Page 27 of Fix Me Up

“No.”

“Virgin?”

“No,” she says, laughing. “Let me finish.”

“Go for it.”

“I … I don’t want to be fake with you.”

“Sweetheart, that’s the last thing I would worry about with you,” I say.

I can tell this isn’t easy for her.

“But I’ve been a little fake with guys in the past. If things go any further, I don’t want to be disappointed.”

I don’t give a shit about anything else she’s done or not done before me, but I can see on her face she’s worried. Someone in her past has been let down by something about her, and I’m ready for whatever that might be.

Because there’s no way in hell anything about her would disappoint me.

chapter

twelve

Daisy

Do I trust Owen enough to blurt out my secret?

I mean, look at him. Look at what he’s already proven to me. He’s persistent, but accepted my offer of friendship without sulking or acting entitled. He stayed with me and took care of me while I was drunk, and didn’t run away when I acted a fool.

“I’ve never had an orgasm.”

There. It’s out there. And his utterly unreadable expression in reaction to that is somehow a relief. I go on, “Not with a man, anyway. And I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to.”

Owen makes a throaty noise of acknowledgment that vibrates into me, sending a wave of heat down to my core, making me slick with need.

He pulls away just a little, and I bite back a frustrated whine at the loss of his heat.

“Baby, I don’t want you to worry about that. Fake it, don’t fake it. I don’t give a fuck. But I do take that as a challenge.”

Owen’s jaw tics, his face a storm of emotions I don’t know if I’m ready for.

“You do?”

“Whoever made you feel like you can’t, didn’t know what he was doing.”

From the look in his blue eyes, with their pupils blown out with arousal, I can see that I’m in for it.

The hand at my neck moves down and tugs on the back of the bathrobe, letting me easily shrug it off my arms completely. I then shed my tee shirt.

I’m now fully exposed except for the few desperately wet inches hiding behind the fabric between my legs. I reach for him, ready for whatever comes next.

Owen goes still and rigid for a moment. I don’t make a move, though I would love to hitch him forward with my hands that rest on his ribs, to urge him on, to go back to the kissing and the nuzzling. I fucking love the nuzzling.

“Look at my girl. Look at how pretty she is.”

I feel objectified with my tits hanging out in the middle of my kitchen. This man is obsessed with my breasts. And I freaking love that.

Owen’s face dips low and he takes one nipple into his mouth.

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