Chapter 31
OWEN
The apartment greeted me with silence when I walked through the door. I dropped my gym bag by the entrance and scanned the living room.
No Harlow.
The evidence of her was everywhere. Her books were sprawled across the kitchen table: anatomy textbooks, notebooks, highlighters in about seven different colors, and colorful sticky notes.
I smiled.
There was something about seeing her things scattered through my space that made my chest tighten.
“Har?” I called out, toeing off my sneakers and kicking them toward the corner where hers already lay piled.
Silence.
I moved deeper into the apartment, passing the kitchen and moving down the hallway toward the bedrooms. That’s when I heard it, the muffled rush of water through pipes, the faint hiss of the shower running.
My feet carried me to the bathroom door before my brain could remind me that barging in on my girlfriend mid-shower probably wasn’t the most gentlemanly move. Then again, we’d abandoned any pretense of boundaries weeks ago.
I knocked once. Knuckles rapping against wood.
“Come in.” Her voice carried through the door.
I pushed the door open, and the steam rolled out.
The bathroom was hazy with it, the mirror completely fogged, the air thick and humid against my skin.
Through the frosted glass of the shower door, I could make out her silhouette, the curve of her shoulders, the dip of her waist, the way she tilted her head back to let water run through her hair.
My mouth went dry.
She turned, sensing my presence before she pulled the door open.
A slow, knowing smile spread across her face.
Water droplets clung to her eyelashes. Soap suds traced a path over her collarbone, down the slope of one perfect breast, disappearing into the valley between them.
She was glistening, completely bare, and she made no move to cover herself.
She just stood there in the doorway of the shower, the spray hitting her back, her eyes holding mine with an intensity that stole the breath from my lungs.
My body reacted instantly. My cock was already stiff from the sight of her, thickened to a full, painful erection, straining against my gym shorts. It was a sharp, urgent ache.
Her gaze dipped for a second, and her smile deepened as she stepped back, letting the full force of the water cascade over her. It washed the soap away, revealing the pink flush of her skin.
I couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to. My hands moved on their own, grabbing the hem of my shirt and pulling it over my head, tossing it aside. My shoes were already off. I kicked my socks away, eyes never leaving hers.
I watched her for another moment, transfixed by the way water traced paths down her skin, disappearing into steam.
She glanced over her shoulder. Even through the foggy glass, I could see the teasing curve of her smile.
A slow smile tugged at my lips.
“Are you just going to stand there and watch?”
Her hands came up and smoothed over her breasts, thumbs brushing across her nipples, which tightened instantly into hard peaks. My mouth went dry. Her palms slid down her stomach, over the gentle curve of her hips, and then, so slowly it was torture, her fingers slid through her pussy.
My hand was on my cock, stroking myself through the fabric of my shorts. The rough material created an almost painful friction. I needed more. I needed skin.
“Touch yourself,” I commanded.
She didn’t hesitate. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second as her middle finger found her clit.
A soft, shuddering breath escaped her lips.
Then her eyes opened again, locking onto mine with a heat that mirrored my own.
She was showing me, performing for me, and the raw intimacy, the trust, and the sheer fucking need in it made my head spin.
I shoved my shorts and boxer-briefs down my thighs in one jerky motion, freeing myself.
The air was warm, but it felt cool against my heated skin.
I wrapped my hand around my shaft, hissing at the contact.
I was already leaking, the pre-cum making my glide smooth and slick.
I matched her rhythm, fist pumping slowly, thumb swiping over my swollen head.
We engaged in a silent dialogue. A conversation of gasps and glances and the slick, wet sounds of our own hands. The muscles in her thighs tensed as she played with herself, and her head fell back against the tile when she pressed deeper.
“That’s it,” I growled. “Let me see you.”
She moaned, and her other hand came up to cup her breast, pinching her nipple. Her hips began to roll in tiny, desperate circles against her own hand. I could see the tension coiling in her body, the flush spreading from her chest up her throat.
I couldn’t take it anymore. The distance was agony. With a final, rough stroke, I let go of myself and yanked the shower door open.
Hot water hit me, but I barely felt it as I stepped inside. The space suddenly became intimate, crowded. Her eyes were hazy, lips parted. I didn’t say a word as I cupped her face in my hands and crushed my mouth to hers.
The kiss was possessive and hungry as my tongue plunged into her mouth, tasting her. She met me with equal ferocity, hands coming up to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. The water beat down on us, slicking our skin together.
My hands slid from her face, down her neck, over her shoulders.
I palmed her breasts, feeling their weight, the hard nubs of her nipples digging into my palms. She gasped into my mouth, body arching into my touch.
I broke the kiss, breath coming in ragged pants, and trailed my lips down her jaw, her throat, until I took one taut peak into my mouth.
She cried out, fingers tightening in my hair as my other hand kneaded her other breast. The water poured over us, making our skin slick. I moved lower, kissing down the plane of her stomach, tongue dipping into her navel as I dropped to my knees on the hard tile, hands gripping her hips.
I looked up at her. Her head was back, eyes closed, water streaming down her face. “Owen...” she breathed.
I didn’t use my mouth. Not yet. I replaced her hand with mine, fingers sliding through her soaked flesh. She was so wet, so hot. The water from the shower was nothing compared to the heat coming from her core. I found her clit and circled it with two fingers.
“Oh, god,” she whimpered, hips jerking.
“Watch me,” I commanded, eyes locked on hers as she looked down.
I pushed one finger inside her, then a second. She was tight, clenching around me, her inner muscles fluttering.
Her knees buckled, and I held her up with my other arm around her waist, fingers fucking her as my thumb kept pressure on her clit.
“You’re so fucking tight,” I gritted out. “So wet for me. Are you going to come on my fingers, Harlow? Let me feel it.”
She was babbling a stream of “yes,” “please,” and my name. Her hands were braced on my shoulders, nails digging in. Her thighs were trembling. The tension inside her was winding tighter and tighter.
I sped up, fingers pistoning into her as I pressed harder against her G-spot, thumb moving in frantic circles.
Her back arched violently, and a sharp, broken cry tore from her throat, echoing off the tiles.
Her inner walls clamped down on my fingers.
I held her through it, fingers still inside her, feeling every last shudder, every contraction.
She slumped forward, forehead resting on my shoulder, body limp and trembling.
Slowly withdrawing my fingers, I brought them to my mouth, never breaking eye contact as I sucked them clean, tasting her. She tasted so fucking good.
Her eyes darkened as I stood up.
My cock was painfully hard and desperate to be inside her.
I didn’t give her time to recover before spinning her around, her slick back now pressed against my front and pinning her wrists together above her head with one hand, holding them against the wet tile.
My other hand gripped her hip, fingers digging into her soft flesh.
I leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. The water pounded on my back, running down between our pressed bodies.
“You’re not done,” I whispered. “I’m just getting started with you.”
I nudged my cock against her entrance. She was still pulsing from her orgasm, impossibly wet and hot. I pushed the head in, just an inch, and we both groaned at the sensation.
“You take me so well,” I murmured into her ear, breath hot. “This perfect, tight little pussy was made for my cock. Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” she gasped, trying to push back against me. “Owen, please...”
“Please what?”
“Fuck me. Hard.”
That was all the permission I needed. I slammed into her in one deep, brutal thrust, burying myself to the hilt. She screamed, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. The feeling was blinding: the incredible tightness, the heat, the way her body stretched to accommodate me.
I didn’t wait. I set a punishing pace, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in.
The slap of my skin against hers, the squelch of our joining, filled the steamy enclosure.
My hand on her hip guided her, yanked her back onto me with every thrust. My other hand kept her wrists pinned, my body caging her in against the wall.
“Is this what you wanted?” I grunted, hips pistoning. “You wanted me to come home and find you like this? Wet and waiting?”
“Yes,” she cried.
“You knew what you were doing. Standing there. Showing off for me.” I nipped at her earlobe. “You wanted me to lose control.”
“I did. I do.”
I changed my angle slightly, and she cried out. I aimed for it again and again. Each thrust jolted through her, through me. The pleasure was a live wire, racing up my spine, tightening my balls.
“You feel so fucking good,” I rasped, my own control fraying.
Her body clenched around me in irregular spasms, signaling another approaching climax. I could feel it building in the tension of her muscles, in the broken sounds she made.
“Come with me,” I demanded, thrusts becoming erratic, desperate. “I want to feel you come on my cock. Do it. Now, Harlow.”
It was the command in my voice that sent her over. Her body seized, a violent, shaking tremor wracking her from head to toe. A long, ragged scream tore from her lungs as her inner walls clamped down on me like a vise, milking my cock as she orgasmed.
The sensation was too much. It triggered my own release that started deep in my balls and erupted its way up my cock. With a final, deep grind, I buried myself inside her and let go. Jets of cum pulsed into her, my hips jerking involuntarily. A guttural, animal sound tore from my throat.
We stayed like that, pinned together by pleasure. My forehead rested against her shoulder blade. Our harsh, panting breaths began to slow and even out. The world slowly expanded back to the confines of the shower.
I gently released her wrists, letting them fall to her sides. Red marks from my grip were already blooming on her pale skin. I softened inside her, but didn’t pull out. Not yet. I just held her, arms wrapped around her waist, my body sheltering hers from the direct blast of water.
She turned her head, cheek against the tile. Her eyes were closed, a look of sated, blissful exhaustion on her face. A slow, triumphant smile touched my lips. I pressed a soft kiss to the wet skin of her shoulder.
The water began to run cool, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to do this every day for the rest of my life.