His boxer briefs rested low on his hips, and the cotton did nothing to hide his large cock pressing against its confines. Most women probably would’ve quivered with anticipation if the chance of having Owen’s dick was on the night’s dessert menu. Unlike them, my throat dried up, and my core clenched in fear.

Thank goodness I was saving myself for Tryston, or whatever steady boyfriend came along after Owen’s and my fake relationship ended. This man would’ve been too much for me.

“Cricket. Eyes up here,” he said, pulling my thoughts back to him instead of his almost-naked form.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, my eyes focusing on his chiseled face.

“What do you want next?”

My teeth chattered, and I clenched my shaking hands, as I whispered, “Touch me.”

Owen took a step closer, his bare feet almost making contact with the tips of my espadrilles. “Where?”

Our breaths mingled, and my skin grew warm all over as he lifted his hand toward my neck. Even though his fingers didn’t touch my skin, they left a heated path along each centimeter they moved across. The electricity jumped off my skin in waves, leaving prickles in their wake.

“Everywhere,” I moaned in anticipation.

He finally made contact, his fingers drawing around my clavicle, then a line down the middle of my chest between my breasts and to my navel, where he swirled around the soft skin. The sensation nearly made my knees buckle.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

My impatience was growing as his fingers glided along my hips, slipping just inside the waistband of my panties. “Take it off, please. The bra and panties.”

“My pleasure,” he responded with a cunning smile.

“I think it’s the other way around,” I said, my voice hitching when he unhooked my strapless bra. It toppled down my body, exposing my breasts I now fought not to hide.

“Fuck. Stop distracting me,” he groaned with a lusty gaze focused on my chest. My nipples pebbled under his stare.

“I’m not doing anything,” I replied with a chortle.

“You certainly are. How am I supposed to focus on the task you’ve given me, when you have these perfect breasts to distract me with?”

I never thought my breasts were anything to write home about. They were always on the smaller side, and most of the time, I felt self-conscious when I wore a tight shirt. But with the way Owen was staring at them, I wondered if I’d been wrong all these years.

“Sorry.” My apology for distracting him was just for show, because I liked the way he looked and appreciated my body. It left me wanting more.

With a powerful breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, as if to calm himself, Owen slipped both his index fingers into the waist of my panties and tugged them down my hips until they fell at my feet on their own.

His body descended, his hands softly sliding down my sides until they cupped my ankles. My breath was coming in heavy pants by the time he gazed up at me. Lifting one of my espadrille-clad feet, he slipped it out of the panties and then repeated the action with the other, tossing the lace and my bra over toward the dresser.

I was stark naked in front of the most gorgeous man in baseball—and definitely in Ashfield—and he was licking his lips like he’d just been invited to an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“Shoes,” I mumbled. It was unintelligible to my own ears, but Owen seemed to understand, as he unbuckled each strap and slipped the shoes free.

I dropped almost three inches in front of Owen, where he kneeled on one knee before me after setting my shoes aside. His eyes were patient, but his body was wound tight. His jaw ticked, and I felt my core grow wetter.

“Owen,” I pleaded, wanting him to do anything he pleased with me. I was at his disposal. A willing student ready to be taught.

“Yes, cricket?”

“Touch me.”

“What do you want?” he asked again, leaning back only slightly and clasping his hands together. His erection tented his boxer briefs. “Where? How? Tell me what you need, sweet girl.”

“I need it all, Owen,” I whimpered. “I’m begging you to put your mouth on me.”

“God… damn,” he growled.

I thought he’d go straight for my breasts, which had garnered so much of his attention the peaks were straining for his touch. But Owen glided his hands up along the back of my legs until he reached my thighs. Then, in a flash, he lifted one over his shoulder.

Before I could take my next breath, he settled back onto his ankles and ran his nose along my wet, hot slit.

“Oh my gosh,” I cried out, nearly falling backward the moment his tongue ran across my center, but he immediately reached up and gripped my ass in one hand to steady me. He used the other to slide a finger back and forth over my clit.

Moaning out his name, I reached up and cupped my breasts with my hands, rolling my nipples between my fingers before I even realized what I was doing.

“Mmm. You taste so good. Like spun sugar.” He pulled back slightly, his finger still swiping along my folds.

“What does that mean?”

Suddenly, I was lifted into the air and tossed onto the bed. As I bounced, Owen crouched between my legs, bending them at the knees as he spread me wide.

“That I have a sweet tooth, and I plan to spend a lot of time devouring your pussy.”

I didn’t know it was possible to grow wetter than I already was, but I was mistaken as my inner walls compressed, and I released more.

“Show me how you get off, baby. I need to see it.” He sounded like a crazed junkie waiting for his next hit. I’d never been big on masturbation, only doing so when my body was too tight to ignore and I had no choice but to give myself a release.

“I thought I was in charge,” I joked.

“Oh, you definitely are. You drive me wild, cricket. I want to make this good for you. Show me how.”

Slowly, I slid one hand down my stomach, running my middle finger in circles around my sensitive clit, while my other hand caressed one of my breasts, tugging and pinching the sensitive peak.

My hips started grinding against my hand to increase the friction. I crept a finger inside my channel, coating it in my slickness, then drew it back over my clit, repeating the process until my knees shook.

“Yeah, baby. Make yourself come. You’re fucking beautiful.” I was surprised to find he wasn’t looking at my hand between my legs, nor the hand on my breast. Instead, his eyes were trained on my face, darkening with each heavy, quick breath I took as I reached the edge.

“Owen?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

He crawled up the bed and laid beside me. Forcefully, his mouth descended on mine. There was no sweet or gentle pecking, only the hungriness of longing and desire.

The hand on my breast reached for Owen’s head, and I held him steady against me as our tongues dueled.