“You want me to touch you? There?” Owen asks as he lets his hand run softly down my stomach, down my abdomen, into the center of my legs until I feel his fingers graze over the fabric between my legs.

I nod yes quickly, holding my breath. Owen runs his hand over my center again, this time with more pressure, and my center quivers in response. He does this a few more times until I’m unable to control the rolling of my hips, my body wanting more of him. Bringing his hand up my hip, he runs his palm flat against my tummy while his lips kiss me deep and hard. When he pulls his mouth away, he leaves his forehead against mine, taking a long, deep breath through his nose. He’s trying to be good, trying to restrain himself—and the good angel on my shoulder is thankful, the bad angel on the other side screaming for him to disobey.

My eyes closed, I run my fingers down his arm until my hand is over his, then I push his fingers lower, until my hand and his both dip under the elastic band of my leggings and panties. Owen’s breath comes out fast and hard again, and I can feel the sensation of want in his fingers as they twitch and flex, begging to move faster. Once again, I pull his hand deeper, moving him a fraction of an inch at a time, until I can tell he no longer needs me.

I bring my hand back to his neck, opening my eyes to look into his, and the desire in them is intoxicating—and infectious. I pull him to me, kissing him hard as his hand travels the final inch it needs until his fingers have found my center, his hand plunging forward more, his finger reaching into me, penetrating me in a way that is both painful and amazing all at once. The burn is overcome with my desire the more he does it, until my hips begin to rock once again with the rhythm of his hand.

“So fucking hot,” Owen breathes into my ear, his eyes hooded and his smile dark and sexy as he looks over my face. “Tell me what you want.”

“Everything,” I whimper, my face falling to the side, my hand gripping the corner of the blanket to muffle my sounds as Owen leans down and pulls my nipple into his mouth, sucking it between his teeth to a painful, glorious peak again as his fingers rub over my center, teasing me again and again until plunging back inside. The pressure builds fast, and with every pass of his tongue on my breast and his finger through my core, the risk that I’m going to lose control grows stronger. I feel wet around him, and my hips are no longer able to control themselves, rocking into him, craving him, wanting more than his hand, until I fall over the edge completely.

Owen’s other hand cups my mouth, muffling my cries while his eyes watch me, his smile cocky and proud as his right hand continues to work, his finger moving in and out of me until the waves of pleasure become bearable and finally stop. When he pulls his hand out from my pants, he lets his head rest on mine again, and just when I begin to feel embarrassed, he speaks.

“That…was the single sexiest thing I’ve ever done,” he says, running his hand down my stomach and over the sensitive area between my legs again, cupping me hard, gripping me forcefully. “Only for me,” he says, looking at me possessively, his hand threatening to push me into orgasm again just by this single touch. I nod yes, my lips wanting to smile, but unable to gain control through the trembles I’m still feeling. Owen kisses me again, and I’m grateful for his touch, for the rescue from having to speak.

I’m speechless.

I’m in love.

And I want to do that again.

Chapter 16

Nothing changed, yet everything changed. I caught sight of Owen when I drove myself to band practice Monday morning, and I blushed. I also felt my body warm just from looking at him.

I felt like somehow Willow knew everything that we had done. She didn’t say anything, but I read something in her smirk—in the way she looked at me, her eyebrows raised—while she directed the morning practice session.

I was the last one off the field for morning practice, lost in my own happy thoughts. The wheels from the xylophone were catching rocks, squealing as they dragged them over the concrete walkway.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve done this before, haven’t we?” Owen says, his voice lifting me out of my daydream, only to put me in my real-life fantasy. He bends down and dislodges the small pebbles from the wheels of my xylophone and begins pushing it back to the band room for me.

“Thank you,” I say, smiling as I look up at him, completely smitten. He kisses the top of my head in response.

“Haaaaaa haaaaa, you a band geek now, Harper?” some guy bellows, his laugh that obnoxious kind that makes him sound drunk even though he’s completely sober. I think he’s sober?