Page 101 of Love Me Tomorrow

“The only truth I’m feeling is a desperate need to dive beneath those sheets and send them falling to the floor.”

A low chuckle reverberates in his chest. “You’re too good to me.”

I nip his jaw. “I’m hoping I can convince you to be just a little bit bad to me.”

At my confession, he lets out a throaty groan and then I find myself being tumbled onto the bed. The mattress is light and airy andtotallyabout to be the scene of at least two orgasms, maybe more.

Owen catches my ankle, his thumb resting on the inside. “On your stomach, sweetheart.”

If it’s a request, he doesn’t treat it like one.

Not even a heartbeat passes before I find myself being flipped over by strong arms. My breasts flatten against the bed. Over the pounding in my ears, I hear the whisper of fabric hitting the floor and then the mattress dips, Owen’s weight crawling ever closer. I squeeze my eyes shut, choosing instead to live through my other senses.

His rough palm glides over the back of my thigh. It sweeps up, following the curve of my butt. Muscular thighs straddle mine, and then—oh!—I feel his hard-on against the base of my spine as he leans down, covering my back with his chest.

My core clenches, knees drawing tightly together.

Owen’s lips hit one shoulder, trace a pattern over to my nape, before pressing another soft kiss to my opposite shoulder. I feel his breath rustling the loose strands of my almost-dry hair. I feel his hands creating indents of pressure on either side of my hips, and then—

I gasp at the sensation of his cock’s sensual glide against my ass.

It feels illicit, erotic.

“Is this bad enough for you?” Owen husks out by my ear, rocking his hips to a rhythm that only he knows. I hitch my ass up, seeking more of the pressure that he’s delivering in glorious spades. “So bad it feels so good?”

I nod into the mattress, turning my face to the side so I can whisper, “Only you.”

“Only me, what?”

Seeking out his arm, I grasp his wrist and tug it beneath my chest, so I can lay it flat over my breast. I want him to feel the rapid beat of my heart, the way I’m gasping for air but content to lay beneath him forever. “At City Park, you asked me if I missed any of this—the city, N’Orleans—but the truth is, when I was gone, the only thing I missed was . . . you.”

His breath audibly catches.

His hand, the one pressed to my heart, curls inward—not necessarily cupping my breast, but as though it’s his instinctual response to me laying myself emotionally bare.

Slowly, as though he’s taking his time, his chest skims down my back, his mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses along the pearls of my spine. His fingers, those clasped beneath me, drag down the front of my body. Down past my sternum, down over my belly button. I can’t breathe, can’t think, but when Owen clasps my thigh to bend my leg at a right angle, I find myself straining for more.

“You were right about me,” he grits out, sounding both pained and aroused as he positions his big body behind me, his cock at my entrance. “I pretended that I didn’t miss you when you stormed back into Inked. I called you a coward but should have aimed that word at myself.”

A cry tears from my throat as Owen rubs his erection through my folds, then over my clit. The metal barbell is a sharp contrast to the smooth glide of his length, and I fist the sheets and pray for patience . . . but only manage another second of enduring the sweet torture he’s delivering before whimpering his name.

Above me, behind me, Owen is relentless. “I wanted you,” he goes on, circling the head of his cock over my sensitive flesh just there, justright,so that my toes curl and my eyes squeeze shut in pleasure, “and I wasn’t going to let you see that you already owned me. Like a man determined to ruin himself, I watched every fucking episode until you came home. I soaked you in the only way I could, looking for you on TV, playing old voicemails from you on my phone, like some lovesick teenager.”

His hands grip my hips, propping me up at an angle that seems to suit him because his finger smooths over the swell of my ass, and then his cock is at my entrance and my heart is hovering on the precipice of the unknown.

Voice gritty like gravel, he growls, “You should have walked away when you had the chance.”

I crane my neck and find his hot gaze over my shoulder. “Never going to happen.”

His eyes fall shut, his head tipping back. The lines of his throat, especially where the ink teases the bones of his clavicle, clench. When he drops his head again, it’s only for him to breathe, “I’m yours, Rose. I’ve always been yours.”

I swallow, hard, at the rough admission. This man has hidden pieces of himself from the world for so long that I want to hug him tightly and promise that I won’t break his trust, not now, not ever. Instead, I arch my spine, pushing against him, and whisper the words I’ve known all along: “You’ve owned my heart from the beginning.”

He groans deeply at that, his cheeks flushed pink, his brows drawn in, bracketing that furrow that never, ever goes away.

And then he thrusts forward and sinks into me all the way down to the hilt. Pleasure rips through me, sharp and potent, and I drop my forehead to the mattress and prepare myself for the ride of a lifetime.

Owen doesn’t disappoint.

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