All the Way Page 12

  “To?” she asks, glass paused halfway to her lips as she gazes at me.

  “To best friends and good times—which may, or may not include pants. I’m open.” I chuckle and Becca follows suit, laughing with me as she takes her first sip of the crisp white wine.

  “Pants are pretty overrated,” she says, smiling, still watching me.

  “Eh. If we get there, we get there. If not, I have some amazing dessert that we can look forward to.”

  Her expression softens like she can’t quite believe the words coming out of my mouth. But she has to know I’m serious, right? I would never in a million years push her toward sex. Sex is only fun when both parties are enthusiastic about the venture.

  Consent is hot as fuck.

  Period.

  End of.

  That’s not to say my libido hasn’t been on a power play since the second she walked through my door. The playful rock of her hips against mine as we flirted in the kitchen, her hungry mouth moving against my lips when I kissed her. My body might be ready to score, but my head, and my heart knows things are a little more complicated than that. Hell, maybe a lot more complicated. And while it’s true Owen Parrish doesn’t typically do complicated, I’m a big boy, and I know what I signed up for.

  “Okay, so where were we?” she asks, wine in hand, perusing the kitchen.

  “Rice?” I say helpfully.

  She nods, and then gets back to work.

  I adjust the situation in my pants, which is thankfully deflating, and then work on finishing dinner. We actually make a pretty good team. I stir fry chicken and vegetables while Becca sets out plates and works on finishing her glass of wine. She looks really good in my kitchen and there’s something I like about having her here, in my space, cooking for her. She’s so easy to be around, so low-drama and sweet.

  Once the food is ready, we take our plates to the table. I refill our wine glasses with ice water, and our conversation over dinner quickly turns to hockey as it so often does. We talk about the hip injury our captain Grant is still recovering from, and what a lucky call that was that Asher didn’t end up with a concussion after getting cross-checked during last week’s game, and the rumors about our team owner looking for an exit. It’s nice to talk shop with her, and I appreciate the different perspective she can offer.

  After the dishes have been loaded into the dishwasher, we settle on the couch together. I hand her the remote, but Becca doesn’t turn on the TV.

  Instead she plants her hand against my abs and gives me a comforting pat. “Can I talk to you about something?”

  “Of course.”

  “I want to ask more about your past, and about your desire for control.”

  “O-kay?” I say slowly. I kind of figured this talk might be coming, but that doesn’t mean I’m excited to have it.

  “I want details.”

  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  She considers this, curling her legs beneath her on the couch. “So, you like to be in charge . . . like dictate positions and, I don’t know . . . call the plays, so to speak?”

  I interlace her fingers with mine. “Yeah, but it’s a little more than that.” I don’t even want to say this next part out loud, but I figure since she’s been so honest with me, I owe her the same.

  “More like?” she asks at my hesitation.

  “Like—I would love to spank your sexy ass.” For starters.

  Her brows pull together. “You want to hurt me?”

  “Not hurt you, dominate you,” I say, correcting her.

  “But it will hurt at times, right?”

  “Probably so,” I admit, running my thumb over her knuckles. “Maybe a little.”

  “But why?” Her tone is filled with confusion.

  Fuck. I feel like an asshole. Given her background, this woman deserves someone who will take his time, and be careful and considerate. This is the reason I tried to call off our deal. I’m not even certain I can be that guy.

  But Becca’s still waiting for my answer. I take a deep breath.

  “Because I get off on it.” I take her hand and place it over my denim-covered erection to show her how excited she gets me. “Just the thought of spanking your ass has me rock hard.”

  I expect her to draw her hand away. I expect condemnation and judgment, and for her to flee at pretty much any moment.

  Party’s over, folks.

  Instead, she cups her hand over my cock and gives it a squeeze.

  “Is that too fucked up for you?” I ask, my voice breaking on the words.

  Becca removes her hand and brings it up to my cheek, looking longingly at me. “I won’t judge your needs. You never judged mine.”

  A lump lodges itself in my throat, and I lean forward to kiss her sweet lips once softly.

  And then her hand is back on my zipper, and she strokes me playfully over my pants. “I guess we’re both a little broken, huh?”

  I shake my head, threading my fingers through her hair so I can guide her mouth back to mine. “We’re not broken, babe. We’re just human.”

  At this, her hazy blue eyes meet mine and she looks at me so tenderly. “Can we go back to your bedroom now?”

  14

  * * *

  Slow and Steady

  Becca

  There’s something different about tonight.

  Maybe it’s the honesty we’ve given each other, combined with the electricity that pulses through me every time his fingertips brush across my skin. But lying here in Owen’s bed, dressed in only a pair of panties as he pulls me toward him, his mouth hungrily capturing mine, we’re both vulnerable. And nothing has ever felt so right.

  Still, there’s a tiny bit of nervous energy fluttering in my chest, and it has everything to do with Owen’s sexual leaning. I’m not completely opposed to experimenting with his wilder sexual side, but tonight, I need things to be gentle. Comfortable. Sweet.

  Easing back from our kiss, I push down the nervous feeling and ask the question that needs to be addressed. “Can we not do that kind of thing this time? The spanking and stuff?”

  I hold my breath, and my chest tightens. What if he backs out now because I can’t give him what he wants? I don’t think I could handle that kind of rejection. Especially from him.

  Owen tips my chin up and captures my gaze with serious, honest eyes. “Of course. That’s not what tonight is about. I want you to be as comfortable as possible.” Leaning forward, his lips barely brush over mine in a soft, airy kiss. “And that goes for everything. I want to make you feel good. So the second something feels wrong to you, say the word, okay?”

  “Okay,” I whisper, although it’s difficult for me to believe that anything with him could feel anything but completely perfect. I tug at the waist of his jeans, and the button comes undone. “This isn’t going to work if only one of us is naked, though,” I say, teasing him in an attempt to ease the tension between us.

  It works. Owen chuckles, and the air in the room feels instantly lighter.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  I give him one last squeeze through the denim of his jeans, earning me a sharp inhale and a smirk before he stands up and slides his pants to the floor. Since he doesn’t wear boxers, there’s no fabric to contend with—just a whole lot of Owen.

  I take every second he gives me to soak in the unobstructed view of him.

  In the dim light of his bedside lamp, shadows contour every muscle of his chiseled frame. If I didn’t know better, I would think I was ogling some male model in an underwear ad. But I’m not flipping through a magazine or catching a bit of a commercial—this is real life, and Owen Parrish is standing naked before me, looking at me like I’m good enough to eat. I can’t help but feel impossibly sexy when he looks at me like that. Without hesitation, I ease my panties down my legs and toss them over the side of the bed. Owen’s eyes track my movements and he’s almost panting with anticipation.

  He rejoins me on the bed and pulls me toward him until I’
m settled in his lap, my legs crossed behind his back. He never fails to impress me with how strong he is, the way he can put me exactly where he wants me and still kiss me so softly, like I could disappear into thin air.

  But I can hardly focus on kissing him right now. His stiff length is nudged against my inner thigh, dangerously close to where I want him, and it’s the only thing I can focus on. I can’t resist rocking my hips against him, squeezing my legs against his back to pull him tighter against me.

  He responds with a throaty groan, his brilliant blue eyes twinkling with desire. “Do you want to?”

  It’s the question I’ve been waiting for since I first suggested our little deal.

  I remember how nervous I was, reaching for euphemisms to spell out to him what I wanted. The thought of discussing anything sexual with my best friend felt so awkward back then that it was hard to even say it out loud. But now, with my chest pressed into Owen’s, our heartbeats syncing, it’s the easiest yes ever to fall from my lips.

  With that, Owen lifts me off of him as easily as if I were featherlight, setting me on the bed beside him while he sheaths himself with a condom. Geez, he’s efficient at that. But then he’s back, leaning close, enveloping me with his scent and his body heat and all that firm muscle.

  “We’ll take this slow, okay?” His fingers trace the curve of my cheek as his breath ghosts over my lips, teasing me with the promise of a kiss. “Just tell me what you need.”

  “You,” I say on a sigh. “I need you, Owen.”

  And thankfully, he gives me exactly what I need.

  With a hungry kiss, he leans forward, pinning me beneath his broad frame momentarily before pulling back to brush my hair from my eyes. “You’re brave, Becca. You know that?”

  I shake my head, a flush creeping across my cheeks. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I would.” The sparkle in his eyes cuts through the dim lighting of the room. “You’re the definition of brave. Courage isn’t about not being afraid. It’s being afraid and doing it anyway.”

  The weight of his words hit me like a ton of bricks. “I’m not afraid, Owen,” I whisper, running my fingers along his stubble. “Not anymore. Not with you.”

  With one last gentle kiss, Owen eases my knees apart, situating himself so his length is nudged against me. “This okay?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I watch as he moves his cock against me, testing my wetness. My whole body shudders at the contact.

  Still watching me, he gives his length a slow stroke. “You ready, sweetheart?”

  I nod, arching my back off the bed, offering myself to him. “Yes, Owen. Please.”

  I don’t have to ask him twice. Slowly, he tilts his hips forward and eases into me. I release a breath, letting the heat wash over me.

  Holy shit. He feels amazing.

  I let out a long exhale and Owen rolls his hips forward, deepening our connection even more. “God damn.” Owen hisses, then bites firmly down on his lip to steady his breath. “You okay?”

  Am I okay?

  The question hits me like a tidal wave. I feel like, after years of drowning, I’ve finally come up for my first breath of air. I’m beyond okay. I’m on top of the world.

  But no matter how I try, I can’t make my mouth form words. So I reply with a shaky nod and a slight tilt of my hips, welcoming him another inch deeper into me. The sound of us moaning in unison reverberates through the room.

  “God, Becca. You’re so tight. You feel incredible.”

  I can hardly believe the desire in his voice. This is Owen. My safe place. My protection from the storm that constantly wages inside me. And here he is, coming undone—for me. There’s nothing else like it.

  The most powerful feeling in the world wells up inside me, and my heart gives a kick. I sink my grip into the tight muscles of his shoulders, enjoying the way they contract as he holds himself over me.

  His rhythm is slow and easy, allowing me to feel every bit of him as he presses in, testing how much of him I can take with each thrust before withdrawing slowly. While one hand stays planted beside me to hold him up, he slides the other behind my neck, bringing my lips up to meet his.

  The pounding of my heart and quick, uneven breaths are the only sounds I can hear. This moment is so perfect, I could almost cry—and not due to sadness—but because I’m finally taking control of my life and my body again. It’s something I didn’t think would ever happen.

  “Yes, Owen.” I sigh, my voice trembling as he hits a deeper, softer place within me. “There. Right there.”

  Joining my body with his awakens something deep inside me. It’s like a complex knot has been unraveled and I can finally breathe again.

  “Yes, angel,” he growls, his hand drifting down to clutch my hip.

  His grip on my waist isn’t near tight enough to hurt. But it is firm. Uncompromising. Showing me exactly who is in control right now. It sends a little thrill skittering through me.

  You would have thought it would be the opposite, that firm touches wouldn’t start my motor, but the effect on my lady parts is instantaneous. My inner muscles give an involuntary clench. I didn’t even know they could do that. Something inside me desperately likes turning off my brain and handing him the control.

  This is his realm, his area of expertise, and it feels good knowing I don’t have to do a damn thing other than enjoy the ride. There’s no overthinking or uncertainty or shyness. Owen’s confident tone and sure touches leave no room for that. I like it so much more than I thought I would.

  When he quickens his pace, my thighs begin to tremble. He has me where he wants me, right on the edge, and he’s keeping me there. I’m so close. So close.

  But something holds me back, and the harder I try to focus on all the pleasure-filled sensations, the more my brain spins with the conflicting emotions splintering through me.

  Desire rushes through every inch of me, drenching me in lust. I wanted this. Begged him for it, but now that it’s happening, I can’t quite get there. I’m terrified that once I fall over the edge, I’ll never get back again.

  And I think Owen can sense it. He murmurs sweet things to me, kisses my neck, and even though it’s our first time together, somehow Owen can read me like a book, somehow, he knows exactly what to do.

  “I feel like I’m going to break,” I murmur into his neck, clutching his powerful shoulders.

  “I’m not going to let that happen. Fall apart for me.” His voice is so deep and strained, but so sincere, another piece of me unlocks.

  He presses a kiss to my lips without slowing his pace, continuing to find the place inside me that lay dormant for so long. I pull in a deep breath and turn myself over to the pleasure. But it’s his next words that completely undo me.

  “I can’t get enough of you,” he groans, the sound primal and needy.

  And all at once, he slides his full length into me, holding himself there as I twitch and contract and come totally undone beneath him. Finally. I almost sob with the pleasure of it.

  My release is powerful and intense and seems to drag on forever. Heat rolls through me in glorious waves as everything within me releases, pulsing and hot. He meets me there, full force, his lips parting as he groans again.

  “Fuck, Becca.” His big body shivers as I tuck my knees into his sides, angling myself even closer. “Can’t last,” he murmurs into my neck right before he empties himself inside me.

  Afterward, we lie together across the bed in a warm, flushed heap, both of us breathless. He places one hand on my hip and lets out a deep sigh, a sound that’s somewhere between relief and satisfaction. And trust me, I can relate.

  After years of nerves and avoiding intimacy and being fearful of sexual contact like it was the bubonic plague, I feel like my sexual anxiety is lifting and slowly moving behind me. I’ve never felt so relieved, thankful, and satisfied in my life. And it’s all thanks to him—this gorgeous man beside me.

  “How do you feel?” he asks once we’ve both found our breath ag
ain. He stares at me like what I say next means the world to him.

  “Perfect.” I sigh, giving him an exhausted, yet satisfied smile. “What about you?”

  “Perfect,” he says back to me, followed by his stomach chiming in with a churning growl, and we both laugh. “Well, perfect and a little hungry. Are you up for that dessert I mentioned?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  After Owen sheds the condom into the trash can, he steps into a pair of sweats and a black tee that tightly hugs his round biceps as he digs through his drawer. A smile passes over his lips as he finds what he’s looking for and hands it my way.

  “Here, you can wear this.”

  It’s one of his old jerseys. My heart leaps into my throat.

  “Are you sure?” I run my thumb along the smooth fabric, then over the white letters spelling out his last name on the back. Owen has brought home his share of women over the years, but never into his bedroom, and he never in a million years would let any of them so much as try on his jersey.

  “Of course. No one deserves to wear it more than you.”

  When I slip it on, Owen chuckles at how oversized it is on me. It’s practically a dress.

  “You look adorable,” he says, reassuring me. “C’mon. There’s dessert waiting to happen out there.”

  In the kitchen again, Owen pulls out all the ingredients for hot fudge sundaes—ice cream, cherries, chopped nuts, whipped cream and fudge.

  “Yum,” I say, lifting myself onto the counter to sit beside him while he gets to work on preparing two bowls.

  “Did you want more wine?” he asks, eyeing the bottle we left on the counter.

  I shake my head. “No, thanks. I think it did its job.”

  Owen chuckles. “I didn’t know if you had enough time off after your breakup from tequila.”

  I groan, clutching my stomach. “First, don’t remind me of tequila. I think that was the most traumatizing night of my life.”

  “But, hey.” Owen smirks. “Look where it got us. Into the best deal ever.” He hands me a dish filled with the most delicious looking concoction.