Page 71 of Love Me Tomorrow

I swallow. Then whisper, “Turned on. I-I am so turned on that in the history of being turned on, I’m about to take first place. Earn the spot. Live the spot.”

A sensual chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Another blue participation ribbon to add to all the others?”

I cut him a reproving glance. “A trophy, you jerk. Give me some credit here.”

His gaze turns flinty, like he’s holding back laughter, and then he steps forward. “Sit on the coffee table,” he orders, and then I am, and then his pierced erection isright there,in my face,and never let it be said that I’m not an inquisitive soul at heart. I’m dying to know what that barbell will feel like against my tongue, and so I lean forward and do just that.

“Oh,fuck.”

Owen’s hands fly to the back of my skull, clutching me tightly, as I swirl my tongue over the tip of his cock. The piercing feels foreign. Foreign but undeniably sexy, I decide. Owen marches to the beat of his own drum, and never does what’s expected of him. Why stop with what he’s rocking in his pants?

Grazing my tongue down his length, I rely on the pressure of Owen’s grip to guide me. I bob my head, taking as much of him as I can into my mouth, and relish the groans that trip off his tongue. His fingers flex in my hair, wrapping the strands in a tight fist in a silent delineation of control.

My gaze slips up, up, up, to find black eyes locked on mine.

And then I drive him to the edge of insanity and park him on the highest peak.Checkmate, Mr. Harvey.I hollow my cheeks around the crown of his cock and that sexy-as-hell piercing, then drag my tongue along the vein on the underside of his hard-on.

His lips part. “Savannah. Shit. That feels so good.”

Victory strums in my veins. His cock twitches under my tongue, the big hands on the back of my head guiding him deeper into my mouth, and then I’m being abruptly yanked off the table.

“I need in you. I can’t—” He looks at me, this little helpless question in his gaze that tells me he’s just as deep in this moment as I am. There’s no going back. No rewinding the clock. It’s both thrilling and terrifying, all at once.

“I’m on the pill,” I tell him.

“You’re gonna ruin me, sweetheart,” he mutters, his hands linking around my back to fiddle with the belt. It grows tight, then loose, and then it’s off and falling to the floor with a clink of metal. He nuzzles my neck. Presses a soft kiss to my pulse. “And I can’t find it in myself to care.”

My wrists are sore, a little tingly, but it doesn’t stop me from circling my hand around his cock and squeezing up, up, up the hard length of him. “Make me beg, Owen.”

“Today,” he says, turning us around so that I’m being backed up to the couch, “tomorrow, five fucking years from now.”

It’s as much a declaration as either of us have ever given but as I fall onto my back on the couch, cushioned by Owen’s muscular arm looping around my waist as he lowers me gently, it feels like a promise. A vow. His mouth crashes down on mine, taking me savagely but with the sweetest desperation that inflames my soul.

My arms are stretched out above my head—his doing, not mine—so that my back arches. I have my right leg down on the floor, the left hooked around his lean waist. So long. We’ve wanted this for so long, and call me emotional, but my chest constricts with need, and I feel the bite of tears threatening to spill.

I return Owen’s kiss just as fiercely, expressing everything that I shouldn’t say so soon in a relationship—or whatever this is between us.I need you. I crave you. I’m falling. I’vebeenfalling.I feel him line up his erection with my entrance, and then he pushes forward, just far enough that I know he’s going to be big and I know it’s going to hurt so good. Goose bumps erupt over my skin at the thought of that metal barbell dragging back and forth inside me.

Complex. Untamed.

Owen Harvey takes no prisoners when it comes to sweeping a girl off her feet.

He drags his mouth from my neck to my jawline. “This is never gonna be a one-time thing,” he rasps, sinking in another inch. “You know that?”

I roll my hips, needing more of that fullness. “I know,” I whimper. “Please, Owen.”

“Say it again.”

“Please,” I beg, not even caring that I’m caving because, God, it feels so good already, “give me more.”

“Nah, Rose, I’m not gonna give you more.” He rears back, the head of his cock once again positioned to make my naughtiest dreams come true. Then he growls, “I’m gonna give youeverything,” and thrusts forward, sinking in to the hilt, and it’s true.

He gives me everything.

And it feelswonderful.

I cry out, ignoring his silent edict to leave my arms above my head, and drag my nails down his back. His thrusts are steady, perfectly composed of rhythm—just like he promised—and it seems impossible that I already feel my body tightening. I push down against every one of his thrusts, trying to give as good as I’m getting. And Owen is nothing less than raw, masculine perfection.

I feel the graze of his piercing stoking the fires within me. I feel his hot breath on my neck, as well as the corded power in his frame as he plants one hand down by my side, grazing my outer left thigh, and angles his thrusts so that each one only catapults me higher.

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