Closing my eyes, I thought about my end goal. How I wanted to be intimate with someone and how I didn’t want it to be awkward. With Tryston, I’d have to get to know him first, but with Owen, I’d known him most of my life. It was both awkward and exhilarating.
“Take off my dress,” I mumbled, my sweaty palms fisted.
Owen reached out and pulled my body against his. I didn’t hear or feel the zipper make its way down my back. All I felt and heard were his gentle fingertips sliding down my bare skin and the soft sound of each of his breaths.
The material pooled at my feet, and Owen took a step back, admiring me as I stood before him in my strapless bra, lace panties, and wedges. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from covering myself with my hands and arms. Though still not completely naked, I’d never felt so exposed as I did at that moment. Owen’s eyes traced over every inch of my body as if he was saving it to his memory.
“Take off your clothes,” I requested, my voice trembling as I tapped out a rhythm with my fingertips on my thighs. I had no idea what the song was, but it kept me from completely abandoning ship, grabbing my dress, and running for the bathroom.
The smirk I’d started to grow fond of appeared on Owen’s lips just as he reached behind his head, gathered the material of his shirt, and pulled it off effortlessly. If I tried the same thing, I would have ended up in a tangled mess.
“Damn, you’re hot,” I said, not realizing I uttered the words aloud until I heard Owen’s chuckle as he toed off his shoes and socks. He made quick work of his pants, and they landed in a heap atop his ankles.
I counted an eight-pack. Eight mounds on his lower abdomen and a freaking line darting down from each hip. He had the body men desired and women dreamed about.
“You know, I used to think they worked magic with some sort of editing software on the images they put of you in magazines, but no. Of course you actually look like a freaking Greek statue.”
Owen looked down, his brow furrowed like he was seeing himself for the first time. Following his movement, I did the same. I was toned from years out on the ranch, but Owen’s body was on a whole other level.
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.
