All the Way Read online

  “Please, let’s go,” I beg. “Nothing else has to happen tonight, but I need to kiss you. A lot.”

  Becca smiles against my lips. “Okay.”

  I groan in relief and take her hand, practically tugging her out of the kitchen.

  “I’m driving Becca home,” I tell Teddy as I cash out my chips.

  Justin’s eyes widen as Teddy says, “O-kay,” in slo-mo like he’s confused.

  Elise comes over to give Becca a hug and ask if everything’s all right. I wonder if she notices how flushed Becca’s cheeks are.

  “Yeah. Call me tomorrow,” Becca says.

  By the time we climb into my car, we’re both laughing like we just got away with some stealthy crime.

  “Your place or mine?” I ask as I start up the engine.

  “Mine,” she says. “Because Justin and Elise will probably be at yours soon.”

  “Good point.” I step on the gas, and my heart rate jumps at the idea of being alone with her.

  12

  * * *

  Better Than Okay

  Becca

  Owen may be a half-decent poker player, but the second he turns in his chips, any chance of him keeping a poker face disappears. Exhibit A—our hasty exit from Teddy’s apartment.

  We laugh the whole way home about how he couldn’t have been any less subtle about announcing that we were leaving together. I’m hoping Elise and the guys assume it was nothing more than a carpool. Or at least that’s what I have to count on, so I don’t overanalyze this thing to death.

  Besides, I can’t focus on worrying whether our friends think we’re up to something. Every brain cell I’ve got is focused on Owen—his long, thick fingers wound tightly around the steering wheel as he navigates us toward my place. We’re both at risk of imploding if we can’t get our hands on each other as soon as possible.

  This is so new to me. Normally, this would be the time I’d begin to freak out and panic while trying desperately to come up with an excuse for the guy to drop me off at home and leave. Dates in the past were okay, I could handle those, but it was the expectation afterward that would have me spiraling into nightmares.

  But with Owen, it’s completely different. I want him to stay. And I can’t help but wonder how long I’ll have to wait between Owen parking in front of my building and his mouth devouring mine.

  The answer, it turns out? Less than a minute.

  Owen and I barely make it through my front door before crashing into each other. His fingers weave through my hair as he takes my lower lip in his mouth, making every hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  Unlike the last few times we’ve kissed, my nerves are completely at ease tonight. Any anxiety I had about being with Owen has been replaced with a warm flutter of excitement in my chest as his tongue massages mine in slow, skillful strokes.

  He tastes heavenly, a striking blend of Owen and brown sugar. It’s exactly what I’ve been craving since the moment he stepped out of my office to catch his flight for the away game. That was just a few days ago, but you’d think it was a decade by the way he kisses me—deeply and passionately, like he’s never letting go.

  And part of me hopes he never will.

  When I break our kiss to ask if we should move this out of my foyer and into my actual apartment, Owen speaks up before I get a chance to catch my breath.

  “You never responded to the text I sent you at Teddy’s place.”

  “Which one? You were blowing my phone up all night,” I tease, running the pads of my fingers down the sandpapery scruff of his jawline. I missed touching him like this, in the little ways, while he was gone. Even if it was only for a couple of days.

  “The one about the vibrator,” he says, voice husky.

  I figured that was the one he meant.

  “I wasn’t going to text you about that with all of our friends around,” I say with a playful tug to the front of his shirt. “You know I have no poker face.”

  “Well, they’re not around now, are they?” He tucks his thumb into my belt loop and pulls me in, closing whatever little distance remained between us. “Well? Did you use it?”

  I chew on my lower lip, bashfully shifting my attention to my feet. “Maybe.”

  Owen tilts my chin back up toward him, capturing my gaze with his. “No maybes. Yes or no?”

  His eyes are a bright, wild blue, like two separate oceans I want to dive into. I can’t lie to those eyes.

  I blink away any remaining shyness and give up the straightforward answer he’s looking for. “Yes. I used it. And . . . I thought of you.”

  A tortured groan pours out of Owen’s throat. “Fuck, Becca. Do you know what that does to me?”

  My eyes narrow into a challenging squint. Maybe that was a rhetorical question, but I’d still like to know the answer.

  “I don’t know, Owen. What does that do to you?”

  Without hesitation, he gives me my answer. Taking my wrist in his gentle grip, he brings my hand to his zipper, letting me feel him hardening beneath my touch.

  “This,” he says bluntly, his voice suddenly husky with need. “This is what that does to me. What you do to me.”

  My fingertips buzz with the solid feel of him—the knowledge that I did this to him with just my words. I curl my hand around the massive bulge and squeeze. And suddenly, it’s like all the air in the room is gone and I’ve forgotten how to speak. But even if I could speak, what would I say? That I’m ready? That I want him? That I’ve been fantasizing about this moment since the day he agreed to help me conquer these sexual fears of mine?

  Without moving my hand from its resting place on his zipper, I blink up at him with eager eyes and, on a shaky, airy exhale, manage to squeak out one word. “Bedroom?”

  A smile tugs at his lips as he repeats the word back to me. “Bedroom.”

  No more discussion needed.

  By the time we tumble into my bed, Owen’s shirt is long gone, and he’s already stripped me of my sweater, leaving me in nothing but my jeans and my best black lacy bra, which I had been hoping he’d see tonight. Within seconds, he’s unclasped it and tossed it aside to join the rest of our clothes on the floor.

  A low hum of approval rumbles in his throat as he cups my breasts, weighing them in his hands before bowing his head to flick his tongue over one sensitive nipple, then the other. I yip in surprise at first, then settle in to enjoy the gentle nipping and sucking that’s stirring up heat in the needy space between my thighs.

  “God, Owen.” I moan his name on a breathy sigh as he trails hungry kisses down my chest and stomach.

  I shiver with each touch of his wet, hot mouth to my skin until his nose is in line with the waistband of my jeans. As if by instinct, I lift my hips, anxious for him to finish undressing me.

  “A bit excited, are we?” he growls into my hip, following it with a quick nip at my side.

  My sharp inhale makes him chuckle as he tugs my jeans down, revealing my lacy black thong, which is already damp. His eyes flicker with hunger at the sight of it.

  “You’re so gorgeous. Every inch of you.” Owen kisses my throat as he shifts my panties to the side, parting me slowly with one finger. Every muscle in my body tightens and shudders at his touch.

  Rather than rush through things, he spends a long time kissing my mouth, sucking on my breasts, and nuzzling into my neck while his fingers do magical things between my legs.

  “So wet. So perfect,” he murmurs, kissing my lips.

  He’s right. I’ve never been this turned on before, and the next step is so obvious, if I’m brave enough to take it. I suck in a deep breath and say what I’ve been thinking about all night.

  “I’m ready for you, Owen.”

  I expect him to jump to his feet, ditch his pants, and mount me right then and there. Instead, he pulls his mouth back from my neck and looks down at me with confusion in his eyes.

  “I didn’t think we’d have sex tonight,” he says softly.

  I flinch in surprise
, stammering, “You—you don’t want to?”

  His expression turns serious, and I think something must be wrong. Is he going to leave again? “It’s not that. I don’t have a condom.”

  I thought a sex prodigy like Owen would be the type to always come equipped with a whole strip of condoms tucked in his wallet. My halfhearted attempt to veil my frustration must not be very effective. That, or Owen can read me like a book, because he immediately goes in for damage control.

  “We can still have fun, I promise. I’m okay with being patient.”

  I shift uncomfortably beneath him. “I don’t want you to be okay. You deserve better than okay.”

  His sigh is strained as he pushes one hand through his hair. “That’s not what I meant. That was the wrong word. I am better than okay. Hell, I’m the luckiest fucking guy in the world to be here with you. The fact that you trust me with this, with you, it means everything to me. And I don’t want to betray that trust. Does that make sense?”

  I nod up at him, my mouth curling into the slightest smile.

  “Good. Because I would never want to hurt you,” he says, and I think what he’s saying is that he assumed I wouldn’t be ready for sex yet. He traces my right hip with the tips of his fingers. “Do you still want to keep going?”

  “Yes,” I say with full confidence. “God, yes.”

  He presses his thumb against my lower lip, and I watch his eyes shift as a devilish idea dances through his head. “Good girl. Why don’t you tell me where your toy is?”

  I direct Owen to my bedside drawer as my anticipation grows. I wait for him to press down on the button and let the pink silicone buzz to life, but he doesn’t right away. Instead, he pushes my panties to the side, then lightly strokes the toy against my damp flesh in teasing touches, making me shudder in need.

  “Tell me how you used it.” His voice is a low, sexy growl, and he shifts the toy along my silky heat, up and down over my clit. “Was it like this?”

  “Mmm.” I hum out a moan while biting hard on my lower lip. The anticipation building beneath every inch of my skin is almost unbearable.

  Owen rocks the toy slightly, giving it a bit more pressure. He hasn’t even turned it on yet, and I can already tell he’s going to be really good at this. Too good, maybe.

  “So you had it like this, and you thought of me?” As he finishes the question, he pushes the toy forward, allowing it to just barely enter me, sliding perfectly into my wetness.

  His touch is authoritative, knowing, and I have no idea why that buzzes through me like an electrical snap, but it does. It’s as if he knows my body and what it wants even before I do. It certainly feels that way.

  “God, Owen, yes.” As I moan, my hips rock, searching for more contact.

  And with that, he hits the button, sending a buzz jolting through me quicker than a shot of tequila. Even on the lowest setting, pleasure pulses through my core, and I tremble as Owen slides another inch of the toy into me.

  The look in his eyes is pure heat—burning-hot desire—and knowing that he’s as into this as I am is electric.

  A few more seconds, and that’s all it takes. My muscles bunch and twitch until I come undone for him, a long moan pouring from my lips as the release crashes over me. Owen kisses me once more and turns off the toy as I pant, trying desperately to catch my breath.

  “Wow.” I sigh. “That was . . .”

  Once again, my vocabulary escapes me. I don’t know what to say to correctly describe how mind-blowing that orgasm was. But instead of racking my brain for an adjective I’ll never come up with, I reach up and pop open the button of his jeans.

  Actions speak louder than words, right?

  Owen smiles down at me but lifts one eyebrow, looking for my final approval. “You sure?”

  “Super sure.”

  While I still can hardly believe that I manhandled Owen on the night of the Great Tequila Incident, it’s even harder to accept that I don’t remember anything about my best friend’s favorite organ. And the curiosity has been killing me. Pair that with the post-orgasmic high I’m riding right now, and I’m all about getting a look at whatever he has behind his zipper. I assume it’s at least moderately impressive, what with all the puck bunnies constantly chasing after it. But I don’t want to be kept guessing anymore.

  Owen climbs off of my bed, and I sit up so my lips are eye level with his zipper. I reach out and tug it down slowly, expecting the nervousness to hit me at any moment.

  But it never does. Only more and more excitement as my heart pounds while I pull Owen’s jeans down, revealing the full length of his erection.

  Good God in heaven, he is perfect.

  He inhales sharply as I run my fingers along his steely shaft, then slowly begin working him over with my hand, testing how he feels in my palm. A few strokes, and he grows even harder and longer.

  Holy shit, he’s big.

  He lets out a throaty groan as he tangles his fingers in my hair. “Fuck, Becca. That feels . . .”

  His voice is so deep, it sends little trembles down my spine. He rocks his hips in time to my quickening strokes. With my other hand, I cup his generous balls, lightly massaging them in my palm as I stroke him. He makes a needy sound in the back of his throat, and my body clenches.

  I love having my hands on him. He’s so big—everywhere—and so masculine. His bulk, his impressive size, and his thickly formed muscles give him a kind of power I’ll never experience.

  But in this moment, I decide that isn’t quite right. I have all the power here. He’s handed me the reins, and I’m the one in control.

  He touches my shoulders, his fingers gripping lightly, and a shaky breath shudders out of his lungs. When I feel him getting closer, I lean forward and take him between my lips, sliding my tongue over the wide crown of him. It’s enough for him to completely lose control, groaning deeply and tangling his hands in my hair.

  When he curses under his breath, I gaze up at him, only to find him watching me in wonder. He touches my cheek and rocks forward, careful not to give me too much.

  A few more moments, and another shaky breath shudders out of his lungs.

  “Gonna come now, angel,” he says, warning me, but I don’t move away.

  Owen groans again, pumping into my mouth until he comes totally undone, shooting his heat into me as my name falls desperately from his lips.

  We stay still for a moment, my cheek resting on his thigh while he gathers himself. After a few seconds, he tilts my chin up and looks down at me with kind eyes.

  “You didn’t have to do that for me, you know.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. “It was for me too. I wanted to.” And it’s true. Knowing that I can have that kind of effect on him is such a rush.

  He smiles back at me, shaking his head in disbelief. “Come here, you.”

  Moments later, he lays us both down and pulls me into him, spooning me in his big strong arms. He holds me tight enough that I can feel his heart beating against my shoulder blades.

  I’ve never felt so safe in a man’s arms as I do at this moment. It’s like Owen is my shield of armor, protecting me from the elements. I want to tell him this, to thank him for everything he’s done for me already.

  But instead, in the circle of his arms, I drift off to sleep before I get a chance to even say good night.

  • • •

  The next morning, I wake up to an empty bed and an empty feeling in my chest to match.

  After the night we had, he’s already gone?

  I check my phone—a few texts in my group message with Sara and Bailey about our shopping plans later, but nothing from the man I fell asleep with last night. But when I get up to wash my face and get ready for the day, I find a sticky note on my bathroom mirror that instantly turns the knot in my stomach to butterflies.

  Last night was fun. This morning’s team workout, not so much. Let’s talk later? xoxo

  I can’t help but let my eyes linger on the xoxo at the end. Hugs and kisses.
Both of which I’d love to give him right now.

  I consider texting Owen to thank him for the note, but I decide to save it. He’s in the gym right now, probably cursing the lack of sleep he got last night. It can wait until later. Besides, I’ve only got thirty minutes to do something about this bedhead and meet my girls at the outdoor mall.

  With a ponytail and a few coats of mascara, I’m presentable enough to be seen in public. It’s an added bonus that when I meet up with Bailey and Sara for a pre-shopping latte, they’re both rocking similar looks. Between the three of us, we’re a united front of leggings and less-is-more makeup.

  Before my almond-milk latte even has a chance to cool down to a drinkable temperature, Bailey asks the question I knew I would get this morning.

  “So, is it safe to assume that you didn’t sleep alone last night?”

  Since I already filled them in on the details of my deal with Owen, I knew there’d be no fooling them when we left together last night.

  “That’d be a correct assumption. Although we didn’t, y’know.” I giggle as I try to think of the best way to put this. “Let’s just say the puck didn’t go in the net. Yet.”

  “But you’re feeling good about it?” Sara asks, ever the practical one. “Like, you’re comfortable with everything? You’re comfortable with Owen?”

  I nod as I push through a rack of crimson sweaters. “I feel great,” I say with a genuine smile. “Like, really great. He makes me feel safe, and that’s something I haven’t felt around men since . . .”

  “I’m so happy to hear that. You deserve the best, Becca, and if Owen helps, then I fully support you and this weird, yet pretty awesome arrangement you two have.”

  “So, I’ve got to ask. He’s . . . really great?” Bailey shimmies her shoulders suggestively at me, and the three of us burst into giggles.

  “Let’s just say whatever practice he’s put in has paid off.” I glance around, making sure no one is within earshot, then whisper, “I didn’t even know it was possible for someone to get me off that quickly. I thought after everything, I would never be able to experience that again.”