Chapter 21

21

S traight facts: I don't think I've ever had orgasms like the ones I've had from Owen. Is that even a thing? Can a person have different orgasms with different lovers? I'll admit, my experience is limited. Before Claude, I had one lover, if you can even call sex club dude a lover.

Three men is hardly a wide enough audience to draw from and make a proper comparison.

But right now, I don't care. In fact, I wouldn't care if I never had another lover other than Owen because his orgasms are top-notch. Five out of five stars, a hundred percent of reviewers would recommend and repeat. I don't even know what I'm saying. I'm in some sort of alternate universe right now, and my body is a pile of wasted material.

Owen picks me up off the ground as if I weigh nothing, tucking me tightly against his chest as he shuts off the water and wraps us both up in towels. I'm exhausted and my limbs feel heavy—injured or not, your muscles do not appreciate being in a car accident—and I could go to sleep just like this. Only I can't look away from his blue eyes that try in vain to hold back the storm of emotions brewing within him .

Those are not the eyes of a man who wants to go to bed to sleep.

I move a little in his grip, wordlessly asking him to set me down, and he complies, walking toward the bed in only his towel. He's quiet now, with a lot on his mind. Maybe a little too much. Things are about to change between us. I'm going to have a fling with my boss.

For some reason, that makes me inwardly giggle and outwardly smile in the most ridiculous and ironic of ways. I'm so going to get my heart broken. Again.

But it won't stop me. Even knowing the future pain and the aftermath, it won't stop me. No more hiding. No more cowering or rolling over and playing dead. My revenge will be exacted by becoming everything Claude feared I'd be. I don't want to play it safe. I want to be wild and dangerous and undeniably forbidden.

Still, I start to shake a little as I walk into his room, nerves racking through me. I turn and find Owen sitting casually on his bed, arms behind him, hands pressed into the mattress, eyes locked on me. He's testing me, I realize. He wants to see exactly where I am, both physically and emotionally. He wants me to make the choice.

Do I stay or do I go?

Do we do this or end it here?

I drop my towel on the floor and inch toward him. Just when I get within touching distance, his hands shoot out and tug me until I'm standing between his parted thighs. He's still wearing his towel, but that won't last much longer.

His face is level with my breasts as he sits up, his hands trickling up the backs of my thighs until he's gripping the soft flesh of my ass. It's the first time he's shown any impatience, and it breeds my own. I want to devour him until we're both too spun up to think of anything else but each other. I want Owen to come undone, and I want to be the woman who brings him there. The one who pushes him to the brink of his sanity.

My fingers weave into his thick, wet hair, gripping the back that's gotten a little long. His face tilts up toward me, and all the words we had before seem to have evaporated between us. My heart races at what we're about to do, and I know he can hear it.

My shins bump into the fabric frame of the bed as I step closer, a little restless.

I bend just as he tilts up and our lips brush. A soft, teasing kiss before he tilts his head and deepens it, his tongue seeking mine. I press my thighs together, the tension building to such an extreme within me, I have no choice but to try and relieve it, but he won't allow it. His hand slips between them, prying them apart, and then dragging me down on top of his thighs until I'm straddling him.

I whine, the stupid towel trapped between us.

Pressing my knees into the bed, I rise, practically shoving my tits in his face as he undoes his towel. His mouth captures my nipple, and I whimper, gripping his hair a little tighter. I sit back down, straight on his hard length, and instinctively, my hips roll. His hand squeezes my hip, letting me know he likes that, but then he takes over, rocking me back and forth as his mouth comes back down on mine, kissing me as we grind against each other.

I lose my breath. The hard feel of him, how his hands are everywhere now—in my hair, on my breasts, rolling my nipples, squeezing my hips—is nearly more than I can handle. His mouth trickles a string of kisses down my neck, sucking and licking and biting as he goes.

Heat spreads through my body as he whispers into the shell of my ear, "I can't wait to feel this hot, little pussy wrapped around me again."

He has no idea. I need him inside of me, and I need it now. Too much foreplay in the form of avoidance and teasing and scandalous touches. I'm burning for him. The feel of his cock sliding through my folds, toying with my opening, and pressing hard on my clit is almost too much to take. If I have another orgasm now, I'll be done. My body won't be able to survive it, and I need him.

I shift my hips and grab him, ready to put him straight inside of me when he stills my hips. His eyes, dark and feral, hold me in place. "I don't have any condoms here."

"What?" I blink, not understanding him.

"I don't bring women home, Estlin, and we used all three that I had purchased the night we were together in the hotel."

"Okay. So?"

He blinks at me. "So I don't have any condoms," he repeats as if I should be computing this faster.

I shake my head. "I'm on the pill, and I've been tested."

"I've been tested too, but..." His jaw locks, his gaze hard and penetrating. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

I wrap myself around him, bringing our foreheads, noses, and lips together. "Yes. I'm sure."

He curses under his breath and then guides me down… slowly… slowly… and then, all at once, he thrusts up into me. A moan rips from my lungs, and his mouth quickly covers mine, attempting to stifle the sound. He flips us over until I'm beneath him, and he has me pinned to the bed.

"Rory is all the way down the hall, and yes, my house is big, but that doesn't mean she can't hear us."

I pant and bite into my lip. "I'll be good."

"Can you be quiet?"

I don't know, so I go with, "I can sure as hell try."

He smirks against my lips, slides out of me, and then pistons back into me with the same force he did the first time. And just like then, a loud, uncontained moan wrenches through the air. Oops .

"Didn't think so. "

"It's not my fault," I protest. "It feels really good when you do that."

"If you can't be quiet, then I'm going to have to get creative with how and where I fuck you."

My pussy clenches, and another moan slips out. God, I'm such a hussy for him and his filthy mouth and dirty promises.

He punishes me by biting my lip and pumping into me with hard, deep thrusts. It's not my fault. It's truly not. I told him I'd be a good girl for him, and I know I'm not. He should punish me, and he should keep doing it because his brand of punishment is so, so good. My body is his to do with as he pleases.

Every piece of me.

My mouth, my tits, my limbs, my pussy, my ass. All his.

Bracing his hands on either side of my head, he stares down at me, alternating between my face and where we're connected. He's gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw and I can feel it as he bunches up the comforter in his fists. Sweat collects on his skin, despite the shower we just took. He's barely hanging on, and it's so insanely sexy, I'm not sure I can hold off my own orgasm much longer.

"I haven't fucked anyone bare"—he pants—"in a long time."

"I've only used condoms before."

"Always?"

I nod, because even though I was on the pill, Claude insisted on them, saying he was too paranoid about getting me pregnant to trust the pill. Yet another thing that should have been a red flag for me. "Always. Make me messy, Owen. I want to be dripping you all night."

" Fuck ," he snarls, his head throwing back and his eyes pinching closed. "I've wanted you for two months, Estlin. Every fucking second of every fucking day, I've wanted you. Now I finally have you and I'm taking you bare, and you go and say that? "

"Yes." I grab on to his firm ass, pushing him in deeper. "Because I've wanted you too, and I need it just as much."

With a roar, his hands move everywhere, all over me, and then he rolls us until I'm back on top. My blood thrums hot through my body as he uses his cock in me like a weapon, thrusting up and up and up until all I can feel is him.

His large hands grab my tits, squeezing the hell out of me as he commands, "Fuck me. Ride me. Bounce on my cock until your sweet pussy gushes all over me. Make me feel it, Estlin. Don't hold back."

His eyes rove over every inch of me, eager to see what will happen next.

My body takes over. His command I turn into action. I ride him, bouncing and rocking and taking pleasure on him. With him. I'm gonna fuck him how I need to fuck him. It's the only way I'll survive this. Our contract might not be written in stone or blood, but it's there.

It says in frank fucking letters, do not fall in love with me.

And that goes both ways.

So I do as I'm told. I fuck him. Being the good girl I want to be. I rock and use my knees on the bed and my hands on his shoulders as leverage to push up and down as he watches, his eyes all over my bouncing tits and my pussy that swallows his cock whole.

"I'm gonna fuck your tits. Not tonight. But definitely tomorrow."

That's when I come. The thought of him fucking my tits, of him coming all over them, pushes me over the edge. I lose my rhythm the moment the waves start pounding into me, deep and warm and merciless and just fucking everywhere. His mouth takes mine as I shake all over, sparks of light flashing behind my eyes. I collapse against him, and he holds me as he pounds up and up, straight into me, until fireworks explode behind my eyes again and I feel his body tense. He comes hard, fucking me until he can't take it a second longer, and his head flies back in ecstasy. His groan is louder than he intends, but he's unable to control it, even as he bites my shoulder to try.

I'm utterly spent. Completely boneless. A useless heap of a woman. He might be there with me, minus the woman part. I think I broke him. I poke his side, and all he does is grunt. I'm good with that response because I can't even find the strength to get up and pee or brush my teeth. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight against his chest. I'm leaking his cum, but neither of us cares enough to fix that.

And that's how I fall asleep.

Me on top of him, him inside of me, lost in the euphoric bliss of this man.

A man I'll never be able to keep as my own.

There's a sound. It's loud. Kinda distinct. Definitely relentless. What the hell is that? My mind is fuzzy, my limbs are each weighted down by fifty-pound weights, my vagina ran a marathon last night, and my head is throbbing .

"What is that?" I groan to myself until fragments of last night jackhammer into my consciousness. Claude. Car crash. Rory's surgery. Owen telling me it's game on for us. The shower. His bed. HIS BED! The door. Fuck! THE DOOR!

I jolt and simultaneously roll, falling out of bed and landing painfully hard on the floor in a massive heap. "Ow. Shit!"

"What?"

"Owen, that's the door!"

"What?"

"Stop saying what." I scramble to my feet and tear the top sheet from his bed. "That sound is the front door of your house, and I'm naked in your bed."

With wide eyes, we both take a second to absorb the magnitude of this just as the door rings for a fourth time, and then we hear it. The door opens. The alarm sounds. Someone punches in a code. The alarm shuts off.

We exchange oh shit looks, and then I bolt out of his room like my ass was lit on fire. I fly down the hall, my feet getting tangled in the long sheets, and I nearly eat shit twice. I don't care, and I don't stop or slow down.

"Owen?!" his mother calls out.

"Eddie?" That's mine.

Fuck. Fuck!

I scramble into my room and slam the door shut a bit too loudly. I wince and freeze, listening. Then I turn and look toward the Alexa clock on my nightstand. It's eight in the goddamn morning. What the hell are they doing here at this hour on a Saturday freaking morning and how on earth did we allow ourselves to not only sleep in so late but have me fall asleep in there?

Without bothering to focus on anything else, I motor into the shower and wash off a night of sex with my boss. I can't believe I fell asleep in his bed. God, that was stupid. Rory could have come in and found us. What was I thinking, and why didn't he force me out of there? Argh!

I finish up at light speed and then dress in the same fashion. A brush through my hair and across my teeth, and I'm good to go. Only I race out of my room with my shirt on backward. Crap! I flip it around in the hallway and then tear down the stairs to find Owen already down there wearing nothing more than a white T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and his glasses with his hair in wild disarray.

Is he trying to kill me?

Him in his glasses is my own personal Kryptonite, and the white T-shirt with gray sweatpants is straight out of the lady porn handbook. Something he proves as he tosses me a knowing smirk. Even as my brother claps him on the shoulder and the two of them start talking about who cares what. Rory is hardly awake as she embraces everyone and shows them her cast. She's still rubbing her eyes and wearing her pajamas.

"Oh, hey!" I exclaim. "I didn't hear you all come in. I was in the shower. In my bathroom."

And yup, I just said that. And yup, I get glances that match just how ridiculous and hopefully confusing that is.

Moving on.

I go over and hug everyone. That is, until my mother gets a look at me. "Oh my hell, your face!" she screeches.

"Mom! Language!"

She winces. "My apologies, Rory."

Rory doesn't seem to care as she shrugs while yawning.

My mother takes my face in her hands, tilting me this way and that. "You haven't seen this yet, have you? I'm going to unalive him." She glances down at Rory, as if saying it that way makes it okay.

In fairness, no, I haven't. I raced through that shower like an Olympic athlete after gold.

My mother whips out her phone, pulls up her camera app, and points it at me. Half of my face is deep black and blue. I look like I was in a boxing match and lost. It's bad. Not to mention the neat line of stitches on my forehead near my hairline.

"You should have seen the other guy," is all I can manage.

"Not funny, Eddie," Jack growls, his gaze locked on my bruise and cut. "You have no idea how scared we were."

My dad cups my face in his hand, tilting it this way and that, and then examining the sutures in his very clinical, medical way. "He's right, Eddie. None of us slept much last night. Why do you think we're here so early? We needed to see that you're okay for ourselves, not just be told that you are."

"I know," I tell him, feeling guilty. I put them through it when I ran away to London and refused to see them. Now this. "But truly, I'm fine. My head is a little sore, but that's all."

"At least the stitches look good," Jack comments. "Nice work on that, my friend."

Owen is standing off to the side, his eyes locked on his coffee mug. Speaking of feeling guilty, it's written all over him. He feels like shit for fucking his best friend's little sister. He can hardly meet Jack's eyes. Is this how it will go for us? Owen's guilt, Jack's ignorance and overprotectiveness, and my… I don't know what. Last night was amazing, but was it stupid with how we woke up this morning?

I want Owen like nothing else, and that's probably why we should stop. Before it gets out of hand and there's no going back.

"No more ugliness or talking about unpleasant things," my mom chirps. "Let's go shopping. Eddie needs new clothes anyway. I'm tired of seeing her dress like a starving artist."

I snort. "Thanks, Mom."

"Yes!" Grace chimes in, grabbing my arm. "Let's all go shopping. We'll invite everyone and see who can make it. Rory, what do you say?"

Rory gives us all an eyeball and then turns to her dad. He shrugs. "If you're up for it."

My mother crouches down to meet Rory head-on. "I was thinking of a ladies' brunch out, some shopping, and maybe a trip to the art supply store." She glances up at me. "On me, of course." She gives me a wink.

Oh, does my mother know how to sweeten a deal?

"Yay!" Rory jumps up and down. "I'm going to get dressed. I want waffles!"

"There is no brunch without waffles," Grace calls out to her. "Rory, hold up. I'm coming up to help you. Aria, you send out the mass text. "

"I'm already on it." Her fingers are flying across her screen. "I can't wait. This is going to be so much fun!"