Wild Reckless Read online

  “Yes, I had to pee. Now don’t cut me off,” she says, picking right up where she stopped. “Just promise you’ll talk to him, about those things I said, what Jess saw.”

  My lips hover, barely parted, and ready to answer, but instead I close them, nodding. “I will,” I say finally. I’m satisfied with the answers Owen gave me. But Willow, she’ll be more satisfied if she thinks I had those conversations with him on her urging. She wants to be the super friend, and frankly, I’ve got an opening for one of those. I’d like to give her the job.

  I hear the toilet auto flush in the background. “Okay, letting you go now,” I say, holding the phone out from my ear.

  “’Kay ‘kay, call you later,” she says, leaving her phone on as she stuffs it in her purse. I laugh to myself and hang up for her, but not after considering listening to her shoe shop for just a little while.

  I’ve slept in, and I’m pretty sure Owen has too. His room looks dark, and his truck is out front. His mom is back on her regular work schedule, so I know the boys are home alone, which gives me an idea.

  After a quick shower, I head to the kitchen and fry up the rest of the bacon left in our fridge. I scramble half a dozen eggs, then throw in some cheese and toss it all together in one of my mom’s big spaghetti pots. I bundle myself, then bundle the pot in one of my mom’s coats to keep it warm during the short walk across the yard. It takes Owen a few minutes to get to the door, and by the time he does, I’m shivering out front, the snow starting to fall with some strength now.

  “You brought me…chili?” Owen asks, his eyes on the ridiculous pot I’ve bundled in a brown, fuzzy coat.

  “It’s bacon,” I smile. “But if you don’t want it, I could just…” I start to turn and Owen quickly snatches the pot from me. He teasingly tries to close the door after, but eventually pulls me inside quickly too.

  Andrew stumbles down the stairs, his body long and awkward in nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms. He doesn’t have his brother’s build, and his youth is sweet, his chest a little boney and quite pale. He rubs his eyes, so much of him a little boy. Owen protects that part for him, so Andrew can savor it.

  “Kensi brought bacon,” Owen says, holding up the pot. The mere mention of the word wakes Andrew up completely, and we all move to the kitchen, where Owen pulls out three bowls and serves up my semi-omelet creation. I’m strangely satisfied watching them both eat.

  “So now I owe you, what, like two meals?” Owen asks, his mouth full while he talks, one hand gripping the bowl, the other a spoon.

  “You could just make it one really nice dinner,” I say, folding my arms.

  “Good,” he smiles. “Done. Tonight, I make you a steak.”

  I laugh, but he steps to the side, reaching into his freezer and pulling out two frozen pieces of meat, tossing them in the sink to thaw.

  “Oh, you were serious,” I say, liking the idea of being here for dinner.

  “Yep,” he says, shoveling another giant forkful of egg and cheese into his mouth. “Andrew, you’re going to Matt’s house.”

  “Uh, I am?” Andrew says, and Owen drops his spoon in his bowl, holding both hands on the counter, looking at his brother, giving him the look. “Oh, yeah. That’s right. I totally am. In fact, I’ll call him right now, see if his sister can come pick me up. Oh, and in case you wondered, Kensi, yes, I do talk robotic like this sometimes. I’m not pretending at all for the sake of my brother getting you alone.”

  Owen flings a strip of bacon at his brother, and Andrew grabs it off the counter. “Do not…sacrifice bacon, O. You know better,” he jokes, popping the bacon in his mouth before rinsing his bowl quickly and winking at me while he dashes around the corner and back up the stairs.

  “I…” Owen starts, sliding his bowl into the sink too, along with mine. He moves closer to me, until he has me caged against the kitchen island, his lips starting at my neck and moving along my face, grazing my lips. “…want to spend the entire day doing nothing, but this.”

  “Oh…oh,” I say, blushing. Owen doesn’t stop kissing me, and within minutes, he has me slid up on the counter, his body positioned between my legs and his hands running up my back, under my shirt, pulling me closer to him.

  “Ehem.” We pause when we hear Andrew cough, and I duck my head into Owen’s chest, embarrassed. “Matt’s sister is on her way. Do you guys think maybe you could hold that shit off for like, oh, five minutes?”

  Owen smirks at me, tipping my chin up to look at him, laughing at my shyness. “Nope,” he says as his eyes meet mine. “We’ll just take this shit upstairs. And you keep your mouth shut to Ma.”

  Owen scoops me up against him, carrying me backward piggyback style through the kitchen, past Andrew, and up the stairs. I slap my hand to my face, hiding again as we pass his brother, but I’m glad we’re alone the second Owen kicks his door closed.

  I love the way his room smells. There’s a faint leftover scent from his cologne, and there’s a certain smell to his bed and clothes, something in the way he washes things. It’s probably just fabric softener, but it’s my favorite fabric softener in the world. I want to soak every bit of it up—and remember it forever.

  Owen carries me right to his bed, kneeling and laying me down on my back, my head resting on his pillow and my body smothered in his messy blanket and sheets. I crawl underneath quickly, pushing my shoes from my feet and letting them drop off the side of the bed. Owen slips under the cover with me, pulling my body close, running his fingertips through my tangled, damp hair with an amused look on his face.

  “I just showered,” I smile, realizing I’m not very put together at all, even less than normal.

  “I wish I was there when you did,” Owen says, his lips finding my neck, teasing me. I cover my face with my hand, fighting against the redness taking over. “You blush so easily,” he teases.

  “I know,” I admit.

  Owen slides to his back, smoothing out the blanket over us and pulling me into him, letting me curl up onto his side. I can see the edge of my house through his window, and the thought that I was just sleeping over there, on the other side, strikes me. When Owen rubs along the back of my neck, massaging my sore muscles, I let out a small moan.

  “Already, huh?” he teases.

  “Nooooooo,” I push at his side, but not enough to ruin the hold he has on my neck. It feels glorious. “My neck is killing me. I fell asleep at the window.”

  “I know,” he says, his eyes grazing over my face, moving from my eyes to my mouth to my chin, then… “I watched you.”

  I love that he watches me.

  “I’m so sorry, Kens…about yesterday,” he starts, and I slide up his body and kiss him once, hard on the mouth, then press my fingers to his lips.

  “Don’t be,” I say. We look into each other for several long seconds, our eyes skimming across each other’s faces. How did I get so lucky? How did I get this boy to fall for me?

  “I still love you, by the way,” he says, his lip quirking on one side; his silly grin makes me melt. “For the record. Last night and today, still feel the same.”

  I nuzzle in close, letting my eyes concentrate on our tangled hands, the way they look together. I love watching his thumb run along my fingers, over the back of my hand.

  “I really liked your grandpa,” I say, wanting to focus on everything good from yesterday. Gus was good, and seeing Owen, his capacity to love—that felt good to see.

  “Yeah, he’s a lady killer. I was worried there for a minute when I left you alone with him. He’s been known to steal a girl away from a guy,” he says, his free hand finding my hair, drawing it out in long brushes of his fingers.

  “Do you visit him often?” I ask. “I’d love to go again.”

  I feel Owen’s breath let out, then his kiss presses lightly to the top of my head. “Not as often as I should,” he says, his voice growing faint. “Might see him a whole lot more, though, real soon.”

  I pull back to look at him, not sure what he means. />
  “We’re a little behind on our payments,” he says, his mouth flat, dejected. Everything that sentence means is conveyed in the look on his face.

  “Where will he go?” I ask.

  Owen raises his brow high, his eyes get wide and he looks from side-to-side.

  “But, who will take care of him?” My heart feels heavy even asking this, because I already know. Owen takes care of everyone.

  “I let coach know. He said he’ll keep me on the roster, but my season’s pretty much done,” he says, unable to mask the sadness in his eyes. For the first time, I can hear the disappointment in Owen’s voice about basketball. We’ve talked about the unlikelihood of him playing in college, but I think he always counted on having his senior season to remember.

  “Can’t your mom…?” I stop without finishing, instead feeling the touch of Owen’s lips back on the top of my head.

  “Her job pays the mortgage. She kind of needs to keep it,” he says, a breathy but somber laugh slipping out. “Besides, I think seeing my Gramps like he is makes her really sad. She doesn’t visit much. We’ll get help, from a home health nurse. His V.A. benefits will pay for that at least.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly, wrapping one of my arms around him tightly.

  We lie there quietly for several minutes, listening to the front door open and close, to Andrew drive away with his friend, and both of us think of how alone we are. I know he’s thinking about it; the rhythmic tickle of his fingers along my arm is almost wearing a line in my skin, and the stare from his eyes on my mouth is making my skin twitch with want.

  “You’ve been playing…piano. Willow said something about it the other day. You…thinking about it more?” Owen asks, his words coming out nervously, distracted. It makes me smile against his chest.

  “I have…been playing, that is,” I say.

  “And college?” he asks, his fingers still trailing along my arm, their pace slowing, but his path moving higher, closer to my shoulder and breasts.

  “I don’t know. My dad’s probably moving back in, so I definitely want to leave. But I just don’t love the idea of studying music anymore. Besides, my showcase is Saturday. I’m not even ready, so I think I’ll just bail,” I say, my mind just now wrapping around the fact that Saturday is the day that’s been circled on my calendar for nearly a year. Saturday. I’d nearly forgotten.

  “You should still go,” he says, his hand slowing down, his fingers flirting with the idea of moving more, of touching me intimately.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, not thinking about the piano now at all. Instead, thinking about where Owen’s hand is going, what move it will make next, how alone we are, and how hot my skin feels.

  I roll into him more, tilting my chin up slowly, hoping to find him waiting for me. His smile is tight and his eyes are trained on mine, the feel of his muscles beneath me, and around me, growing more rigid.

  “Play something for me,” he says, and I pull my brow in. “I mean, we don’t have to go over to your house, just tap your fingers on me. I love watching your hands when you play.”

  I think about it for a few seconds, closing one eye and looking at him, judging whether on not he’s serious. When I realize he is, his smile on me expectantly, I sit up, pushing off his stomach, and inducing a grunt as I knock the wind from him a little. “Sorry,” I wince.

  I straddle his upper legs, well aware of how close I am to the rest of him, then lean forward and place my palms on his chest. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt that’s thinning and has a hole in the center of the chest. The thin, smoothness of the fabric grips at him perfectly, and I force myself to pretend he’s my keyboard when all I want to do is roam my hands along his curves in slow, smooth motions.

  Closing my eyes, I rap my fingers a few times over his skin, feeling his stomach muscles tighten.

  “Sorry,” he chuckles. “Tickles.”

  Opening my eyes again, I smile, then stretch my fingers out, just as I would when presenting to the piano. “Okay, so if I were to go to my audition, I’d probably play this, along with one or two other songs. I’m a little rusty, but since you can’t really hear the notes…” I stop mid phrase, lowering my gaze to my hands from his eyes, trying to concentrate on nothing but my tapping, the flexing of my fingers. I play Rachmaninoff, the same piece I played for Willow, and I let my fingers dance over Owen’s chest, only glancing up once or twice to catch his grin as his eyes follow every movement I make. I swore I’d never play this song again, but this doesn’t count—there’s no sound.

  When I finish, I press my palms flat, then smooth out the tiny dimples left behind in the cotton of his shirt. I feel a little foolish having just played air piano on Owen.

  “That was fucking phenomenal,” he says, and I laugh instantly.

  “Shut up, you couldn’t even hear anything,” I say, and he reaches to grab my wrists, shaking them against him once or twice.

  “Didn’t have to. I felt it. How do your hands move that fast? That shit’s crazy,” he says, rolling his grip down to rub my fingers then back up my arms again, locking me to him.

  “Thanks,” I say, biting at the corner of my lip.

  My breath exhales in a stutter, my palms growing hotter against Owen’s chest the longer he holds me to him—the longer I look into his eyes. After a minute, he slides his hand from my arms to my thighs, running up my leggings until his hands cup my ass and he drags me forward.

  I lean toward him as I move, coming to rest above him, feeling how hard he is through his flannel pajama bottoms, the heat searing from him and directly into me. His eyes never leave mine, and his hands move in fractions of an inch at a time, slow and calculated, until he pulls me down against him harder, making sure I feel everything he is feeling right now.

  There is no mistake about what he wants. And his eyes, his smirk, his face…there is just the right amount of darkness in him. And I want it too.

  “Remember when I asked you if you had a problem with sex, Kensi?” he asks, his voice gravely, deeper than normal. His tongue is resting at the edge of his teeth, like a serpent waiting to tempt me into sin, his lip curled just enough.

  “Yes,” I whisper back, my voice giving out, my breath stopping at the sensation of feeling him throb beneath me, my own body reacting, growing warmer…wetter. The first time we had this talk, it was confrontational. This time is different. This time, it’s foreplay.

  “You said you didn’t care who had sex,” he says, his tongue wetting his bottom lip before he holds it between his teeth, his eyes seducing me.

  “Yes,” I breathe again, relaxing into him, my thighs falling farther apart.

  “I’ve had a lot of sex, Kensi,” he says, his eyes blinking in slow draws as he peers up at me, his gaze growing more intense, his smirk honest. He owns his reputation, and as much as it bothered me, alone with those girls in the bathroom—right now, it’s only making me crave him more. “But I have never wanted to feel what it’s like to be inside someone more than I do right now. To feel someone I love. Fuck, Kensi, I want to touch all of you.”

  His fingers grip against my legs, squeezing my muscles, his hands barely able to contain themselves. I reach down for them, running my hands over his knuckles, then leading the way as I lift my sweatshirt up and over my head, quickly stripping my bra away next, leaving my breasts bare and cold, waiting for Owen.

  His touch comes fast and hard as he sits up, his hands clutching at my back and his lips meeting my neck first. I arch as he pulls me into him, his tongue tasting its way down my neck to my nipple. Owen brings it into his teeth, looking up at me as he lets it slide from his grip slowly, his tongue circling the peak as his lips stretch into a satisfied smile.

  I slide my hands up Owen, moving his shirt up his frame until he pulls it the rest of the way from his body. He reaches around me, lifting me and rolling me to my back, his mouth back to my breasts, which he sucks and kisses until they feel wonderfully raw.

  He begins to kiss lower, hooking
his thumbs at the waist of my leggings, dragging them down a few inches before stopping to let his kiss tease along my abdomen, kissing my bare hips as he slides the material further down my body, his fingers tugging at the small lace panties I wore with the hope he might see them.

  Owen moves to his knees, pulling the rest of my clothing away completely before running his hands up my legs. He slides lower on the bed, kissing the inside of my knee, and I let my legs fall open, reaching for the pillow above my head to hide the redness building on my cheeks. Owen stops me, though, pulling on the corner of the pillow and moving it to the floor.

  “Uh uh,” he says, his tongue flicking against my thigh, dangerously close to my center. “I get to watch you. I want to see your face.”

  “But I’m embarrassed,” I admit, squeezing my eyes shut, then letting one slip open. Owen slides up to my neck, kissing my ear.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says. “And I want to watch you come apart for the very first time because of me.”

  “But you…I’ve…you made me, last time,” I say, stretching my arm over my face, hiding. Owen lifts it and holds it over my head, kissing me lightly, his lips speaking against mine.

  “Not like this I haven’t,” he says, brushing his lips down my body until he stops at my very center, his tongue taking long strokes against me, my legs spreading farther, wanting more with every pass of his mouth.

  I grip the sheets and tug at the blankets, wanting to hide my face, but more because I feel like every touch of his tongue against my most sensitive parts is bringing me closer to losing control. Everything feels swollen, as if one more touch anywhere will send me over the edge, then Owen slides a finger into me, and the first wave crashes over me. My body shudders against his hand, and he holds on strong, pushing against me, his movements unrelenting until I feel every sensation stop, every pulse slow within me.

  I. Am. Numb.

  “That,” he says, his mouth grazing against my ear, “was just the beginning.”

  Warmth rushes down my body, and a small whimper escapes my lips as Owen pulls away, standing in front of me. He removes his pants, and my eyes look, but quickly. There’s so much of him—I don’t know how it could possibly work. But I want it; my body is yearning for him to be inside of me.