Pumped (Mars Fitness #3)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

EIGHT YEARS AGO

EVEREST

Vegas, baby!

We’re at the blingy-est club I’ve ever stepped foot in, and we’ve got fucking bottle service . Bachelor parties are the fucking best, and I’ve seriously gotta find myself more friends who are getting married.

Except, this isn’t my friend’s bachelor party. It’s my future brother-in-law’s, and he didn’t technically have to invite me. Jeremy’s cool, though. He’s super chill and even offered to pay for my trip without me asking. Don’t worry. He can afford it—he’s some fancy banker dude on Wall Street.

Me? I couch surf from one beach town to the next, searching for the next big wave. The whole staying in one place and holding down a job thing isn’t really for me. Who wants that kind of responsibility? Not this guy.

The other dudes in our group are alright. They’re all Jeremy’s friends from work or school. All older and loaded, which means I’ve barely had to pull out my wallet since we stepped off the plane.

The only guy here that I can’t fucking stand is Jeremy’s brother—Owen. See, even his name is so fucking pretentious. Owen , ugh. He’s uptight, arrogant, and just fucking rude. I don’t know what the hell I did to him, but Jesus, if looks could kill, I’d already be six feet under.

The fucked up thing is, the guy hates my guts, but at the same time, I keep catching him staring at me. Like, it’s not enough for us to just ignore each other for the weekend. Nope, he wants me to know that he hates me. He wants me to feel how much he hates me.

Like right now. In the middle of the club, the champagne’s flowing, everyone’s hyped up, the music is pumping, and we’re here to celebrate ! But Owen’s sitting in his little corner, glaring at me like it’s my fault he’s not having a good time. What-fucking-ever. His idea of a good time is probably sitting at home reading a fucking textbook.

About animal parts. Snort . Yeah, he’s in veterinarian school. Gonna be an animal doctor. He’s already got everyone calling him “Doctor Owen.”

Doctor Owen, my ass.

“Ev-er-est! Ev-er-est! Ev-er-est!”

I chug down the pint of beer and slam the heavy glass on the table in front of me. Jeremy and his friends explode into cheers as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I can feel the heat of Owen’s stare on the side of my face, like he’s trying to burn through my cheeks with his laser eyes. I ignore it and reach for another pint.

“Not so fast.” Jeremy grabs the glass from me. “I promised your sister I’d look after you.”

“What? It’s only my third pint!” I try to snatch the glass back, but he holds it out of my reach.

“Yeah, and the night is young. Besides, you’re only twenty-one.”

I roll my eyes. “Right, and I haven’t had a drop of alcohol before this,” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jeremy pushes me toward the edge of the booth. “Go dance for a bit. Then come back and you can have another.”

I give him an unamused look. “And here I thought you were kinda cool.”

He laughs and takes a sip of my beer. “I respect your sister too much to care about cool.”

Well, fuck if that’s not sickeningly sweet. Ugh.

I let Jeremy shoo me out onto the dance floor. The music is thumping and the bass is so low and loud that the floor reverberates with each beat. I slip into the crowd, and the temperature rises a couple degrees with sweaty bodies pressing in on all sides. An arm brushes against mine, an ass presses against my hip, a pair of boobs graze my back.

Someone drags a hand down my front, but in the flashing lights of the club, it’s hard to see who it is. Another hand palms my ass cheek, but it’s there and gone so quickly, I barely have time to turn my head.

Blood pumps through my veins in time with the music and my head grows a little fuzzy with the high. I raise my hands into the air and drop my head back, letting out a whoop as the beat drops and the dance floor erupts.

The entire time, I can feel the steady, unwavering focus of a pair of eyes on me. The hair at the back of my neck lifts and goosebumps break out across my skin. It’s fucking creepy, the way he watches me like he wants to hunt me down and—I don’t know—tear me apart or something. And yet, there’s something tempting about it, like a giant wave I know is too dangerous, but I’ll still paddle out on the off chance I’ll be able to ride it, to tame it.

The spotlight tracks around the club and for a split second, it lands on Owen. He’s sitting at the edge of the booth, one ankle propped up on the opposite knee. A glass tumbler is balanced in one hand and the opposite arm is slung across the back of the booth. His eyes are shaded, but I know they’re trained on me. His lips are pressed into a straight line. Arrogance pours off him, fueling this strange itch that’s been growing inside me.

It’s like there’s something restless expanding in my chest, reaching out through my arms and down into my legs. It’s pressing on my insides, seeping into every nook and cranny, looking for a way out. It’s weird. I’ve never felt anything like this before, and honestly, I’m not sure I like it.

The spotlight swings across the spot where Owen’s sitting, except now the booth is empty. He’s not there anymore. He’s gone.

Where is he?

Lights flash in my eyes and white spots appear in my vision. Bodies press into me, pushing me left and right, farther and farther away from our booth. Music blares in my ears, so loud it’s disorientating.

Where did the fucker go?

I struggle through the mass of elbows and shoulders and toes, feeling like I’m swimming against the current just to get to the edge of the dance floor. When I finally get there, I scan the club, looking for that head of dark, neatly trimmed hair, shoulders clad in a perfectly tailored white dress shirt, narrow hips filling out a snug pair of dress pants. I don’t see him.

I start toward the restrooms. I don’t know why I’m doing this—looking for fucking Owen. I don’t care where he is or what he does. It has nothing to do with me, and seriously, the less I know the better. But still, my feet take me down the narrow hallway, lit only by a weak line of light running along the middle of the floor.

The men’s room is at the end of the hall, and I weave my way past the line of girls waiting for the ladies’ room. I’m halfway down the hall when a hard body crashes into me from behind, plastering me face-first against the wall.

“Are you following me?” a voice growls next to my face.

Owen’s lips brush the shell of my ear. His breath is hot against my cheek. A shiver runs down my spine and every drop of blood in my body rushes to my dick, leaving me lightheaded and at a loss for words.

He’s a couple inches shorter than me, and I thought he was kind of scrawny, but the body pressed up against mine is hard and solid and strong. He has no trouble keeping me pinned against the wall, and for some crazy reason, my groin tightens with arousal. That itchy, too-big-for-my-skin feeling melts away, leaving me soft and pliant as the heat of Owen’s body seeps into mine.

He shifts and something long and stiff pokes me in the ass—his cock. Owen’s hard cock. The realization makes my dick throb in my jeans and a whimper escapes my mouth.

A hand slides down my back and around my side to my hip. Without thinking, I cover it with my own. Then taking ahold of it, I drag it around and curl his fingers around my aching bulge.

“Fuck.” Owen drops his head forward onto my shoulder and his hips buck, grinding his cock into my ass. “What are you doing to me?”

Before I can ask him what he means, the weight on my back vanishes. Disappointment hits me hard, like an unexpected wave, then suddenly, I’m being dragged back through the club toward the exit.

“What are you doing?” I yell at Owen’s back, but he doesn’t hear me over the loud music and screaming crowds. Or maybe he does and he’s ignoring me. “Where are we going?”

Owen’s grip on my wrist is so tight I don’t think I’d be able to break out of it. But instead of trying, I let him lead me out of the club and along the crowded sidewalks toward our hotel.

My heart is racing just as quickly now as it was in the middle of the dance floor. If anyone looked, they’d see the obscene bulge in my jeans. I feel like I’m adrift in the middle of the ocean, at the mercy of the wind and the currents. And the only thing keeping me from floating away is Owen’s fingers curled around my wrist. If he lets go of me now, I think I would drown.

How messed up is it that I’m happy he doesn’t let go? Not when we get back to the hotel. Not while we ride the elevator up to the twenty-ninth floor. Not when he pulls out his keycard and unlocks the door.

The door isn’t fully shut before Owen pushes me up against the wall again. Facing him this time. We’re nose-to-nose, lips an inch apart. He smells like old, worn-in leather, rich and earthy and just a bit sweet. The scent fills my senses and wraps around me like a deliciously weighty hug. My eyes flutter shut and my lips part as I sink into the feeling.

“Motherfucker.”

That’s all the warning I get before Owen crushes his lips against mine so hard I think I cut my lip on my teeth.

The shock of his attack makes me gasp and he takes the opening, plunging his tongue into my mouth. The invasion ripples all the way down to the soles of my feet.

Someone moans. Someone whimpers. I think that someone is me.

His body is hard against mine. He grinds his erection against my hip. My fingers dig into his waist as I hang on for dear life.

At the back of my mind, I know this is Owen—annoying, uptight, thinks he’s better than me. I’m supposed to hate him and he’s supposed to hate me. My sister is about to marry his brother and we’re technically going to be related.

But knowing all that only makes what we’re doing better. Hotter. Like we’re breaking the rules or going behind someone’s back, doing the thing we’ve been told not to do.

Owen grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me away from the wall and pushing me farther into the room. I stumble backward, just catching myself at the edge of the bed.

He stalks toward me, eyes dark and laser-focused, jaw set and determined, every muscle primed to pounce. He looks dangerous. Like he wants to tear me apart. Like he wants to hurt me. And all I can do is stand here and take it.

“Strip,” he growls and my body reacts to the order before my brain can process what it means.

My hands fly, ripping at my clothes and tossing them all over the room. Owen moves more slowly, unbuckling his belt and yanking it out of the belt loops. He winds it around and around his hand, then sets the coiled belt on a chair before reaching for the buttons of his shirt. One by one, he unbuttons them, revealing the dark hair covering his chest. He slides the shirt off his shoulders, shakes out the fabric, and carefully folds it into a neat little rectangle. It joins the belt on the chair.

Owen bends down to untie his shoes. He sets them off to the side, perfectly aligned, then takes off his socks and folds them into a ball. When he straightens, my breath catches in my chest. Jesus, he’s hot. Did I know that? How did I miss that?

He’s trim, not like, in a twinky sort of way, but like one of those guys who wouldn’t gain an ounce of fat if they ate bucketloads of ice cream. He’s not muscular, but he is all muscle.

Dark chest hair narrows to a thin line on his flat stomach, and it trails all the way down, disappearing under the waistband of his pants. My eyes are glued to his fingers, long and strong, with a dusting of hair across the tops of his knuckles. They pop the button on his pants, then drag the zipper down one tooth at a time. My breath hitches with each subtle tick of the zipper until I feel like I’m hyperventilating.

Owen steps out of his pants—and folds them neatly—leaving him in only a pair of black boxer briefs. His dick print is clearly visible, and there’s a growing wet spot around the head I want to suck on. His thighs are thick, his calves are toned, and there’s more hair dusting the tops of his toes.

I gulp.

Owen is older than me, but I don’t think by much. Except seeing him now, all dark and dangerous, he feels so much older, more in control, more put together, more of a man.

“Get on the bed.”

I don’t think. I just scramble to obey.

Owen grabs the complimentary condom and lube from the tray of miniature-sized snacks and drinks provided by the hotel and tosses them onto the bed next to me. Then he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear and pauses. He waits. Like he’s hesitating, like he’s not sure this is a good idea anymore, like he might want to put his clothes back on and tell me to get the hell out of his room.

Fear makes my gut clench as everything inside me screams, “No!” That can’t happen. Not now. Not when we’ve already come so far.

I crawl to the edge of the bed and put my hands on top of Owen’s. Then together, we push his underwear down past his hips until they drop to the floor. His cock springs up, close enough for me to see the veins running along its length, to smell the dark, rich scent of his pre-cum.

I take it in my hand, marveling at the velvety smoothness of the skin and the steely hardness underneath. Owen sucks in an audible breath and his hands curl into fists by his sides.

Satisfaction surges through me knowing that I’m affecting him as much as he’s affecting me. This isn’t just a one-way thing. I’m not the only one completely thrown by what’s happening to us.

I lean forward, opening my mouth and reaching my tongue out to lick the bead of pre-cum forming at the tip of Owen’s cock. The potent, bitter flavor explodes on my tongue and I immediately want more— need more. I seal my lips around the head of his cock and suck, desperate to drink him down.

Owen hisses, his hand coming to the back of my head. His fingers slide through my hair, possessive and controlling, and something inside me breaks open.

God. Fuck. Yes. This—whatever this is—this is what I’ve been searching for my whole life. The spark of something new and scary, the thrill of being in over my head, the release from going with the flow because I have no other choice.

Owen pushes my head down and I don’t resist. I let him hold me there, with his cock stuffing my throat so full I can’t breathe. My lungs burn and my vision goes blurry, but still, I don’t push him away.

When he finally lets me up for air, I’m panting, barely able to catch my breath. I roll to the side and collapse onto my back. My cock throbs with my every inhale and pre-cum gushes from me with every exhale. I swear to god, I think I could come like this. If he’d kept me there a second longer, if he’d tugged on my hair a bit harder, I would have come with nothing more than Owen’s cock in my mouth.

Owen grabs the lube and tears it open. He squeezes almost the whole thing out onto his fingers, then hikes one foot up onto the bed. With one hand, he strokes himself in long, lazy pulls. With the other, he reaches between his legs and past his balls.

I watch with half-lidded eyes as he preps himself. His body tenses and he shudders. He squeezes the base of his cock and lets out a slow, deliberate breath.

His eyes flash, blazing almost like there’s a light shining behind them. They’re amber, golden brown with a hint of red. I’ve never seen eyes like that before. I didn’t know eyes could be that color.

I stare into those eyes, caught by the intensity I see in them. Emotions so strong and yet so tightly reined in. A flurry of thoughts racing faster than I could possibly follow. There’s a world inside Owen’s mind that I don’t understand—that I’ll never understand.

I’m entranced as Owen climbs onto the bed and straddles my hips. He rips open the condom packet and rolls the latex over my aching, sensitive cock.

“I knew you’d be fucking huge,” he mutters more to himself than to me. Then he lines himself up and guides me into him.

Jesus H. Christ. My eyes roll toward the back of my head as I’m swallowed into his body. It’s heaven. It’s paradise. I’ve never felt anything so good, so perfect, so right.

Owen sits on my cock, hands braced against my stomach, every muscle flexed and taut. I fist the sheets under me, not daring to move, barely able to breathe, hovering right at the edge of an orgasm.

I don’t get it. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s just an ass, a hole, a dude I don’t even like very much. We haven’t done anything weird or kinky or new. And yet, I feel like a fucking virgin getting his first taste of sex. I feel like my body isn’t mine anymore, that it belongs to Owen to do with as he pleases.

When Owen finally moves, I have to squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t watch him ride me, his body rolling as he bounces on my cock. I don’t want to see the look on his face, the pleasure mixed with something harder, darker. If I see any of that, I’ll come and I don’t want this to end just yet.

Owen is relentless. He doesn’t start slow and easy and work his way up. He lifts himself up and slams himself down, like he’s trying to punish both of us with his fucking. Each time he bottoms out, he makes this deep, guttural sound that’s half grunt and half growl.

His cock slaps against my stomach, hard enough that it stings a little, and the sound of skin hitting skin sends goosebumps racing across my flesh. His fingers find my nipples and I can’t help crying out when he pinches them and twists. The delicious pain shoots straight to my cock and my hips come off the bed. Owen slams himself down on me and the pleasure radiates out from my groin to the outer extremities of my body.

Every cell is on fire. Every nerve ending is fried. I’m consumed, head to toe, in the pleasure Owen is wringing out of me. I never want this to end. I want to live here forever. Under Owen. At his mercy.

“Fuck. Fuck!” Owen yells, his hand flying over his dick as his ass clenches vise-like around me. Creamy white cum shoots from his cock, landing scalding hot on my stomach and chest.

His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, brows bunched together, jaw hanging wide. The sight of him coming, the splatter of his cum on my skin, together they send me over the edge.

I punch my hips up into him as I hit climax and my balls turn themselves inside out. As I empty myself into the condom, one single thought filters through my brain. I love the way he looks when he comes.

I don’t remember what happens next. Taking the condom off and throwing it away. Crawling under the covers. Falling asleep next to Owen.

The next time I open my eyes, sunlight is streaming in through the window.

I’m alone.