Page 22 of Tides Of Your Love (Riviera Shores #3)

He kissed his way up my body. I felt his breath on my face, and when he kissed me this time, I didn’t let go. It was long, lingering—no longer just about the physical need clawing at me or the wish to lose my virginity. It was more. So much more. And even in the haze of it all, I knew it.

At some point, my hand slid between us, brushing over his chest before traveling lower. Owen caught it, holding it in his for a moment before letting go. Then his own hand traced a slow path down my body, slipping beneath the open waistband of my jeans.

When his fingers skimmed over the lace and lower still, I whimpered into his mouth.

“I want to touch you, too,” I managed between kisses, my voice breathless and desperate. If I didn’t, if I didn’t feel him inside his jeans, I was going to come from just this—and I didn’t want to miss everything else there was to discover.

Somewhere in the swirl of my thoughts, I was sure this was my one chance. My only one. I had to take it, take all of it, before it disappeared.

“You will,” Owen whispered.

He pulled his hand from my jeans, found my palm, and guided it into the front of his own. The waistband was loose enough to fit us both.

I ran my hand along the hard length over the fabric of his boxer briefs—my fingertips discovering their texture before my mind registered what he was wearing. Curious, I slipped my hand inside.

He was warm. Hard. A slight throb beneath my touch. A bead of dampness at the tip. I pushed my hand lower, wanting to know how far he went. Owen groaned against my neck as I reached the base, my fingers circling him, wondering what it meant that it was more than twice longer than what I could hold.

I stroked my hand over him again, slow, tentative—until he yanked my wrist away.

His mouth claimed mine, hot and deep, before he pulled back and met my gaze.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” It came out as a whisper.

“It might hurt. It probably will.”

“I know. But I want to.” I want it to be with you , I nearly added, but something told me he already knew.

“Since you probably won’t enjoy it as much the first time, we’ll make sure you do first. Okay?”

I nodded, swallowing against the anticipation twisting through me. My body tingled, pulsed, burned like a slow-building flame.

Owen smiled. “Good girl.”

He pushed us both farther up the bed, then hooked his fingers into the waistband of my jeans, dragging them down until I could kick them off completely.

We were already barefoot.

His mouth found mine first, then trailed lower. Kissing, tasting, moving further down my body. My fingers wove into his hair, gentle at first, but tightening the lower he went.

Until he was level with my hips .

I nearly bounced off the bed when he traced a single finger down my core, the lace of my panties the only barrier. That was how wired I was. Then his mouth followed, and I stifled the whimper clawing up my throat.

My eyes fluttered shut. One hand fisted the bedsheet, the other tangled, unthinking, in Owen’s hair as he peeled my panties away—slowly, agonizingly, revealing my bare skin to his gaze, his hands, his mouth.

The moment I was fully exposed, he gently nudged my thighs apart.

He kissed his way along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, moving with deliberate patience.

It felt like forever before I finally felt his lips close over me, right where I was so wet, that I was sure I was leaving marks on the bed.

He kissed. Lapped. Licked. Sucked. Pace slow and long at first, then fast and unforgiving.

He teased my entrance with the tip of his tongue, flexed and wicked, and I ground against his mouth, my head spinning from breathlessness. The sensation was too sharp, too intense, building higher and faster and stronger until I was sure my heart and body wouldn’t survive it.

My head rolled from side to side, helpless against the pleasure. I had never imagined one person could unravel another like this. I had never managed to get myself off in a way that even came close to this.

Pleasure coiled, tight and electric—he slowed when I was about to explode, then amplified the pace until I shattered against him, turning my head to the side, biting my fist to stifle the loud moans threatening to rip free.

Still, gasps, hushed cries, and broken whimpers escaped as Owen let me ride my release, his mouth guiding me through every wave, every ripple, until my body slowly stopped trembling, pulsating.

I didn’t know how much time passed—maybe a minute, maybe more—before I finally unclenched the sheets, feeling my hand resting on Owen’s head, his cheek pressed to my hipbone.

He lifted his head, and my hand dropped. He smiled, placed a quick kiss on my hip bone, and crawled up to me.

He kissed me again, and when I winced, he murmured, “I taste and smell like you.” His eyes darkened. “You’re so wet and so ready now.” He gripped the back of my neck and kissed me until I was lightheaded all over again.

Dizzy or not, I tugged at his jeans, desperate to get them off him, but Owen reached into his pocket first, pulling out something before pushing them down completely, along with his boxers.

He held up the little red packet. “Protection,” he said, tearing it open with his teeth.

A fresh wave of heat rolled through me at the way he handled it—at how sure and experienced he was, how naturally he moved, how he made me feel safe and wanted at the same time. My entire body thrummed with anticipation as I watched him slide the condom on, his movements practiced, confident.

I reached out again, needing to touch him, to feel what it felt like now.

The latex was smooth, slightly slick. I knew we had to use it, but part of me ached to know what it would have felt like without it—to feel Owen bare inside me instead of wrapped in something that felt like a barrier between us.

Owen settled between my legs, his body fitting against mine like it had always belonged there. His mouth found mine again, slow and deep, stealing the breath from my lungs.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

I nodded, my heart hammering.

“We’ll take it slow, move forward when you’re ready. If you want me to stop, just tell me—or squeeze my hand, anything. Okay?” He wet his lips, his gaze searching mine.

I could see it then—the weight of what I was asking him to do. The responsibility. The trust I had placed in him. He was fully aware of it.

Then I felt him at my entrance, a gentle pressure against flesh already hypersensitive from everything he had just done to me. Owen held my gaze as he pushed forward, inch by inch. It was okay at first, and then—it stung.

My eyes must have fluttered because he stopped.

“No, please go on,” I said, my voice breathy, urgent.

He pushed a little further in. “You’re so wet, but so damn tight,” he rasped, and I wondered how he controlled himself like this.

“It stings just a bit,” I admitted.

He eased in deeper, and this time, the discomfort sharpened. But I didn’t want him to stop.

Noticing my quickened breaths, he stilled.

“Please,” I whispered.

He pushed further, stretching me in a way that sent a flash of pain up my body. He was deep, but I could tell he wasn’t all the way in yet.

I bit my lower lip, and his gaze flicked to my mouth.

“Maybe we should stop now,” he said, as if reading my unspoken Are we there yet?

“No,” I shook my head. “I want to go all the way.”

His expression softened for just a second before he bent down, catching my lips in a slow, deep kiss.

His tongue tangled with mine, coaxing, unraveling, distracting.

His hand trailed between us, cupping and kneading my breast, wetting me all over again.

My body melted into his, the tension in my muscles easing just enough.

Then, with a longer thrust, he pushed all the way in.

The sting flared sharp, but beneath it was something else—the heady, dizzying awareness that he was fully inside me now, that we had crossed it together. I felt the press of his pelvis against mine, the solid heat of him buried deep.

Owen kissed my neck as he pulled back, then slid into me again—this time, not as slow, not as sharp.

Another thrust. And another. The pain still lingered, but I focused on everything else: the sound of his breath catching, the quiet groans against my skin, the feel of his back muscles working under my fingers as I ran my hands down to his firm ass.

His pace shifted, his control hanging by a thread. I could tell he was containing himself to not go too fast or too hard,

“God, Rio, you’re so tight,” he gritted out. His breath was ragged. “If it hurts too much ...”

“Don’t stop,” I whispered against his ear.

Now, I understood what he meant—this wasn’t like the movies. I wouldn’t come from this alone, not this time. But I wanted to feel all of it. To know what it was like when Owen lost himself inside me, came inside me. To see what I did to him. To make him fall apart in my arms.

Several more thrusts, and Owen stayed inside me for a moment before pushing deeper in shorter, faster strokes. His quick breaths turned into low groans, his body tensed, and I felt it—his release, warmth spilling inside the condom, his body throbbing against mine.

And as stupid as it was, I was happy. Elated.

Owen came inside me. Even with the condom, I felt it, and I was no longer a virgin. And the experience was so much better than I’d dared imagine.

He stayed there, his face resting in the hollow of my shoulder, and we held each other tight.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head. “Are you okay?”

I smiled, nodded. “Better than okay.”

He pulled out of me, and when I looked down, I watched as he removed the condom, tying it off before setting it on the nightstand.

I stared at it for a second. It looked ... lifeless, the bottom part filled. I’d never actually seen this before—not in movies, not in real life. My friends had talked about it, but I’d never really understood.

For a moment, the sight of the condom in our guestroom unsettled me.

But then I smiled. I didn’t care. Not one bit. I didn’t want to think about where we were, or who Owen was to the rest of the world. Right now, none of that mattered.

I was naked in bed with the most beautiful guy I’d ever seen. My friend. The man who had just been inside me in every way possible. The man who made my heart skip a beat .

Owen turned to look at me, shifting onto his side. He propped his head on his arm and traced the back of his fingers over my face.

I mirrored him, turning onto my side so we were eye to eye.

“Was it what you expected?” he asked.

“Better,” I said, my smile taking over my face.

“Even with the pain?”

I shrugged one shoulder, the other still tucked beneath me. “It hurt, but it was still ... amazing,” I whispered. “And before, it was even more amazing.” I chuckled. “Amazingest.”

Owen chuckled, brushing a knuckle over my lips. “I’m happy to hear that.”

We just lay there, looking at each other, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be naked, tangled together, completely spent.

“You’re so beautiful, Rio,” he murmured.

I wasn’t, not really. But in that moment, I believed him. I was so content I could have let this night stretch on forever.

His fingers traced gentle strokes along my face, while mine drew lazy circles on his arm. At some point, we must have drifted off.

Because the next thing I knew, a noise startled me awake.

I blinked at the clock on the wall—3:20 a.m. A door opened and closed somewhere down the hall.

The light was still on. Carefully, I slipped out of bed and reached for my clothes. I dressed in silence, glancing at Owen as he lay on his side, still asleep, still breathtaking.

As I pulled up my jeans, I glanced at the bed. No blood, though I’d expected some, given everything I’d read and heard .

Owen stirred, then opened his eyes. He sat up, raking a hand through his hair.

“What time is it?”

“Almost four,” I whispered. “I should go. My mom will probably be up by five.”

He nodded.

And just like that, the real world crept back in. We were Simon’s friend and Simon’s sister again.

“See you tomorrow,” I said, then huffed a soft laugh. “Well, today.”

I turned to go, but Owen caught my wrist, pulling me back. He stood, his hand sliding up to my face, his touch warm, steady. “Goodnight, Rio.”

“Goodnight,” I whispered, not because my voice would have caught, but because emotion—deep and unexpectedly overwhelming—swelled inside me.

He leaned in and kissed me, soft and lingering, his lips brushing over mine again and again.

Before I left, I smiled at him from the door, then slipped out.

In the hall, I tiptoed to my room, closed the door behind me, and collapsed onto my bed, grinning at the ceiling like the happiest woman alive.

I knew Owen was leaving soon. I knew nothing more would come of this. But the future, with the feelings and longings it would bring, was still two days away.