him in my grip and start to move, stroking up and down, squeezing and releasing. He grabs my chin and lifts my face to his, kissing me until I can’t breathe. I’m surrounded by him, can feel him all around me, his mouth on mine, his tongue tangled around mine. I’m stroking him, his hips are thrusting, his other hand comes down and shows me exactly how he likes it again and then he wrenches his mouth from mine, panting hard. I open my eyes, see the agony written all over his handsome face.

“Fuck. Chels, I’m gonna—”

And then he’s coming all over my fingers, just like he said. My fist is slick and wet, and I watch with fascination as he falls apart right before me. Just like I fell apart right before him.

It’s so intimate, so beautiful, that I’m stunned. I just shared something amazing with Owen. Something I’ve never done before with anyone else. I don’t know what to say, how to react.

So I follow his lead. We both go to the bathroom to clean up in the dark so we don’t have to see each other naked in the harsh lights. I think he knows I’m a little mind-blown and still feeling shy, despite what just happened between us. He pulls me to him after I wash my hands, kissing me so softly, so sweetly I melt into him, our naked chests meeting and making my heart pick up speed.

“We need to go to sleep,” he whispers against my lips.

I nod. “I want to leave early. I need to get back home so I can turn in that paper.”

“Always the conscientious student.” He kisses the tip of my nose and takes my hand, leading me from the bathroom toward the bed. “Come on, Chels. I’ll tuck you in.”

I stand back when he fluffs the pillows and pulls down the covers, my gaze locked on his very firm-looking butt. Even in the dim light I can see it and I don’t even care if he catches me totally checking him out.

If he thinks I have a nice one, he should take a look at his. I almost want to fan myself, he’s so hot.

“All right, climb in,” he says with a wave of his hand and I do as he says, lying still as he tugs the blankets up to my chin. Leaning over me, he drops a kiss on my forehead, then rounds the foot of the bed, crawling in beside me.

He lies on his side and pulls me close. I turn into him, resuming my position of before, and I close my eyes, listening to his heartbeat beneath my ear. His fingers tangle in my hair, his mouth whispers against my forehead, and I think he says something but I don’t know what. I’m too sleepy, too far gone to understand him.

But I do know one thing. I’ve never felt so safe, so content, in all my life.

I wait for him, as usual. He’s rarely on time. Only that first official meeting we had, when he’d been trying to impress me, did Owen ever make one of our tutoring sessions when he was supposed to. Normally he runs about ten minutes late.

I forgive him. After all, he’s pretty much my boyfriend, right?

A secret little smile curls my lips as I check my text messages, scrolling past the endless list of the ones from Mom. She can’t stop messaging me. Thank God we’re on an unlimited program or we’d be spending a ton of money on the cell phone bill every month.

She really needs to get a hobby. I’m tired of her worrying about me. Lately she keeps referring to Dad and I don’t know why. He’s not a part of our lives any longer. I thought she’d filed for divorce.

I have a message from Kari, too, asking if I’m coming home tonight. She says she doesn’t feel well and I’d rather avoid her since I don’t want to get sick. It’s Wednesday, and normally I work the night shift, but I went in to the diner yesterday morning, asking my boss if I could have a lighter schedule. He agreed, shifting it around so I wasn’t working such late nights, and I only lost about four hours for the week.

That works out perfectly. I’m not a fan of working the late-night shift and I definitely know Owen isn’t a fan of it either. So I changed my schedule to make him happy.

I’m not working tonight, so I think I might go to Owen’s,
I text her.

God, one night alone with him in a hotel room and now you’ve turned into a total whore.

Smiling, I shake my head. I know she’s teasing.

You’re right. I’m a complete whore.

Yay! I’m proud of you. Whores unite!

Laughing, I start texting her back when a big hand covers my eyes, rendering me still. I recognize the familiar hint of autumn and pine scent, but I go along with it.

“Guess who?” Owen’s deep, sexy voice washes over me and I shiver.

“Hmm, I don’t know.”

He chuckles. “Did you just call yourself a whore in your text to Kari?”

“Ohmygod, you weren’t supposed to read that.” I try to jerk out of his hold but he won’t let go. He’s got the back of my head pressed against his chest, and he’s so warm and hard. I try to be angry but I’m not. “Come on, Owen.”

“I have a surprise for you. Ready?” His hand is still over my eyes, blocking my vision completely, and I cross my arms in front of my chest, slightly irritated. I’ve never really liked games like this. They always make me uncomfortable.

“I’m ready,” I say, slightly exasperated.

“Keep your eyes closed until I say you can open them, okay?”

“They’re already closed.” I straighten my shoulders and clutch my phone in my hand, facedown. I so didn’t want Owen to read that text, but I guess he kind of couldn’t help it.

So embarrassing.

He removes his hand from my eyes and I hear a gentle rustling, then something is placed in front of me on the table. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

I glance down to find a pretty pink rose lying on the table, its petals tightly furled, the flower not quite ready to bloom. I pick it up, careful to avoid the thorns, and bring it to my nose, inhaling the rich scent. Even in its budding state, it smells wonderful. “It’s beautiful,” I say, twirling the stem between my fingers.

He sits down across from me, his mouth curved into a small smile. “You like it?”

“I do.” No boy has ever given me flowers before. “I love it.”

“It reminded me of you.” His smile grows and he looks downright wicked. “The pink is the same color as your—”

“Don’t say it.” I lunge across the table and slap my hand over his mouth to keep him from saying God knows what.

I will die of mortification if he says something dirty, I swear to God. I’m still having a hard time facing him right now. We haven’t seen each other since we came home from our football game trip and I’m feeling a little shy.

He rolls his eyes at me and I drop my hand from his face, settling back down in my chair, sending him a warning look.

“I was going to say your
lips.
” He stresses the last word. “What the hell did you think I was going to say?”

“You know.” I wave a hand, my cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I was hoping we could get through this session without talking about what happened.”

“Really? That’s a damn shame, Chels. I was hoping to spend the entire hour talking about what happened. Reliving it a little. Maybe I could kiss you and convince you to come back to my place later tonight? Like after you’re done with your shift at the diner?”

“You’d really want me to come by when I finish at two in the morning?” I’m shocked.

“Any time I can see you, I want to see you.” He reaches across the table and grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers, pressing our palms together. “I already told you that, remember?”

I set the rose on the table and study it, smooth my fingers over the velvety-soft petals. “Owen. What were you really going to say about the rose?”

“I already told you. The color reminds me of your lips.”

“Really?” I lift my head, our gazes meeting.