Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Meadow
Owen carries me through the front door, his muscular arms making me feel weightless as he walks straight to his bedroom.
The door slams shut behind us, and before I can take in my surroundings, Owen adjusts me in his arms, spins, and pins me against the wall.
I wrap my legs around his waist, letting out a quiet whimper when I feel how hard he is through his swim shorts. I moan as his mouth claims me—unyielding and ferocious—our tongues tangling in an erotic dance.
"Been thinking about this all day," he growls against my lips. "The things I'm gonna do to you tonight..." His words trail off as he nips my bottom lip.
" Owen ," I say breathlessly as he grinds his hips into me.
His lips find my neck, marking my skin as he sets me down and turns me to face the bed.
I instantly spot a full-length mirror with an ornate gold frame positioned perfectly in the corner of the room. An armchair sits directly in front of it, so whoever sits in that chair would have a perfect reflection of themself.
Oh…
Oh my God.
This isn’t what I think it is… Is it?
"You didn’t…" I whisper, heat flooding between my legs as all the possibilities flash through my mind.
"Like what you see?" Owen asks, voice rough with desire.
How in the hell did he get this kind of mirror in here? My room is the master bedroom, and the only mirror I have is above the bathroom sink.
"How did you—"
"Turns out five-star resorts can accommodate just about anything,” he answers. “They delivered it while we were at the beach today."
Owen’s hands slide around my waist from behind as his lips find the sensitive spot below my ear.
"When you were napping on the couch yesterday, I got curious and read a little bit of the book on your Kindle,” he starts. “That scene with the chair and mirror? Fuck. I couldn't stop imagining it was you, watching yourself come apart in my lap."
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
He did not.
I swallow hard, my pulse racing. "Owen..."
His teeth graze my earlobe as his hand trails down my stomach.
"Tonight, you're going to see exactly what you do to me,” he says, voice low. “And trust me, no book boyfriend will ever compare to what's about to happen in that chair."
A thrill zips down my spine because his words aren’t a threat, they’re a promise.
There is no way I’m surviving this.
Absolutely no fucking way.
I’ve always dreamed about being the main character in one of my romance books, and now, my thighs quiver as I realize my spicy little fantasy might become a reality.
Owen guides me with his hands on my hips, pushing me gently but insistently toward the mirror and the chair. My knees brush the edge of the chair as he stops me beside it, standing behind me as the warmth of his body radiates through my thin swimsuit cover.
I stare at my reflection to find my face flushed, eyes wide, and my lips puffy from kissing. The sight of Owen behind me, his hands splayed possessively on my hips, reminds me of a morally gray, dark romance character. A predator closing in on its prey.
"Don't take your eyes off yourself," he murmurs, voice thick with lust. "I want you to see how fucking perfect you are."
My throat bobs as I nod slowly, obeying his orders like a dog on a leash.
I watch as his hands travel teasingly up my sides, bunching the fabric of my cover between his long fingers. The anticipation is maddening, both enthralling and excruciating.
I shiver as Owen slides the straps off my shoulders, the fabric pooling at my waist, exposing my bare skin to the humid air and to Owen’s ravenous gaze in the reflection.
He meets my eyes in the glass, his jaw clenched and pupils blown wide.
I can’t look away from the image of myself, breathless and wearing nothing but my bikini. My mouth parts as Owen’s calloused hands skim up my torso, his long fingers spanning against my ribs.
He tugs the dress lower, slowly peeling it down my hips inch by inch like a striptease for one. My bikini top is already dangerously loose, barely clinging to my shoulders.
Owen’s jaw flexes as he hooks a finger in the strap around my neck, pulling until it unties, and my breasts spill free.
I can see it all in the mirror—the way my back arches and pushes my boobs out, the tremble in my legs, the possessive way Owen looks at me, like he can’t decide where to touch me first.
My nipples are puckered and swollen, pleading to be played with. I audibly gasp when Owen cups my breasts beneath his rough hands, the sensation causing my pussy to spasm without being touched.
“Look at you,” Owen hums, “so fucking gorgeous I can’t stand it. You want to know what you do to me, Meadow? Watch.”
He lowers his hand between my thighs and presses his palm against the thin, nylon fabric of my swimsuit bottoms.
“Fuck, ” I exhale, dropping my head back against his shoulder as I feel a thick drop of wetness leak from my core.
“You’re desperate for it, aren't you?” he rumbles possessively. “You’re so fucking wet for me, and I haven’t even taken these off yet.”
He gives my pussy a jarring squeeze through my bottoms, my mouth falling open in a silent plea.
I bite my lip to hold back a moan, dizzy from the sight of Owen towering above me as he rubs me over fabric.
When he hooks his thumb under the band of my bikini bottoms and drags them down, I can’t help the needy sound that escapes me.
The bottoms stop mid-thigh before he gives them one last tug and lets them fall, exposing my bare pussy to the night air.
Owen steps back, fixing his smoldering gaze on my naked body in the mirror, staring at me with a look that seems more animal than human.
For a long moment, I don’t know what to do with my hands. I fidget, one arm crossed over my lower belly, the other hovering uselessly near my waist.
Owen arches a challenging brow, and I drop my arms, humiliated by how quickly I feel the need to obey his every command.
My cheeks flush to a deep pink as I focus back on myself, taking everything in.
My dark hair is a tangled mess, cascading down my cheeks and shoulders. I shudder, completely stripped down and exposed, but I can’t look away from the mirror.
My skin gleams under the moonlight pouring in through the large windows, the rest of the room shaded in deep blues.
Owen moves behind me, his shorts brushing my ass as his fingers drag unhurriedly down my spine. I swear I can feel the intensity of his gaze tracing every inch of exposed skin, memorizing the sight of my nakedness.
He traces a line up to the nape of my neck and back down the small of my back, stopping to wrap his fingers around my hips as his thumbs press deep into my waist.
His eyes darken as he rakes his gaze down my body, letting out a low hum of satisfaction that almost sounds like a growl. He lowers his chin on my shoulder as our eyes meet in the glass.
" This is how I always see you," he murmurs, running his palms up my torso before cupping my breasts from behind. "The most stunning, brilliant woman. I’ve never seen anything like you."
He gives my breasts a sensual squeeze, then releases me and steps back, giving me space to see the full spectacle of my naked body on display.
He circles me like a lion, slow and greedy, pausing to push the chair closer to the mirror with one hand.
God, that’s sexy.
I’ve seen my body in the mirror thousands of times, always just in passing.
But never like this: not the spotlight of someone else's wanting.
I catalog my imperfections out of habit—the small pouch on my lower stomach, the curves of my hips, the visible scar on my left thigh—and wait for Owen to notice what I see. Instead, he keeps devouring me with his eyes, watching me as if I’m the most precious jewel in the world.
He draws the chair even closer, so close that the backs of my knees bump the cushion.
“Sit,” Owen demands, his voice wicked and delicious.
I hesitate at first—still so aware of every flaw—then I take a deep breath and sit, instinctively pushing my knees together as I straighten my back.
I almost pass out when Owen kneels down on the floor before me, his back to the mirror and his hands braced on my thighs as he spreads his fingers and kneads my skin in tender swirls.
"Open for me," he commands, his voice so soft it feels like a caress. "Let me see you, baby.”
Baby.
I’ll never get over him calling me that.
My skin burns everywhere, even my scalp beneath my thick hair. I tug my bottom lip between my teeth and nod, swallowing my pride and parting my legs for him.
Embarrassment creeps along my cheeks when I look down and see how exposed I am, my flesh slippery and soaking wet for him.
Owen's eyes move between my thighs with such fascination and wonder that my shame quickly begins to dissolve.
I still want to snap my knees shut, to hide away, but Owen’s powerful hands hold my legs in place. As he stares at my spread pussy—wide-eyed like I’m his next meal—I feel my veins flood with pure desire, not fear or insecurity.
My heart thunders as he leans in until his breath feathers over my throbbing core.
"Look at yourself," he groans, his voice so dark I barely recognize it. "Look at your pretty, pink cunt."
Oh, good God.
"This is mine," Owen mutters, almost to himself, as he strokes a thumb through my wetness before smearing it all over my clit. My entire body jolts as a needy cry catches in my throat. I stop breathing as Owen leans in, his lips less than an inch away from my slit.
My legs shake uncontrollably as he teases me and kisses my inner thigh, taking his time making his way higher and higher.
I watch the whole thing in the mirror, mesmerized by how my own body coils then relaxes with each kiss. My belly flutters as he runs the tip of his tongue along my thigh, my fingers clenching around the arms of the chair.
Owen's eyes flick up to meet mine before he flashes me a wolfish grin, not giving me a breath to prepare before he ducks between my legs.
I expect him to be gentle at first, to tease me until I’m squirming against the chair.