12. Owen

12

OWEN

When River opens his eyes, the answer is written in them—the way they shine with desire.

It’s in his shoulders, how they rise and fall.

And it’s in his breath, a harsh pant.

Then his answer comes in words too. “Now. I want to kiss you now, Owen.”

But I want to kiss River. I want to set the pace. I’ve thought about it for years, and it’s happening at last—my greatest fantasy. “I’m going to kiss you first,” I tell him.

“I don’t care who goes first. Let’s just fucking kiss.”

Sexiest words ever. They make me feel like a king.

Clasping my hands on River’s shoulders, I turn him so he’s backed against the counter. I slide a hand through his hair, and my entire body is a pinwheel of sensations. Wild shivers race down my arms as my fingers roam through his strands. My fingers are tingling—just from this. This small, sensual touch is electrifying my senses and I want to record every second of this kiss for posterity.

Remember it always.

Like how River bites his lip, his breath coming in a shuddery, persistent rhythm of pleasure as I stroke his impossibly silky hair.

Like how he leans into my hand, seeking contact. Seeking me.

I want to remember, too, how he looks at me, his brown irises tinged with so much desire it’s like it radiates off him.

I want to take my time with everything. Every touch. My hand coasts down to his neck, traveling over his shoulder, along his arm. He shivers as I go. Then as I press my body to his, I draw out the first ever groan from him.

“Oh God, that feels good,” he says, in a needy whimper.

A thrill rushes through the center of my being.

I did this.

I made him feel this good.

It’s heady and intense, and I want this night to last forever.

A tremble races down my body as wishes and wants collide. At long last, desire meets reality and it’s utter bliss.

I let go of him to take off my glasses, setting them carefully on the counter behind him.

“You’re hot with glasses and without glasses,” River says. “Like I said, you’re just a hottie.”

“Glad you think so.” Closing my eyes, I lean in, my face drifting closer to his, and I inhale that forest rain scent. “Mmm,” I murmur, like I’m floating above Earth, completely intoxicated. And it’s not the champagne. It’s him.

And it’s him wanting me with the same ferocity.

River’s lust is a mirage and I want to wrap myself in its shimmer.

So I inch even closer, my cheek so dizzyingly near to his.

But I don’t touch his face yet, or his lips, because I want to drive him insane—make him beg with his body. Then, once he’s aching and needy, I’ll kiss him till he’s moaning for me. I’ll devour his lips till his hands thread through my hair, till he claws and grasps, till his breath comes in wild pants.

Till River can’t control his desire anymore.

Then he’ll know what my life’s been like around him.

I can’t wait any longer. After all these years, I need to touch him.

Brushing my lips along his jaw, I can’t hold back a ragged moan. “Oh God,” I gasp.

“Yessssss,” he murmurs, and in a heartbeat, his hands slide around my waist, gripping my hips, anchoring me in place.

My head is a haze of longing as I sweep my mouth along his jawline, then under it. River moves with me, lifting his face, giving me access to his neck. That scent of his hair and the smell of his soap swirl around me as I kiss his neck.

Here, there, everywhere.

My lips travel all over him, and I am in heaven. He’s better than I daydreamed—than I night-dreamed.

He tastes like the man who drives me wild.

I press a hand to his chest, my palm spreading over the fabric of his shirt as I roam my lips along his day-old stubble, savoring the sandpaper scrape against my face.

My lips explore him, but I’m not in a rush. I’m ravenous, but determined to savor every single second of our first kiss.

In case it’s our last.

With another moan, I make my way to his ear, nipping the lobe. He groans in exquisite misery. That sound. My God, it winds me up. Sends desire spinning wildly through my body. Makes my heart hammer harder for him.

“Owen, are you ever going to kiss me?” River pleads, and I just smile against his skin. Smile, because I’m so damn thrilled he wants me the same way.

“Patience,” I whisper.

“It’s hard to be patient when you’re so good at that,” he rasps out.

Prides suffuses me, filling every cell in my body. I pull my gaze back for a second, our eyes locking. River looks as lost in lust as I am, eyes hazy, cheeks flushed, desire written all over him.

At last, I speak the words aloud to him that define my heart.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for years,” I say, and I don’t give him a chance to register the enormity of my confession. Since at last, my lips brush his, and everything—just everything—in the whole universe fades away.

Our lips meet and I know in my soul there has never been a first kiss like this.

This is why people kiss.

For this possibility.

This potent connection.

Our lips slide together, and I taste him. Enjoy him.

I intend to savor every single second of this kiss and this night. I want to live in it, without consequence. To roll around in this perfect kiss as his lips explore mine, as his hands roam over my ass, as he tugs me against him like he can’t get close enough either.

I want it all to last, because I am so deeply in love with River already, and I hope, I truly hope, he doesn’t break my heart.

But soon, I’m no longer thinking about my heart.

I’m only feeling.

We kiss for ages in the kitchen. Not stopping. I’m not even able to stop. Just lips and teeth and tongues and heat. I have no will to end this kiss. So I don’t even try. I take more and more, consuming my friend’s kisses, gobbling them up, loving them completely.

Then asking for more.

Asking with my lips, with my tongue, with my whole body.

I grind my pelvis against his, rubbing our hard-ons together, making him grunt and me groan.

Our lips keep crashing back and with every single kiss I’m feeling so many things at once—lust, heat, desire. And a wildly intense need to show him just how good I can be to him.

When I said those words in the car, I meant as a boyfriend. I meant I’d be good to a man outside of the bedroom.

But in my book, boyfriends should also be very good to each other when clothes come off.

That’s a privilege—to make someone else feel incredible in bed. That’s something I’m dying to do for him.

So when I break the kiss, I slide a hand down his chest on a fast track for his cock. I cover the ridge of his erection with my palm, then squeeze.

“Umm, you cocktease,” River moans.

I laugh lightly. “I’m only a tease if I don’t go through with it.”

He jerks me closer, lifts his chin. “And what do you want to go through with?”

I press a hot, quick kiss to his lips, then pull back. “I’d really like to get on my knees for you and suck your cock.”

River unbuttons his jeans, slides down the zipper, and takes me up on my offer.