“Better.” He kisses me again, soft and slow and so deliciously wonderful I swear my knees are buckling. Thank God he’s holding me against the door. “Though I don’t like the thought of you assessing my kissing skills in comparison to the other guys you’ve been with.”

I say nothing. I can feel my cheeks flush, though, as he rears back slightly to study me. “The list of guys I’ve been with is embarrassingly small,” I admit.

Both eyebrows are up now. “I know you’re inexperienced, but …”

“Even with kissing,” I finish for him, feeling inept. Totally out of my league, which is a feeling I absolutely do not like. He knows this.

The giant grin on his face tells me he sort of doesn’t care.

“Is it wrong to admit I like that I’m a lot of your firsts?” He wraps his hands around the backs of my thighs and lifts so I have no choice but to let him carry me to his bed. He deposits me there, dropping me in the middle of the bed so I land with a plop, and I glance around, grimacing when I see the bed is a mess. The comforter’s on the floor at the foot of the bed and there is no flat sheet, no blankets.

“Don’t you ever make your bed?” I ask, bracing my hands behind me on the mattress.

He shrugs, then tugs off his shirt with one hand, yanking it over his head and tossing it on the floor. “Why bother? We’re just going to mess it up anyway.”

His words are full of wicked promise and anticipation skates through me, heady and strong. My nipples are hard beneath my bra and I press my thighs together to stave off the ache that throbs there. I let my gaze roam over the acre of bare skin on display just for me.

I’m dying for him to get closer so I can touch him.

“You know I promised you something the last time we were together,” he says as he joins me on the bed, the mattress creaking from his weight as he crawls toward me.

“You did?” I scoot back as he comes forward, until my back is against a pile of pillows. He has a predatory gleam in his brilliant green eyes that both scares and thrills me.

“Yeah.” He’s over me, his knees on either side of my hips, straddling me. I stare up at him and curl my fingers around the waistband of his jeans, my knuckles grazing hot, bare skin. His eyelids flicker the slightest bit, his only outward reaction to my touching him. “I said next time I would make you come with my mouth.”

I immediately let go of him, my cheeks so hot they feel like they could burst into flame. Closing my eyes, I hear him chuckle, feel him move over me, his spicy fall-like scent washing over me as I inhale deep.

“Don’t be shy, Chels,” he whispers against my lips right before he kisses me. “You know you want it.”

He’s right. I do. Oh God, I so do. I want everything Owen is willing to give me. There is so much I don’t know, so much he could show me. When I’m with him I feel greedy. Insatiable. Completely and totally out of control.

And I like it.

“I want this to be good for you. I want to make sure you’re ready,” he says, his voice soft and solemn. My heart lodges in my chest and I’m at a loss as to how to respond.

But he kisses me before I can say anything, do anything, and it’s as if his tongue knows just what to do to shut my brain down. It goes blank, until all I can focus on is his tongue swirling around mine, his gentle hands skimming over my skin, encouraging me to remove my shirt, which I do as if in a daze, opening my eyes so I can watch him. He’s touching my chest, his mouth at my collarbone, his fingers drifting over the tops of my breasts. He’s so patient, which shocks me. He’s usually impatient and impulsive with everything else in his life, it seems, but not with me.

Never with me.

“I love touching you,” he whispers as his fingers go for the front clasp of my bra. It unsnaps easily, the cups loosening, and then he’s pushing them out of the way, his fingers, his palms brushing against my sensitive skin, and I shiver. “Your skin is so soft.” He tugs the straps down my arms, pulls the bra off me, and then he’s kissing my skin, his lips wrapping around my nipple and drawing it deep into his mouth. A jolt of electricity pulses between my legs and I smooth my hand over his hair, whimper when he sucks my flesh harder.

I love how he seems to savor me.

His impatience finally comes over him and he’s pulling off my pants, taking my panties along with them. I kick them off, trying to fight off the embarrassment of being naked in front of him. I’ve done this before. He’s seen me like this before, but not with the lights on. And that lamp sitting on his bedside table is distracting me.

“I’m not turning it off,” he whispers, reading my mind as he kicks off his own jeans and underwear. I try not to stare but I can’t help it. He’s just so beautifully formed, so perfectly male. “I want to see you.”

Before I can protest, he’s kissing me again, his mouth working its magic, his hand trailing down my stomach until it’s between my legs, testing me. Arousing me. He moans against my lips, a sound of utter male satisfaction, and then he’s gone. Kissing his way down my shivering body, his lips hot against my skin.

“Cold?” he asks, right before he drops a kiss just below my belly button.

“Nervous,” I admit, tilting my head down so I can look at him.

He’s watching me, his hair a mess from my hands, his lips quirked in the cutest little smile. “I’m nervous, too,” he murmurs, holding out a shaky hand. “See what you do to me?”

I stare at him, dumbstruck. How do I answer him? I can’t. I’m too overcome with emotion, foreign, powerful emotion that I could affect him this way. That I can feel his shaking fingers grip my hips and know that I did that to him. His hands slide down, along the tops of my thighs, farther down to part them, and I lean my head back, closing my eyes as I let myself be overcome by sensation.

His hair brushes against the inside of my thighs and then his lips are there, pressing soft, sweet, open-mouthed kisses. He grips my knees, keeping me spread wide open for him, and I can feel his breath against my slick flesh, then his lips …

Oh, God. A shuddery moan escapes me when he licks me there, his tongue doing a thorough search of my folds. He caresses my thighs with his fingertips, his mouth busy, his tongue circling in the most precise spot possible. All I can do is lie there and take it, my hands clutching the sheets beneath me as I lift my hips, wanting more but not quite knowing how to show it, let alone say it.

Owen seems to sense my struggle and he rests a hand low on my belly, stilling me as his tongue continues its thorough search. I’m writhing beneath his lips, my legs popping up of their own volition, my feet planted on the mattress. A ragged sound escapes as he slips a finger deep inside me and he sucks my clit into his mouth.

And that’s all it takes. I’m already so keyed up, so turned on, I explode with a little cry, my entire body trembling as my orgasm rushes through me, leaving me breathless, boneless, mindless with pleasure. It’s as if my entire system shuts down and he just killed me with his lips and tongue and fingers.

I’m lying in the middle of Owen’s bed, just as I envisioned the first time I went into his room. Naked and pale against the dark red sheets, sweaty and gasping for air, my arms and legs still trembling from the orgasm he gave me. My heart is racing so fast, I swear I’m going to have a coronary.

I’ve never felt better in all my life.

He’s moving up the length of my body, his mouth brushing against my skin until his cheek is pressed to mine, his mouth at my ear, his hot breath making me shiver. “Did you like that?”

His deep voice is full of promise. Full of everything I could ever want and everything I never knew I needed.

My own voice has left me completely, so all I can do is nod. He kisses my ear, my cheek, until finally his mouth is on mine. His tongue meets mine and I can taste myself, but it doesn’t bother me. Somehow, it kick-starts my arousal and I wrap my arms around his neck, my hands in his hair. Loving how he feels, naked and pressed tight against me, the heavy weight of his erection against my belly.