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As Bowen sat on the edge of his bed, he curled his big, warm hands around the back of my thighs. He pulled me closer to stand between his knees, gliding his palms higher to cup my waist.
For one moment, I thought, my father is going to kill me.
Then Bowen lifted the hem of my sweater, pressing his lips to my naked hip in a kiss that wiped all thoughts from my mind. The soft heat of his mouth was a sharp contrast to his prickly stubble that rasped against my skin with hot sparks of friction.
I threaded my fingers through his dark hair, noticing the gleam of silver at his temples in the low light of his bedroom.
This wasn’t really what I came out here for.
Worry and guilt had nagged at me, making it impossible to sleep. Every little noise and rustle made me flinch. I hated that Isaac had been here, on Dad’s porch. It showed just how far he was willing to go to get what he wanted.
For the first time, it made me realize how dangerous Isaac could be.
Seeking out Bowen in the middle of the night wasn’t supposed to lead to sex. I just wanted to talk, to find a way to protect the people I cared about in all this mess. I would never forgive myself if Isaac hurt my family because of me, and Bowen was level-headed, practical. He knew how to tackle any problem, no matter how impossible it might seem to find a solution.
But now that I had his hands and his mouth on me, talking was the last thing I wanted to do.
Bowen continued to push my sweater higher, and graced each new inch of exposed skin with a kiss—sweet and chaste at first, lingering and unhurried. By the time he reached my breasts, his kisses turned open-mouthed and hungry, punctuated by a flick of his tongue.
When his lips closed around my nipple, I practically melted into his lap, straddling him. He pinched with his teeth—a teasing jolt of sweet pain—soothed by the slick sweep of his tongue. Pushing my sweater off, he tossed it to the floor, leaving me completely bare before him. I felt the bulge of his cock throb and twitch in his jeans, pressed against the relentless ache between my thighs.
Bowen hooked an arm around my waist and twisted to the side in one smooth motion. I found myself spread out on his bed, flat on my back as I gazed up at him. My fingers flew to the buttons on his shirt, shoving it off his shoulders. The faint traces of red marks left by my nails were still visible on the muscled planes of his torso.
I smoothed my hand up Bowen’s chest, soaking up every detail—small scars and dark chest hair, the shift and contraction of muscles when he sucked in a breath. My throat grew tight at the unbearable sexual tension hanging in the air between us.
Bowen wrapped his fingers around my wrist.
“We can stop, you know,” he whispered. “Any time you want to.”
I brought my thighs up to bracket his hips with a squeeze.
“There’s no way in hell I’m going to do that, Bowen,” I said. “Believe me. Not now.”
He skimmed his callused thumb along the sensitive, soft curve under my breast. I whimpered and squirmed beneath him, arching into his touch. Every nerve in my body pulsed with insatiable need.
Bowen held my gaze as he crawled lower. Scooping his hands under my ass, he settled between my legs, using his shoulders to spread my thighs apart. The warmth of his breath on my core made me tense with anticipation.
With the first hot, slow drag of his tongue, I twisted my fingers into the sheets. The vibration of his moan made my pussy desperately clench around the ache of emptiness inside me.
Bowen pried my death grip off the sheets and intertwined our fingers together. I glanced down to see him watching me while he lapped and sucked at my clit. When his hips flexed against the mattress—the tight stretch of denim across his ass, the shift of every muscle in his bare back—a rush of heat swept through me from head to toe.
Anchoring my heels in the bed, I rolled my hips against Bowen’s face, matching the rhythm of his tongue. I was desperate now, my orgasm just out of reach. I didn’t want to wait any longer.
Bowen locked a strong, tanned forearm across my hips to hold me in place. My legs trembled as he licked up, down, and around my clit with slow, steady strokes.
“Bowen,” I said, exasperated and strained. “Please, just—”
I broke off with a gasp as he pulled away. For the second time in less than ten minutes, Bowen had worked me into a frenzy, bringing me right up to the edge. And then he screeched to a stop.
“Do you want to come?” he asked.
Jesus Christ. The low, gravel-rough timbre of his voice had that hot coil of need in my lower belly burning white-hot with desire.
“Bowen, asking for consent is sexy as fuck, but this—“
“Do you want to come?” he repeated, more insistent this time, pinning me with a beastly look.
“Yes. Of course I do.”
