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)
“Look at me,” he whispers.
I do.
His thumb presses harder. My mouth opens in a half sob.
“I’m going to come—Owen… I can’t—”
“Go on, then,” he murmurs. “Time for you to break out of this. Let’s see you.”
He bends, closing his mouth around my nipple, licking the hard peak. My hips buck. My mouth falls open again, another sob breaking free as I come—hard.
So fucking hard I can’t breathe.
I’m shaking, gasping, split open and undone. He holds me through it, murmuring praise against my cheek.
“That’s it, beautiful. That’s my good girl. All fucking mine.”
I’m still trembling when he lifts me again, effortlessly, like I weigh nothing. I feel like I’m flying.
My sweats are halfway down, tangled around my thighs. My panties are soaked.
I should feel exposed, but with Owen? I feel owned.
It’s the history. The ache. The years we spent ripped apart. The depth of what we were to each other before anyone tried to ruin it.
I didn’t know he wanted me like this. I thought it was just in my head, and maybe I was just imagining that Owen felt it too.
I didn’t know his father hurt him like my mother hurt me. They fucking deserve each other.
Then Owen looks at me and growls, “God. Look at you. Wrecked. And I haven’t even started.”
He throws the little blanket off the couch with one hand and lays me flat again, pinning my arms above my head in one brutal, commanding motion.
My heart kicks up, panic and hunger braided tight together.
He leans down and licks a bead of sweat from my throat. My hips arch again, still caught in the aftermath.
When he bites down on my collarbone, it’s hard enough to bruise.
“Think you could write now?” he murmurs.
“If my hands could move,” I whisper back, earning a deep chuckle. I feel that chuckle between my thighs.
“You're going to remember this,” he rasps in my ear. “Every time you sit down to write. Every time you close your legs at night and wonder why they ache—this…”
His hands slide between my thighs again, two fingers slipping back inside, teasing. “This is why.”
I arch off the couch, moaning. Begging.
“Owen—”
He’s not gentle now, not even close.
His fingers pump in and out, stroking that exact spot that makes me see stars, circling just right.
Fuck.
“Yes, Owen—please—Jesus—God—”
“You want to come again already?” His voice is low, mocking, hungry. “You that fucking needy? Or just that honest?”
Finally, I choke on a sob and nod.
“Yes.”
He grins. It’s slow and dark.
“Earn it, then.”
“What—?”
He releases my wrists and drags me upright. My legs are trembling, but I don’t care.
He shoves the rest of my clothes down, stripping me bare under his gaze.
“On your knees,” he whispers. “Right here.” He points to the little throw rug in front of the fire.
I scramble. Flushed. Dripping. Desperate.
“Put your hands behind your back. Arch it. Show me those pretty little tits. Let me see how good you can be.”
He’s still fully dressed—just jeans and a T-shirt—and I’m stark naked, kneeling, with the fire behind me. Him in front.
The second I obey, he steps forward and unbuckles his belt. My eyes go wide.
“You like that?” he whispers. “You want to feel my leather across your arse?”
“Oh god, no,” I say—but it comes out like a question. Like maybe I do.
He grins.
“Of course it would hurt. But the most delicious kind of pain… isn’t it?”
“I-I wouldn’t know,” I whisper.
He pulls the belt free, loops it in his palm, and gives my ass a light thwack.
Heat floods me. The pain dissolves instantly into something hotter.
My god, that would be hot.
Yes.
Yes, that would.
Then he unzips his jeans, and his cock springs free—thick, long, and flushed with arousal.
I lick my lips without meaning to. He fists his thick cock, using slow and cruel strokes with lazy confidence.
Unblocking my ability to write? Oh, fuck yes.
“Open that pretty mouth.”
I part my lips as he steps closer. His cock presses to my tongue, and then he slides in slowly, deliberately, making me take every heavy inch. My throat stretches. My jaw aches. I gag the second he hits the back of my throat, but I don’t blink. He doesn’t flinch. His eyes lock on mine and hold, and he doesn’t thrust or rush. He just stays there, thick and deep, watching me.
"I’ve imagined this," he whispers, his voice wrecked. "Your lips around my cock, your eyes glossy, your cheeks flushed."
Tears sting the corners of my eyes as he cups the back of my head. I suck. I nod. I ache. Heat blooms through my core, wild and wicked.
I can’t imagine he wanted me like this—on my knees, mouth stretched around him, used. He wanted me in the worst, filthiest ways. And now he has me, just like this. Fuck yes.
“Good girl,” he breathes out, finally moving. He’s thrusting slowly—steady and deep. I’m so full of him. “You’re going to choke on me. Come now. Take it.”