He laughed and captured my mouth again. He took his time exploring, learning every curve and corner of my mouth like he was memorizing me. Like he wanted to know me by heart.
His lips curved against mine, and the last of my resolve crumbled.
I let the textbook fall from my hands with a thump, my head tilting back to give him better access. His satisfied hum vibrated through me as his kisses shifted from playful to possessive, trailing down my jaw, my throat, the sensitive hollow behind my ear.
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 lookedwrecked. I lookedclaimed.
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.
