Page 28 of Forgot to Tell You Something

“I can fix you breakfast. Are you hungry?” I manage, but judging from his erection pushing against me, it’s not food he’s after.

“Only for you.”

Who can argue that statement? Not me, as I slide my nails along his scalp, feeling his quiver of excitement.

“Too many damn clothes.” Owen paws at my shirt and panties until I’m as naked as him.

He nuzzles my breasts, nipping and sucking at the tips. “Your body is perfection.”

The man is ravenous, all hands and tongue, as if he can’t get his fill of me. Let me tell you, it doesn’t get any sexier than that.

My hand closes around his shaft as he grunts into my mouth. I run my thumb over the tip, moving my hand along his length, and guiding him into me.

“Fuck me, Tally. You’re so tight. Christ, you feel so good.”

I scratch my nails down his back, my legs wrapping around his waist. “Show me how good I feel.”

Owen slides his hands under my ass, tipping up my hips as he buries himself inside me. I cry out, but he’s relentless—pulling almost all the way out before driving into me again. So slow, so calculated, so delicious. I squeeze around him, my body thrashing against the mattress as he owns every inch of me.

Just like he promised.

His grip on my hips tightens, his fingers digging into my flesh until the blistering pleasure tears me in two. Owen releases a rough cry as he comes, and I feel him erupt inside me. He collapses on top of me, both of us covered in a sheen of sweat.

I stroke his scalp and back, reveling in the weight of him on top of me. He lifts his head, peppering my face with kisses.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

I run my tongue along his lower lip, a smile breaking across my face. “Ready for round two?”

“Little girl, you are going to kill me.”

“Is that a yes?”

His mouth claims mine, and he starts moving inside me again with slow, undulating pumps that perfectly match my rhythm. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m the luckiest girl in the whole damn world.”

* * *

“Are you working today?” Owen inquires, his fingers running along my body. “You work three twelve-hour shifts, right?”

“I’m not a staff nurse.”

He props up on one elbow, his free hand getting more devious by the second. Glad to know I’m not the only one with an addiction. “What do you do?”

“I’m the nurse manager of the Cardiac Cath Unit at Memorial. Sorry, medical terminology. Heart unit. What do you do?”

A cloud flickers over Owen’s features, but it’s gone in an instant. “I told you, I’m a thief.”

“Are you seriously not going to tell me what you do for a living?”

“I think I just did.”

I send him a fake glare, but I enjoy our ribbing. I feel like I’ve known Owen my entire life. “Fine, don’t tell me,” I mutter, turning my focus to the suit of ink covering his body. The man is decorated from the chest down, except for his hands. The work is breathtaking.

Who am I kidding? Owen is breathtaking. My fingers trace along his rib cage when I notice it.

A caduceus—the symbol of doctors and medicine.

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