Page 28 of Tides Of Your Love (Riviera Shores #3)
Rio
THE WARMTH OF THE MORNING sun nudged me awake, its golden rays spilling through the curtains and brushing over my bare skin. My body ached in the best way, every muscle languid, every nerve still humming from the night before.
Owen’s arm was heavy around my waist, his body warm at my back.
I could hear his slow, steady breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest. For a long moment, I stayed there, soaking in the rare quiet, the feeling of being wrapped in him, but reality was already creeping in.
Walter would be up soon, and I usually made his breakfast or sat with him.
Carefully, I slipped out from beneath Owen’s hold. His arm tightened for a second before relaxing, and when I sat up and reached for the shirt I’d left on the floor last night, his voice, still rough from sleep, broke the silence.
“Morning, beautiful.”
I glanced over my shoulder to find his eyes open now, half-lidded, still heavy with sleep, but locked on me. His gaze dipped lower, and before I pulled the shirt over my head, something softened in his expression .
“Morning,” I replied, a smile tugging at my lips.
Owen didn’t respond, just watched as I padded to the bathroom.
I splashed cool water on my face, brushed my teeth, and dragged a hand through the tangles in my hair. When I opened the door, he passed me on his way in, wearing only briefs, muscles shifting as he stretched his arms overhead.
We didn’t speak, but something passed between us in that moment. A pause. A glance. Like we were both still trying to fit into this new version of us.
I sat on the bed, listening to the sound of running water.
A minute later, he emerged, shirtless, his hair damp where he’d run his hands through it. He crossed to me and sat on the bed beside me.
“Take this off,” he half-ordered, fingers gripping the hem of my shirt.
I lifted an eyebrow but let him slide it off me, the warmth of his palms trailing up my back.
He shifted to look at my bare back. His hand brushed lower, fingers lightly tracing something.
“How come I saw this only this morning?” He rasped. “Your tattoo.”
I smirked. “Dim light. Distractions.”
He skimmed his fingers over the small inked river at the base of my shoulder blades. A soft breath left me as he traced the delicate lines. I leaned slightly forward to allow him better access.
“Your river,” he graveled, his breath warm against my skin. “Is it because of your name? ”
I nodded, but then added, “Not just that. It’s also about flowing.” A soft chuckle left my lips. “A hope of flowing. I tried not to make it ironic, given I’m not exactly ... fluid. You know, with speech.”
His fingers kept following the ink’s winding path, sending currents down my body. “It fits you,” he said, his voice a low rumble that echoed in me. “Flow isn’t always smooth, but a river never stops moving.”
Then, without hesitation, he kissed along the inked line—soft at first, a whisper of warmth against my skin, before his mouth grew bolder, wetter, hungrier.
His lips followed the curve of my spine, his hands bracketing my hips as he moved lower, tasting, teasing, every kiss making me wilder.
When he pulled me beneath him, our clothes off, my back flush against his chest, his hardness pressing against my ass, my body was already begging for him again.
I turned my head, seeking his mouth, moaning into our kiss as he thrust inside me, slow and deep. His right hand slipped beneath me, fingers finding my clit, stroking in time with his movements, adding friction, winding me tighter around his hardness.
His breath hot at my ear, voice rough with need. “You have no idea how fucking good you feel, Rio Mio—so wet for me, ready to take all of me.”
A desperate sound escaped me as his words hit just as perfectly as his body did—his cock inside me, his fingers on me, every touch, every kiss, every groan in my ear—driving me higher, closer to the edge.