Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
And I do. I moan around him, spit spilling from the corners of my mouth, wet and messy. He thrusts in and out, over and over, and I suck, moan, worship the sound of him unraveling. My hand finds his balls, cups them gently, and he lets out a deep groan.
God, I love that sound. I live for it.
“I’m going to fucking come,” he growls in my ear. “Jesus, you make me lose all self-control.”
I grin around his cock, holding his gaze, and suck harder.
“Now,” he hisses. “I want inside you. Don’t want to come in your mouth. Not this time.”
And when he pulls out, I’m trembling.
“Back on the couch,” he says, quiet but firm. I scramble into place without a thought. No hesitation. He doesn’t wait—doesn’t give me a breath—just flips me onto my stomach, hauls my hips up, and spreads me open like a promise.
My mind keeps spinning in a crazy loop, over and over again… Owen. This is Owen.
Owen wants you.
Owen owns you.
“I want to come in your pussy, and you’re going to come on my cock,” he whispers. “Do you understand me? And then again. And again. Until you’re crying for me, begging me to stop.”
Never. It’ll never happen. But I don’t say it. I don’t give him that. I don’t give him the satisfaction.
“I’m on birth control,” I tell him instead. It feels like the right thing to say
“Good girl,” he growls.
Right. Good. Something buried deep inside me, the part of me that’s been ashamed and belittled, comes back to life at his praise.
He presses the thick head of his cock to my entrance, teasing, stroking.
Owen, this is OWEN.
If it were anyone else, I’d be asking questions. Has he been tested? Can I trust him? But this isn’t anyone else. This is Owen. My Owen.
“Do you want this, baby?” he whispers, and my body clenches.
“Yes,” I sob. “God, Owen, please.”
One brutal thrust—he’s inside.
I exhale.
He fills me to the hilt, and my scream tears the air. It’s perfection—raw, primal, filthy perfection. He fucks me hard and fast, his grip tight on my hips, dragging me back to meet every brutal, punishing thrust.
I’m so full, stretched wide around him.
And he’s right. I’ll never forget what got me here. Not ever.
“You’re soaked,” he growls. “So fucking tight. Made for me. Jesus, you’re perfect. So made for me. Take it, baby.”
I can’t think. I can’t speak. I just moan, whimper, and do what he says—take it. And then his fingers find my clit again, and that’s it. I shatter. I scream. My back arches as I come around him, pulsing and gasping, and he doesn’t stop, just keeps going. Keeps thrusting. Keeps rubbing. Keeps me right there—overstimulated and mindless.
“Give me another one, Emma,” he growls. His palm slaps my ass, sharp and arousing. “You fucking will.”
And I do.
The second orgasm hits like a freight train, fierce and relentless, dragged out until I’m sobbing into the couch cushions, my legs trembling, barely able to hold me up. When he finally slows, he leans over me, mouth hot against my spine, kissing his way down to my shoulder.
“We’re not done yet,” he whispers.
“Not until you’ve come with me inside you. Wrapped around me. While I spill every fucking drop of my cum in you. Do you understand me?”
I whimper and nod.
“Get on your back. One more,” he says with conviction, like it’s his personal mission in life to eek every orgasm he can out of me, before he flips me on my back like I weigh nothing. He slides back in with a low groan and starts again—slow, deep, hitting every single nerve in my body.
Possessive.
“I’m going to train you so I can come in your arse,” he murmurs. “You’ll take me, Em. Now come with me.”
I meet his gaze—raw, undone, and desperate. Jesus. He kisses me and cradles my face like it’s breakable.
And when we come together, it’s everything. It’s utter fucking perfection.
CHAPTER NINE
Owen
Later, Emma is asleep against my chest. The fire snaps low in the hearth, and her breath is soft and steady. But I can’t sleep. Not yet. Not when everything I’ve ever wanted is finally curled up in my arms—naked, exhausted. Mine.
I swear if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up and she’ll be gone. Like this was all a mirage, something my starving mind conjured in the dark.
Wouldn’t be the first time. I sigh and brush my thumb over the curve of her hip, memorizing it, committing the shape of her to memory. Her skin’s still marked—faint reds and bruises on her ass, on her thighs—where I grabbed her, bit her, spanked her.
Fuck I’m hard again just thinking about it.
“You're so fucking perfect,” I whisper as she sleeps. “You're so fucking mine.”
The quiet hush of snow outside wraps around the house like a secret, and the room smells like sex—thick, warm, and spent. Our skin sticks together where we touch, a sheen of sweat clinging between us. Her hair’s damp and tangled across her shoulders, and I don't give a damn. I've never seen anyone more beautiful in my entire life.