Page 26 of Tides Of Your Love (Riviera Shores #3)

Rio

THE SILENCE WAS THICK , like the house was holding its breath.

I took one last swig of water in the kitchen, my pulse still elevated from the run, then turned off the light and headed upstairs.

I almost expected him to be there, waiting. But he wasn’t.

Disappointment washed over me like a tide. My body, by now, was charged with longing.

I turned to my room though every part of me yearned to head to his door. Take control over the situation. Initiate. My speech therapy taught me about more than just uttering words.

Yet, my legs couldn’t carry me across the hall.

Owen wasn’t the kind you stopped wanting, or one who would fade from your thoughts and heart, no matter how much time passed. Worse, he was the type you only craved more of the more you had.

I was in my shorts and tee, fresh from the shower, with the bedside light on and a lavender candle—my own product—burning its calming scent and glow on the dresser, when the rap on my door tore through the silence.

I opened it and Owen filled the frame.

Mine.

We glanced at each other for one drawn-out moment, like the second before a storm breaks. I could hear the thunder, only it wasn’t outside—it was inside me, pounding in my chest, gushing through my veins.

With our eyes still locked together, he smoothed the back of his hand down my arm, splayed his palms on my waist, and pulled me to him, like he knew resistance was only temporary.

He was right.

My mouth was on his before my next breath.

The gravity I’d been fighting all day finally won.

My first time with him I had been new, hesitant. But this—this was something else. This was wildfire—unstoppable, all consuming.

Owen crushed me to him and moved forward, his mouth fused to mine. Like the wall of muscle and strength he was, he didn’t stumble as he walked us backward into the room, kicking the door shut behind us.

He kissed me like a man who knew exactly what he wanted and didn’t believe in failure. Fierce. Determined. Unyielding.

My greedy hands grabbed his tee, and he broke away just long enough for me to rip it off and send it to the floor.

My fingers skimmed over his skin, tracing the hard ridges of muscle I’d felt under my hands before but never like this—never with full possession .

I unbuttoned his jeans, pushed my hands to the back, gripping the firm curve of his ass, my wrists shoving the fabric lower. I wanted him bare, all of him, all to myself. I wanted to know what it was like to be with him now, when we were both older, experienced.

We hit the bed, our limbs tangled, hands desperate, breaths swallowed by kisses that turned deeper, hotter.

There was no space between us. No hesitation. Just years of wanting, finally erupting.

Somehow, I ended up sitting on top of him, my thighs bracketing his hips. Owen’s hands framed my waist, sliding up my back, dragging my tee along with them, flinging it to the floor.

I was naked underneath.

His gaze burned into me for a beat before he pushed up from the bed, meeting me halfway. His arms wrapped around me as he kissed me again, harder, deeper.

His mouth traced a path down my neck, his hands already on my breasts—then his lips followed, hungry and urgent. His tongue circled my hardened nipples, teeth grazing, his lips tugging. Heat flared under my skin, a wild pulse between my legs.

I moaned loudly, arching my back, whispering his name.

This wasn’t slow or gentle. This was frantic, ravenous, a collision of want and need that had been waiting too long to combust.

He was so hard beneath me, right where I ached, and I rocked against him, needing the friction.

Owen groaned, hooked his fingers into my shorts and panties, tugging them down until we had them peeled off me. He gripped my bare hips and lay back down, guiding me forward, down over his face.

A sharp gasp tore from me as his mouth found my core, his tongue pressing deep, his pace alternating between long and slow licks to fast and exacting flicks. His hands held me firm, controlling my movements as he devoured me. Every stroke, every lap unraveled me, pleasure winding tight.

But before I dissolved over the edge, he flipped me onto my back, covering me, pinning me to the mattress.

“You taste like I remembered,” he rasped, hovering over me, his lips slick, his eyes blazing.

Owen reached for his jeans, and I already knew what he was looking for.

“You’re still always ready,” I teased breathlessly as he pulled out the condom, his gaze molten.

“For you?” He tore the packet open with his teeth. “Always.”

I wanted to go without, I needed him inside me now , but I took the condom from him, wrapped my fingers around his thick cock, stroked it slow, lingering, watching his eyes go hazier, before I rolled it on with effortless ease.

His lips quirked, a glint of mischief in his expression, like he was saying Rio’s not so inexperienced anymore.

Owen drove into me in one slow, stretching thrust, and heat filled every inch of me. My legs wrapped around him as I tilted my hips, taking him deeper.

“You’re still so wet and tight for me, Rio,” he graveled as he pushed forward, deeper, making me moan .

His fingers tangled with mine, holding my hand against the sheets, his other hand gripping my thigh as he thrust harder, his jaw tight, his breath ragged.

Owen moved above me, his body sleek, every flex and roll of it powerful, precise, relentless. Like the ocean, rolling through me, over me, inside me.

I wasn’t afraid to be loud. Walter’s hearing aids were off.

So when I came hard beneath him, I let him hear it.

And when he followed, thrusting deep one last time, his body tensing, his groan low and raw in my ear, I knew there was no coming back from this.

I was his.

And he was mine .

Or at least, I let myself believe it for now. Because no matter how deep we went, how close we got, there was a part of me that knew—Owen wasn’t a man you could keep. But I went all in anyway.