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)
“Maybe,” I whisper.
“Not today.”
He yanks the leggings down to my knees. My heart thunders in my chest when I’m bared to him, and cold air licks across my skin. His hand kneads the sore, heated skin before striking again. This time lower, rougher, catching the top of my thigh.
My body jolts. Heat rushes between my legs. I’m so fucking wet, so fucking needy, my voice tangled in a moan.
“Four.”
I arch back into him. Shameless. Desperate.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So fucking wet from a little discipline. You like being handled like this, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Like being used like my filthy little toy?”
Owen’s dirty talk is the foreplay I didn’t know I needed. I can’t even think straight, words tumbling out of my mouth just to keep him going.
“Yes. Mmm.”
His fingers slide between my thighs, finding just how soaked I am. He groans, low and ragged.
“Fuck, Emma. You’re soaked. Dripping. You want to be fucked like the dirty girl you are?”
“Yessss.”
He pulls me up onto my knees and yanks the rest of my clothes off like they need to go yesterday. My cheek’s still pressed to the rug, my body burning.
“Say it again,” he growls, gripping my ass just right.
“I want to be fucked like a dirty girl. Like your dirty girl.”
His growl is animalistic when he reaches into his pocket and, to my surprise, pulls out one of my handmade coupons and flips it around to show me. “Cashing this one in.”
His eyes flash at me, halfway between wanton sadist and sexy lover. “Beg.”
“Please. Please fuck me. I need it. I need you to ruin me. Please, Owen,” I plead, pouring every ounce of want into my desperate begging.
He doesn’t make me wait. Not this time.
He slams into me hard and deep, stretching me, dragging a cry from my throat. His grip bruises my hips. Each thrust brutal, relentless.
“You want to be filled, lass? Used? You want my cock to make you forget your own fucking name?”
“Yes, god—yes.”
“You like being bent over like a whore, don’t you?”
I choke on a moan. “Yes. I love it. I love it when you fuck me like this.”
His hand slides around to my throat. Not tight, just there. A claim.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else hears these sounds. You come for me, baby. No one else.” His voice is hoarse and thick with arousal and something I can’t quite name. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“Yours. Only yours.”
He pounds into me until I’m shaking. Until my body gives out and I collapse into the rug, gasping. He follows, coming with a curse, emptying into me.
His forehead meets my back, and his arms surround me. My cheeks are wet. I don’t know when I started crying.
He doesn’t let me go, just pulls me into his lap, wrapping the blanket around us.
The snow’s still melting. Every drop feels like a grain of sand in an hourglass.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Owen
“How’s that book coming along?” I ask her. We sit languidly by the orange embers of a morning fire.
“Well,” she says, biting her lip. “Took Christmas off because who works on Christmas?”
“You do,” I tell her sternly. “You came here to finish your book, and goddamn it, woman, you’re not leavin’ till it’s done, even if I have to tie you to the chair myself.”
Blinking, she stares at me for a moment. “Do you have any idea how productive writers would be if they had the hound of hell, you, chomping at their heels to finish their books?”
I growl at her because she’s only stalling at this point, and I’m not going to be her distraction. “I don’t care about other writers. I care about you.”
The words make time stand still for a brief moment, and I know it isn’t just me because her throat bobs when she swallows hard. “Alright, then.” Her eyes twinkle at me, hopeful. “Same rules?”
“Same rules, young lady,” I tell her, standing to fetch her laptop and mine. “You know exactly what happens if you don’t hit your word count.”
“Mmm,” she says with a smirk. “And what do I get if I do finish?”
I lean in, brush a strand of hair off her forehead, and tuck it behind her ear. “I’ll lay you down and eat you out until you scream my name.”
I love the little choked sound she makes.
“Deal!” she shouts at my retreating back.
I consider staying in the room to check my email. I don’t want to risk her being privy to my work, even for a second, but when I look over at her, she’s happily typing away at her laptop. She does this thing when she types—screwing her face up with the utmost concentration. I watch as she mouths words, pauses to draw things in the air with her hands, then giggles to herself at a line she just wrote.