He’s a devil, and I’m his sin.
I flop back, unable to hold my weight as the tension between my legs coils tight. The pleasure builds and builds.
“Oh fuck.” The words fall out between an incoherent moan.
I lift my head back up, my eyes roll back as Owen adds two fingers, curling them up at the perfect angle, hitting that delicious spot inside.
My legs quiver, my stomach muscles tense, and I explode. But still, he keeps going, fingers still pumping, mouth still working me like he’s trying to pull every last drop of pleasure out of me. I cry out, my body an overstimulated wreck, hips jerking as another orgasm chases through me, sharper, messier, completely out of my control.
My words are incoherent; my moans are loud. I’m sure I’ve said every explicit word that exists in the English dictionary, and still Owen devours me.
“Stop, stop, stop. I can’t.”
“You can and you will,” he says, and goes right back to what he was doing.
“Fuck me.”
“Oh, I will.”
This man is a menace. Gone is the teenage boy who fumbled with my button, his hands shaking when he first did this exact act. He’s been replaced with a god.
A filthy mouthed one at that.
“Owen, please,” I beg, and he stops.
Something in my tone catches his attention. Bliss, exhaustion, and a large dose of confusion overwhelm me. Sensing my shift, he climbs up my body, his towel barely around his waist.
“What do you need?” he asks, hand reaching up and tucking my sticky hair out of my face, his mouth gleaming with my arousal.
“Your cock. In me,” I demand, wrapping my legs around his waist as he grins at me.
That wasn’t what I was planning to say. I was planning to ask for a minute, but as soon as he moved my hair out my eyes, lust took over.
I reach between us, rip his towel away, and guide him in. He’s hard and I’m tight from the multiple orgasms, but he pushesagainst the friction and drops his head into my neck on a deep, guttural moan.
“You feel so fucking good.” He slides to the hilt, pulls out devilishly slowly and repeats.
In and fucking out.
My legs wrap around his waist, and he fucks me with long, languid strokes. Slow, steady and the complete opposite to what the kitchen encounter was this morning.
He licks and sucks at my neck as I run my nails into his back. I hold on, my legs tightening.
Fuck me, if I was to die now, I’d die in heaven.
I feel like we are two pieces of the same jigsaw puzzle that have been lost and are now found.
I feel like home.
I feel like I belong.
I feel like the last fifteen years haven’t happened, and it’s Owen and Lucy against the world again.
We move in unison, in perfect rhythm, creating the perfect friction of his pelvis rubbing against me. His eyes burn with such intensity, with such blatant desire, hope, and dare I say it, love.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says over and over, fucking me over and over. And I know he is. He doesn’t need me to blame him, because he blames himself.
“I know. Oh God.” A wave of ecstasy has me crying out and biting his shoulder. “I know.” Fuck, fuck, fuck.
