Page 48 of Owen (Storm Enterprises)

Yeah, he’s deluded. My poor friend thinks every woman is desperate to bag him.

“She was different from the others,” he murmurs.

I ball up a note from my desk and throw it at his head. “Yeah, for once it was the woman that wanted a quick fuck, not a permanent uptight prick that starts his night with ‘I don’t date, ever.’” I make air quotes on the latter.

His eyes narrow on mine. “I might be willing to date, if I get a good fuck out of it.”

Mase exhales loudly, and my smile widens at the way he becomes riled at Reed’s words, “Jesus, you’re such a prick.”

My phone cuts through the conversation, alerting me to the fact it’s time to head out into the garden.

I’m about to get married, and I couldn’t be happier.

TWENTY-FOUR

LAYA

Having Mase walk me down the aisle was bittersweet. The man is like a brother to me, but it felt like a betrayal to Tate and my father for him and Reed to participate without their knowledge or, truth be told, without their consent.

More than anything, I want Tate’s approval, and without it, I feel cheated out of the wedding we should have had, but Owen reassures me as soon as his business settles down and Tate is over the inevitable tantrum he will throw, then we can have the wedding I always envisaged.

When Owen said, “I do,” and I saw the only man I have ever loved standing before me with love swimming in his eyes, it brought with it the reassurance of our love.

But an unwelcome anxiety is creeping to the forefront of my mind. Like I’m missing something and our world will come crumbling down around us, and I hate it.

Determined to shove it aside, I simply put it down to the circumstances and the trauma we’ve been through, in a hope to move forward and leave the past behind.

My fingers toy with the wedding ring on my finger, a symbol of trust and eternal love.

The soft click of the bedroom door has me turning, and standing there before me is the handsome man I’ve lusted after, loved from afar, who’s broken my heart over, and ultimately, the man who has become my son’s and my protector. The man who was once my everything and is now my husband.

“You look so fucking beautiful, baby girl.”

His gravelly voice sends a rush of electricity through my body, warming me from the inside out.

The way his dress shirt is stretched over his shoulders and the way his trousers are fitted tightly around his thick thighs has my mouth watering, his powerful demeanor an aphrodisiac for my need to please him.

His gaze is wild, hungry, and full of want. “Fuck, I want to do so much to you. I don’t know where to start.”

His words consume me, and my cheeks heat under his lustful gaze as I squirm on the spot. His eyes track the movement, not missing a single reaction, as always.

I glance down at the white satin dress he chose; it was gifted to me in his spare room, along with the heels I ditched as soon as I entered the bedroom. It fits perfectly and is not dissimilar to the one on my Pinterest board.

My heart hammers as he strides toward me, and the size of his feet allows him to eat up the space between us in no time. Then he cocks my chin up with his hand, holding my gaze. “I’m going to fuck you in your wedding dress, Laya.” I gasp at his words. “I’m going to shove my cock so far inside your bloody little cunt that you forget any man but me.” I want to tell him I already have, but the words stick in my throat. “I’m going topretend the blood that soaks my cock is your first time with me all over again.”Oh, sweet Jesus.

“Do you remember the way you screamed as I tore through your little cunt, baby girl?” He nuzzles into my neck, delivering me soft kisses. “I do. When I fist my cock, it’s you I see.” My heart skips a beat on his admission. “When I come, it’s your name on my lips that I speak.” Flurries of unbridled love expand inside me, and I place my hand on his chest for support. The hard ridge of his pec pierces through the material, making my mouth water to explore him and finally taste every inch of his delectable body.

“I…” I become speechless with intoxication. The smell of his masculine sandalwood scent and the heat of his touch become consuming as I sway on my bare feet.

“What, baby? Tell me what you want.” His voice is laced in struggle, as if this is just as difficult for him as it is for me, and the thought fills me with the confidence I need.

“I want you to take your shirt off so I can touch you.”

He pulls back to stare at me, his blue eyes darker than normal, and arousal floods them. Then he takes another step away and unbuttons his shirt while his focus remains locked on me.

“Fuck, your tits look amazing, Laya,” he says as he tugs his shirt from his waistband.

I glance down at the swell of my breasts, and nervousness skitters through me about the milk building up. Romeo only had a small feeding before bed, which means he will be up during the night wanting more, leaving me swollen and potentially leaking in the meantime.

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