Cole

There were steps between that spot in the woods and Owen's bedroom, many of them, but he took my hand and guided me down the path, and everything else drifted away. I wanted to take a picture of us, just like this. My man, holding my hand as he led the way. My man. Now, that was a rare thought.

Once we were behind closed doors, he attacked my clothes. Unbuckle, unzip, unbutton, off. When my boxers hit the floor, Owen stepped back and stared at me, drinking in my bare skin.

Before modesty could get the better of me, I gripped my cock at the base and gave it a lazy stroke. A growl rumbled up from his chest and his brows lowered in warning. His breath was coming in quick, rough pants that worked me like a seductive lullaby. I knew nothing beyond hunger, absolute starvation for this man.

"Off," I said, reaching for his t-shirt.

"Now you're thinking," he replied. "Thought you were just going to make me watch while you jerked it. Not that I'd complain but that wasn't what I had in mind."

I yanked the shirt up and over his head, and then moved on to his shorts but I was a disaster. At least one button was sacrificed to the cause and I gave up trying to maneuver the zipper around the substantial bulge of his erection. Bypassing the zipper altogether, I dragged the garment down his hips and sighed in relief when he was free of it.

"Shit. Sorry about that," I mumbled. "I'm not great in the dark. Or with undressing. That's not what I meant. No, I mean, obviously I know how to get undressed. I'm just not experienced when it comes to taking off someone else's clothes. It's not one of my skills. I might be a born-again virgin."

Owen—God love him—chose that moment to cross his arms over his thick chest.

"You say that like it's a bad thing. It's not. I'll teach you anything you need to learn," he said, his dick pointing straight at me. He reached out, his knuckles skimming down the line of my jaw. "You did just fine, little prince."

I didn't know what it was about his acceptance and affection, but it gave me wings. I wasted no time backing him to the bed, flattening him against the quilt, and taking his cock in my mouth. I couldn't remember the last time I'd sucked someone off but what I lacked in talent, I made up for in enthusiasm. I was eager to have this—and him—and I packed years of need and loneliness, desire and relief, into every roll of my tongue.

I sucked him deep and hard, and his hands were everywhere. Tight around my shoulders. Rubbing my scalp. Stroking my jaw. And then his hand found mine. Our fingers laced together, our eyes met. Seeing him there, his eyes narrowed as I brought him to the edge, his hips rolling against the bed as he fucked my mouth, it turned me on like nothing else.

And it had Owen erupting like a geyser.

"You taste like the ocean," I murmured after I'd swallowed every pulsing spurt. "I liked it."

"That's the right answer," Owen said, a sated laugh ringing in his words. His hand was on my shoulder and he squeezed, pulling me closer. "Come here. I want to play with you a little before I fuck you."

I peered up at him from between his thick thighs. "What?"

"Is that all right?" he asked, edging up on an elbow. "Or do you need to take a break?

"No." I was kneeling at his feet, my arms around his waist and my cheek pillowed on the warm skin above his knee where his tan and freckles faded away. He smelled like sex and dirt, and it was the truest moment I'd ever lived. This was the only place I wanted to be. If I closed my eyes and concentrated on the thrum of his pulse under my ear, I could keep this. "No," I repeated.

Owen sat up, his brows furrowing as he moved. "No, it's not all right?" he asked, his fingers rubbing the back of my neck. "Or no, you don't need a break?"

I tilted my head to get a better look at him. "What? I didn't catch any of that."

He hummed to himself and pushed his fingers through my hair. "Are you sure you're not too drunk for this?"

I shook my head. "Not drunk at all. Not anymore."

Owen hooked his arm around my torso and hauled me onto the bed. "That helps, I suppose."

I sat beside him and rested my head on his shoulder. "I'm just a little—I don't know. Dazed?"

"Dick drunk?" he offered.

"Probably, yes." I laughed, and waved toward his crotch. "How could I not be? With all that?"

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said, laughing. He kissed my forehead and dropped his hand onto my chest, pushing me back. "Get on your belly. I want to spend some time with your ass."

That was all I needed to hear. It was everything I needed to hear. I crawled to the middle of the bed, my skin burning under the heat of Owen's gaze. His fingertips brushed over the back of my calf and up my leg. A shiver started at my shoulders and moved through my body.

"Something you like?" Owen asked.

One finger traced the seam of my knee. His touch was barely there but the anticipation only doubled the impact. "Mmhmm," I murmured against the quilt. The rhythm was slow but purposeful. He wanted me to know how he'd tease me elsewhere.

The mattress dipped at my waist. He planted his hand near my shoulder, brushed his lips over my neck. "Then I'll keep going," he said, his breath warm on my skin.

I shivered again. "Please."

Owen dragged his lips down my spine, licking and kissing as he passed each notch. "You're fucking golden," he whispered.

"And you like that?" I asked. "That I'm golden?"

I felt him nod, his scruff scraping over the tender part of my flank. Goose bumps rippled over my skin. "Love it," he murmured. "I've always wanted my very own California boy."

For the first time, I glanced back at him. He didn't notice. His cock was jutting out from his body. He was thick and throbbing, the head shiny with a dot of arousal. "I can't believe you're hard again," I said.

"Why not? Haven't you seen yourself?"

He moved to my waist, his hands locked around my hips, and hiked me up. His palms smoothed down my back and over my ass, his thumbs sliding between my crease with enough pressure to have my breath shuddering out.

"Not from that angle," I replied.

"It's a good angle." Owen laughed as he squeezed my backside, each finger triggering a rush of need like cracks in a dam. "Then again, you're hot from every angle."

His grip tightened and then—oh, fuck—his tongue swiped over my flesh. "Oh, my God."

A growl was the only response I received. He went on tormenting me while I clawed the quilt down and flung pillows to the floor. It was all I could do.

"This ass is so sweet," Owen said. He reached between my legs, gripped my shaft. "I'm gonna tear it up."

His fingers moved down my cock with quick, light strokes. It wasn't enough, and he knew it. He chuckled as I thrust into his fist, trying and failing to find more friction.

"Now, please," I said.

"This," he said, his thumb stroking the head as he kissed up my spine, "this is what I was thinking about last night. You, on my bed. Naked. Panting. Pleading."

"Did you think about fucking me at any point?" I asked. "Because that would be great right now."

Owen laughed. "Yeah, I thought about that all night." He patted the mattress around me, searching until his fingers closed around the condom packet. I heard the rip, then the glug of lube into his palm, then the rasp of his short beard on my lower back. "Ready?"

"Very." I squirmed, desperate to feel him inside me. "Don't tease me, Owen. I can't, I—" The words caught in my throat as he pushed into me. He felt like iron, hard and unyielding. My body burned, vulnerable and hot as I forced myself to breathe through the stretch and sting.

"If you think I have the strength to tease you, you haven't been paying attention," Owen said. "If anyone's the tease here, it's you."

He rested both hands on my waist, his thumbs massaging my lower back while he inched inside me. Every thrust drew a gasp from my mouth and then a quiet prayer for more. He leaned down when he was fully seated, and brushed his lips over the base of my neck.

Tears sprang to my eyes, not from pain but the emotional impact of opening myself to a man for the first time in years. As if he was dragged under the same overwhelming wave, Owen kissed my neck and shoulders. "Okay?" he asked, his hips moving faster now. "Is this good?"

"Yes great please more don't stop," I begged.

He kissed me again, and then I sensed him pulling away. "Good," he said.

The heel of his palm pressed the base of my neck, his fingers sliding, fisting in my hair. He had me anchored there, my cheek flat on the mattress and the sheets balled in my hands. My lips were parted on an infinite moan as he pounded me.

He was going at me hard, there was no doubt about that, but it was perfect. I didn't know it when I set out on this summer journey, but I needed this. Not a fling, not a rough hookup, but Owen. I needed him to dirty me up, take me apart.

Reaching around, Owen took my length in hand. "I'm there," he said, his words nothing more than a groan. "Need you there, too."

I couldn't put thoughts together right now. All I could manage was a murmur and a nod, and a hard thrust onto his cock. I was full beyond belief, every inch of my skin electrified with sensation.

"For a born-again virgin, you know how to work that ass. Show me," he ordered. "Show me how you like it, baby."

My eyes were barely open, my lips parted, my body slick with sweat. I brought my hand to my erection, wrapping my fingers around Owen's, and showed him what I wanted. "This," I said, the word muffled against the mattress. "Just like—"

The pressure of our hands, his cock, his body over mine, it hit me at once. I fell apart, came back together, and then fell all over again. I heard him roar and pant, I heard him yell my name like no man had ever yelled it before, and I felt his body go slack against mine. He ran his hands over me, rubbing and squeezing me as he went. I couldn't manage more than the occasional moan or sigh, and I hoped the sloppy, sated grin on my face said it all.

"I'll be right back," Owen said, his lips pressed beneath my ear. "You stay right here."

"Don't think I can move," I mumbled.

The mattress shifted as he rolled away from me. Then, the floor creaked under his feet, a sudden reminder that I wasn't actually floating on a cloud of warm marshmallows but in this man's seaside cottage, sweaty and used in the best way. And I knew—once again—that I didn't want to be anywhere else.

Owen returned a few minutes later, a damp cloth in hand. He cleaned me up and fixed the bedding, all while I smiled up at him.

"You look like a Renaissance painting," he said, tossing a pillow at my head. "A slutty Renaissance painting."

"The best kind," I said.

He tugged the sheets up to my waist and slipped in behind me. He said nothing. I wanted him to respond, tell me he liked it when I was a little slutty. I wanted some recognition that he enjoyed teasing me as much as I enjoyed teasing him. I wanted something, anything to confirm that we hadn't made a huge mistake.

"Are you all right?" Owen asked, his hand skimming down my flank.

"I'm good," I said. "This was good."

Owen started to say something but stopped himself. I need him to say something. Eventually, he curled his arm around my waist and blew out a breath. "Get some rest, McClish. The sun's up in a few hours."

It wasn't what I needed, but it was something.