Chapter 25 Megan
Megan
A couple of hours later, after clean-up and forms, we finally get back home—it’s crazy to think of Owen’s house as home but it is what it is, and I’m too elated to do anything but roll with it.
We barely make it inside before I’m pressed against the wall.
Owen’s body is still running hot, his chest bare, skin rough and smeared with the last of the battle, but I don’t care. I want him like this—raw, real, mine.
“You sure you’re staying?” he rasps, one claw-tipped finger tracing my jaw. “Because if you try to leave after this, I swear I’ll track you to every corner of the earth, my Megan.”
He’s crazy. But I love him.
I arch into him, breathless.
“I already said it, Sheriff. I’m yours.”
His growl is low. Dangerous. Possessive.
Then his mouth is on mine—urgent, claiming.
His hands grip my thighs and lift me like I weigh nothing, carrying me through the house while we’re still tangled in each other, kissing like we’re starving.
He lays me out on his bed like a treasure he’s afraid to break. Like I’m something worthy or precious.
“You are everything, mate,” he whispers, voice rough as his hands glide up my shirt, pushing it over my head. “I want you here. Every night. Safe. Mine.”
I gasp as he peels the rest of my clothes off, slow but reverent, eyes locked on me like he’s memorizing every inch of my skin.
“You’re so beautiful, Megan. You don’t even know what you do to me.”
I tug at his waistband, and he groans, shedding what little remains of his shredded clothes. And holy hell.
He’s huge.
Powerful.
A little bit dangerous.
A whole lot of perfect.
He climbs over me, but hesitates, golden eyes flickering. “Say it again.”
“Say what?”
“That you’re mine.”
I cup his cheek, pulling him down until our foreheads touch.
“I’m yours,” I whisper. “And you’re mine. All of you. Even the monster.”
His control snaps.
Owen pushes my legs wide, and with one possessive stroke, he fills me with his gorgeous cock.
But this is so much more than I expected.
It’s like he crashes into me, and fuck, I moan—loud, unfiltered—as he fills me over and over in deep, possessive thrusts.
“Fuck, Megan,” he groans, voice ragged. “So tight. So perfect. You were made for me.”
We move together like we’ve done this a hundred times. Like our bodies remember each other. Like they were carved from the same soul.
He worships me with every stroke. Kisses every inch of me. Growls my name like a promise.
I wrap my legs around him, clinging as the rhythm builds, our breath mingling, sweat slicking our skin.
“You feel that?” he pants, pressing a hand to my lower belly. “That’s us. That’s me. Inside you. Claiming you again and again.”
A desperate whimper escapes me, and he kisses it from my lips.
My orgasm slams into me like lightning—blinding, overwhelming, perfect. I cry out his name, and that’s all it takes.
Owen growls like an animal, hips snapping once, twice—then he follows me over the edge, burying himself deep as his body trembles with the force of it.
We collapse together, tangled and shaking, hearts thundering like war drums.
After a moment, he presses a kiss to my shoulder, soft and reverent. “You’re not leaving.”
“Not a chance.”
“Good.” He nuzzles my neck. “Because I love you, Megan DiNapoli. You’re my whole heart. And gods know, I can’t live without my heart.”
I smile through happy tears, still breathless.
“I love you too, Owen.”