The Reluctant Roadtripper (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 24

It's been almost a year since I last . . . Did the deed.

That was a very brief holiday fling with a Greek bartender in Zante. We'd been flirting all week, but I strategically left it until my last night before I allowed him to properly seduce me. It was . . . Nice. Technically, very competent.

Wow, I've made it sound more like a business deal, haven't I? I'm underselling it: it was actually really good. The anticipation that had built up all week between us ensured it was passionate, and I very much enjoyed it. However, I also knew it wasn't going to go anywhere, that it didn't really mean much . . . and it made it easy for me not to stress about it beforehand.

This, with Owen, is different. Because I'm very aware that this is already going somewhere. The destination may not yet be known, but we're definitely on some sort of journey. And it already means way too much to me.

Thankfully, I've not actually permitted myself too much time to think about this, to work myself up into a state of sex-related panic. This also means, however, that I've had no time to prepare. I'm not wearing sexy underwear. My hair is in tangled tendrils from playing in the water earlier, and I'm fairly sure my mascara will have proved itself decidedly not waterproof and be smudged under my eyes.

Luckily, I have a feeling Owen won't mind. As I search through my bag for my key, he places his hands on my waist and pulls me back against his own body. I can't help but notice that he's already hard. "I can't concentrate," I chide him breathlessly as he bends and presses the faintest of kisses to my neck. He chuckles against my skin as I try and fail to fumble the key into the lock. I hope desperately this isn't foreshadowing.

"Here." He takes the key from my hand and slides it into the door smoothly. Phew, that's a better sign. "Calm down," he murmurs into my hair, pushing us inside the room. "We're in absolutely no hurry."

Um . . . No. I most definitely am in a hurry.

So, as soon as I hear the door click closed behind us, I twirl around to face him and push him back against it. "Ooft," he says breathlessly. I've clearly taken the wind out of his sails, but the word barely escapes his mouth before I swallow it whole, forcing my lips onto his.

This is that very first kiss last night all over again - passionate, forceful, intense . . . Except this time, I'm in control; I'm steering the ship. My tongue twists around his, my hands scrape against that almost unbearably sexy stubble as I guide his face closer to mine. I can tell he's trying to wrench the balance of power back, but I'm worried he's trying to slow this down, and I don't want that. Every time he tries to retreat, I claw him back.

However, he has a few stones of muscle and several inches of height on me, and I know it's really only a matter of time before he steals the advantage. And unfortunately for me, all that takes is him managing to slip a hand between us to tweak a nipple between his thumb and index finger. I moan, my head rolling back, defences breached, and next thing I know, he's manoeuvered me across the room, and I find myself straddling him on the armchair in the corner of the room.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" I hiss, my tongue tracing a path down his neck. He tastes of saltwater. Trying to be angry is difficult when he grinds himself upwards, his hardness brushing against my clit. The only barriers are his shorts and my bikini bottoms. His strong arms hem me in, preventing me from escaping. Not that breaking free is even a consideration right now.

"I am pretty smart," he laughs, bronzed eyes half closed as he gently tugs my dress over my head. "But, more importantly in this case, I'm stronger than you."

He pulls at the ties of my bikini top, and it has fallen off barely before I can register it happening. "Fuck, Mirren," he whispers, looking at my breasts reverentially before cupping them in his hands. "You're even more gorgeous than I could have imagined."