Chapter 28

Mira

I’ve admired men before. I’ve watched the way their well-muscled bodies moved beneath their tailored Armanis. I know what I find handsome in a man: a strong jawline, a crooked smile, pale eyes and, okay, yeah, maybe a little bit older than me (or a lot).

But a million lifetimes of imagining what men look like out of their business wear could never have prepared me for this.

Owen’s body is hard, powerful, and thickly muscled. He strips the last piece of clothing from his skin, leaving him bare—and leaving me breathless.

Maybe it’s the heat of the bath or wear of the day, or maybe I’m finally realizing why Victorian women were always fainting.

Owen undressed—nude and bare and so fucking hard for me I can hardly stand it—is making me so lightheaded I think I might need some smelling salts myself.

They don’t make men like this anymore.

So when he moves toward me, I spread my legs for him.

There will never be another Owen Westbrook.

Not for me.

Not for anyone.

So tonight, whatever happens…

I have to make him mine.

“Do you want this?” he rasps.

His voice is scratchy and rough. It sounds like he’s fighting back something—something dangerous just beneath his surface that’s threatening to break free.

I can see it in his every movement. His every step as he approaches the tub. I can see it in the careful way he lowers himself into the water between my legs and in the way he hesitates before pressing his body to mine.

He’s holding himself back. Even now. Even when the only thing I’ve wanted to scream from that very first moment was, ‘YES! YES! FUCK ME, OWEN WESTBROOK! YES!’

“I want this,” I tell him instead, nodding my head and easing my ankles behind his thighs. Then, because I mean it, I add, “Please.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Mira.”

“You don’t have to hurt me,” I whisper back.

It’s not the truth.

I kind of want him to hurt me.

I want him to spit in my mouth and gag me with my panties, fill each of my holes up with his cum and get me pregnant with like, a billion gorgeous billionaire babies.

But I also want him to hold me against his chest. To be soft. Sweet. To move inside me in ways I’ve only imagined during the steamiest scenes of R-rated movies.

I want him to wreck me. To ruin me.

And I want him to take me in his arms and make me whole.

“It might hurt no matter what,” he warns. “You’re a virgin, Mira. And I’m…well.”

Well is right. He lowers his body until it’s flush with mine. My breasts are crushed delectably against his chest, and his cock…

God. His fucking cock. It slips against my pussy under the water, so hard and thick and stiff and—fuck.

Long. You know what a ruler looks like. You can estimate twelve inches in your head. But until you’ve had one pressed against you, settled between your soft, sensitive pussy lips and rubbing against your virgin cunt…

Owen is big. Impossibly big.

He might not want to hurt me, but be might not have a choice.

“Owen…I don’t know if you’ll fit,” I whimper with need.

He pauses for a moment as he grinds his massive, iron-hard man meat against my tight little slit.

“I’ll make it fit,” he says—and then he takes me.

It hurts. It does. But only for a fraction of a moment.

Then blissful pleasure blooms between my legs like I was made for taking his cock. Made to order for spreading my knees for a man like Owen…but there are no men like Owen.

There’s only him.

So maybe I was just made for him.

He goes slow, inch by fucking inch.

With every breath draw in, I count another inch deeper.

Every time I breathe out, he gives me a moment to realize how full having his cock inside my pussy makes me feel.

All it takes is that singular moment to make me want more.

“Owen,” I gasp as I feel something new building inside me. It’s like a drumroll played on a timpani, growing and growing to a crescendo that I’ve never experienced before.

He takes me in his arms like he’s shielding me from an explosion—but the explosion is happening within me.

“Aaah!” I cry out, digging my fingernails into his shoulder blades.

“That’s it, Mira. Come for me! Fucking give it to me. Give me everything, baby. I want it all.”

“More,” I manage to gasp. “F-fuck me harder, Owen.”

I sink my teeth into his shoulder blade and relish the way it makes him snarl and growl.

“More,” I say into his shoulder. “More!”

“You’re fucking insatiable, Mira.”

Owen slams the rest of his cock into my pussy, and I roll my head back like the holy spirit itself is entering my body. When I close my eyes, I can see fireworks behind my eyelids.

“You want more?”

“Yes!” I cry out, thrusting my hips up to meet his. “God, yes! Yes, Owen! YES!”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Owen fucks me like some kind of bastard between a man and a machine. I wanted him to hurt me—and he does. In the most perfect of ways. He pulls my hair back, bites my neck, sucks each of my nipples into his mouth until I whimper, and squeezes my ass so hard I think I’ll be able to see marks of his fingertips bloom into little purple bruises.

He’s violent. He’s brutal. He’s forceful, and I’m lost in everything that he is.

But I wanted him to make love to me, too—and he gives me that as well. He gives it to me in soft little encouragements…

“That’s it, baby. Take my cock. You’re so fucking beautiful when you come like that—so fucking beautiful—”

And he makes love to me in his kisses, his sighs. Those little moans that men never make, not even in the movies—the kind that promise whatever pleasure I’m feeling, he’s feeling it too.

We’re so much more than just two people fucking. So much more than whatever labels people might apply to us, or however perverse Carl and his fucking pearl-clutching want to make us sound.

This is just the two of us. Together. It’s lust and it’s fucking and it’s love and it’s passion, pure and raw, the kind that some people never get to experience in their entire lifetimes.

If we don’t make the most of this tonight, I know that I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

So I take him. I have him. Every inch, every orgasm, every intense, gasping moment.

“Mira,” Owen rasps. “I’m so fucking close.”

“Please,” I breathe.

I don’t know how to ask him for what I so desperately want—what I have wanted from the first fucking moment I saw him going down on that bridesmaid smeared with my mother’s wedding cake.

I can only hope that whatever it is I’m yearning for…

That he wants it too.

“Mira!” he roars. “Mira—god! Take my fucking cum! Take it all!”

“Give it to me!” I whine, holding onto him for dear life. “Give it to me, Owen! Yes! YES!”

We come together, both of us at once. I can feel every ounce of his hot, sticky seed pumping into my pussy, filling me up fuller than I’ve ever been.

I wrap my legs around him and keep him inside me, even long after he’s done. The thought of being separated from him is unbearable—especially after all this.

Instead, I find his lips, and I keep mine there. As long as he’ll let me. For as long as we can.