Chapter 28 #3
This was supposed to be a break. A quick one. But the intention in his touch was clear. He was taking control.
His mouth never left my neck as his hands slid down, fingers hooking into the waistband of my shorts and shoving them down my hips. I shifted, kicking them off the rest of the way. The cool air of the apartment hit my bare skin, and my breath hitched.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his gaze traveling down my body with an intensity that made me feel simultaneously exposed and cherished. His eyes were molten, burning with a heat that made my skin prickle.
“God,” he breathed. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”
Before I could respond, his hands gripped my thighs and spread my legs wide, opening me up and exposing me. My gaze, searching for something to anchor to, found the full-length mirror across the living room. It was positioned directly in front of us.
And there I was, cradled between Owen’s legs, my back to his chest, my face flushed and wanting. My shirt was still on, pushed up around my ribs, but from the waist down… I was bare. Vulnerable. His.
A jolt of pure, panicked modesty shot through me. My thighs instinctively tried to snap shut.
His grip on my thighs tightened, stopping me, fingers digging in just enough to feel the possessiveness of his hold. He squeezed, holding me open. “Don’t,” he murmured against the shell of my ear, his voice a low rumble that I felt in my bones. “I want to watch you.”
His right hand slid from my thigh. His fingers slipped through the slick flesh, and I gasped, my head falling back against his shoulder. I was already soaked.
“Fuck, Harlow,” he breathed, the words hot against my skin.
His other hand came up, slipping under my shirt, cupping my breast. His palm was rough against my sensitive skin, his thumb finding my nipple through the lace of my bra.
He rolled it, pinched it gently, and a sharp, sweet ache shot straight to my core, making me arch against him with a broken cry.
My gaze followed his hand in the mirror as it moved between my legs.
His fingers glided through my wetness, teasing, exploring, but not giving me what I needed.
He circled my entrance, traced up and down my slit, the touch maddeningly light.
His thumb brushed over my clit once, just a graze that made my whole body jerk.
“Owen, please…” The plea tore from me.
“Please what?” he whispered against my ear. His thumb circled my clit again, a little firmer this time, and I whimpered pathetically.
“You know what,” I panted, my hips beginning to move, seeking more pressure, more friction, more.
He slid a single finger inside me, and I cried out, my eyes squeezing shut at the sudden fullness. It wasn’t enough. It was too much. It was perfect and terrible all at once.
“Open your eyes.”
His command cut through the haze of pleasure. I forced my eyelids open. My gaze, clouded with lust, lifted and found his in the mirror.
He was watching me. Not the reflection of our bodies, not his hand between my legs. He was watching my face, my reactions, drinking in every flinch, every gasp, every bitten-off moan like I was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
My chest tightened. Something deeper than desire bloomed in my ribcage as he held me captive with that gaze.
He added a second finger, stretching me and began to move, sliding them in and out of me in a slow rhythm as his thumb rubbed tight circles over my clit that made my toes curl.
“Look at yourself,” he whispered, his lips brushing my ear. “See how fucking beautiful you are when you’re about to come for me.”
Desire flooded every vein, drowning out everything but the feeling of his hand and the sight of us in the mirror, his dark head bent over me, his strong arms wrapped around my body, my thighs spread wide, the glisten of wetness on his fingers.
I was a mess. My hair was coming loose from its ponytail, wild around my face. My lips were swollen from biting them, from kissing him. My skin was flushed a deep pink that spread from my cheeks down my throat and across my chest.
I looked wrecked. I looked claimed.
I looked like someone who was about to shatter.
“That’s it,” he coaxed, his pace increasing.
His fingers curled inside me, hitting a spot that made stars burst behind my eyes.
The sound of his fingers moving in my wetness echoed through the quiet room, wet and relentless.
His thumb worked me faster, the pressure building into a sharp, brilliant point of need.
“You’re so close. Let me watch you fall apart. ”
The dirty talk, the visual, the relentless, perfect friction, it was too much. The coil in my belly pulled tighter and tighter until I thought I might break.
“Owen, I’m…”
My orgasm crashed over me like a wave and pulled me under.
A scream ripped from my throat as my body bowed, every muscle seizing, my back arching off his chest. My vision whited out for a second, the reflection in the mirror blurring into a swirl of color and sensation.
My walls clenched around his fingers, wave after wave of pure, electric pleasure radiating out from my core until my limbs went weak and boneless.
He held me through it, his arm tight around my waist, his mouth pressing soft kisses to my temple, my cheek, the corner of my lips. His fingers worked me gently through the aftershocks, extending the pleasure until the last tremor faded, leaving me trembling and spent against him.
There was only the sound of our ragged breathing.
He slowly withdrew his hand. My eyes fluttered open just in time to watch him bring his glistening fingers to his mouth. He never broke eye contact in the mirror as he sucked them clean, his tongue swirling around each digit, a dark, satisfied gleam in his eyes.
The sight sent a fresh, hot jolt through my exhausted body.
My turn.
I twisted in his arms, pushing against his chest. He let me go, surprise flickering across his face.
Before he could speak, I straddled his lap, facing him, my knees bracketing his hips.
The hard ridge of his erection pressed against me through his joggers, and a new, hungry ache bloomed deep inside me.
I leaned down and kissed him, slow and deep, tasting myself on his tongue, claiming his mouth the way he just claimed my body. He groaned against my lips, his hands flying to my hips, gripping tight.
When I pulled back, his eyes were glazed. His chest heaved.
My hands went to the waistband of his pants. I didn’t speak. I just looked at him as I shoved them down, freeing him. He helped me, kicking them off the rest of the way, his gaze never leaving mine.
I rose up on my knees, positioned myself above him, and sank down in one slow, devastating slide.
We both groaned. The stretch of him filling me so completely stole my breath. For a second, I just stayed there, letting us both adjust to the overwhelming sensation, savoring the fullness, the rightness of being connected like this.
Then I started to move.
I set a slow, grinding pace, riding him with deliberate rolls of my hips. My hands braced on his shoulders, my eyes locked on his. Leaning down, I let my lips brush against his ear.
“My turn to watch you,” I whispered.
He shuddered beneath me, a full-body tremor that I felt everywhere we touched. His hands gripped my hips, his fingers biting into my skin hard enough to leave marks, but he let me lead. Let me set the pace.
I kissed him again, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the press of my lips. He kissed me back with equal fervor, his tongue tangling with mine, his hands sliding up my back beneath my shirt to press me closer. The kiss was messy and desperate, all teeth and tongue and shared breath.
I rode him faster, deeper, chasing my own rising climax, but more than that, chasing his. Watching his face as pleasure tightened his features. Feeling his abs clench against my stomach. Hearing his breath come in harsh pants that turned into groans, then turned into broken versions of my name.
“Harlow…fuck…baby…”
His thrusts became less controlled, more desperate, meeting my downward strokes with hard, upward drives of his own.
The sound of skin against skin filled the room.
He was getting close, I could see it in the strain of his jaw, the flutter of his eyelids, the way his grip on me turned almost painful.
“Come for me,” I breathed against his lips, echoing his earlier words. “Let me see it.”
His eyes squeezed shut, a ragged groan tearing from his throat as his hips stuttered and surged up into me one final, deep time.
The hot pulse of his release deep inside me, the way he said my name like it was the only word that mattered, that sensation, that ultimate surrender, tipped me over my own edge again.
My second climax was shorter, sharper, a burst of light that left me gasping against his neck.
I collapsed forward onto his chest.
We stayed like that for a long time, a tangled, sweaty mess on the living room floor, my anatomy textbook forgotten beside us. Our breathing slowly evened out. The world came back into focus.
Eventually, he shifted beneath me, his arms wrapping around my back to hold me closer. His heartbeat pounded against my cheek.
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Hungry?”
Smiling, I nodded against his chest. “Starving.”
He pressed a kiss to my lips, soft and sweet this time. “Go get dressed. I’m taking you on a date.”
My head lifted. “Like… a real date?”
“Yes.” He smirked, that devastating smile that had been wrecking me since I was fourteen years old. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”
I couldn’t even contain my excitement as I climbed off him and practically ran to my room, his laughter following me down the hall.