Page 41 of Fragile Hearts

I call out to turn the music up a little as I continue dancing, stirring the pasta as I do and realizing just how much Owen’s house feels like a home, a home I’ve never really had.

Even if it’s not permanent.

The music is blaring, and my hips sway along, my body feeling incredibly needy for some reason, and my thoughts swirl around the idea of Owen and sex and his body and me naked. It’s so easy to get lost in the fantasy when I’m in the house, knowing he’s not here with me.

It bothers me now that I never gave him a chance before this, but then it also feels like I wouldn’t have been ready anyway. That now is the perfect time.

When I turn around, lost in my thoughts, my body moving along with the music, I catch Owen standing there watching me.

“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, not even realizing how calm I feel until a few seconds later. Him being here didn’t startle me. Not even a little. Not even though he came in without me hearing him.

“Long enough,” he murmurs. “Nice shirt.” He lifts his chin in my direction, motioning to the T-shirt I’m wearing, the T-shirt that belongs to him.

“Someone I know just leaves them lying around the house,” I tease, hooking a finger at him. “Come dance with me.”

He doesn’t hesitate, joining me immediately, his hands moving to my hips, his body swaying in time with mine. He holds me in place, our bodies matching the rhythm, his fingers moving lower, grazing the hem of the T-shirt.

“You’ve never looked more gorgeous than you do right now,” Owen murmurs, his mouth next to my ear, his lips skating over the hard beat of the pulse in my throat.

Turning in his arms, my ass presses against his front, moving slowly, and I can feel what it’s doing to him, feel how turned on he is, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t too.

I put my arms up over my head, my hips rocking with the music, Owen’s hands gripping them tightly. Neither one of us says a word, the music playing, his hands on my body, and he begins to slide them under the T-shirt.

With each touch against my skin, I want to moan out his name, the desperation of wanting him taking over. How did I ever stay away from him? How did I ever think I could?

“Sloane,” he says, my name a harsh rasp, and the sound sends a wave of pleasure through me. My thighs clench, my body calling out for more.

Owen’s fingers dance along my stomach, moving higher until they brush against the swell of my breast. My nipples strain against the fabric of my bikini top, oversensitive and begging to be touched.

“You’re wet,” Owen practically groans out, and it takes me a second to realize he isn’t talking about my body but my swimsuit.

But fuck, I am wet. Like ridiculously wet, my bikini bottoms clinging to my skin, and I want to move Owen’s hand between my legs so he can feel what he’s doing to me.

“Mochi and I went for a swim,” I breathe out, my eyes falling closed, Owen’s body flush with mine. Turning, he takes my chin in his fingers, holding me in place, and then he kisses me.

His lips are full of lust and desire, want and need, desperation and compassion, and I have no idea how we’re going to get back to dinner after this.

I want him to take me to his bedroom and fuck me, good and proper, have his way with me, explore my body, and make me come like I’ve never come before. Owen Sinclair has a body that was made for me.

Pulling back, I open my mouth to tell him this, but it’s silenced by the sound of the timer for the damn garlic bread.

“Fucking bread,” I mutter, laughing a little as Owen’s hands leave my body, and I want to cry out in protest.

He steps over to the oven, turning off the timer. He takes the garlic bread out and sets it on the trivet I have waiting.

Both our chests are heaving, and I watch as Owen adjusts himself, his hard-on straining against the laces of his boardshorts.

I don’t realize I’m doing it until Owen says, “What’s that smirk for, gorgeous?”

“Nothing,” I immediately reply, giggling as I shake my head.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Just daydreaming about what’s under those boardshorts,” I admit, my heartbeat speeding up, my breathing uneven and ragged. “Rumor is it’s quite a sight.”

“Is that true?”

“I don’t know. You tell me,” I flirt back, my mouth opening slightly as I run my tongue over the back of my teeth.

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