Page 11 of Owen (Storm Enterprises)

“Don’t think about him. Just think about me.” His soft lips nip at my skin, and his words pull me from my head.

Like a fool, I told Carlos I had underlying feelings for someone in my past, and to save his time, he might as well not bother pursuing me. He threw his head back on a loud laugh that startled me, then looked me in the eye and told me he was taking me to bed tonight.

Another bottle into the bucket of champagnes he ordered, and here I am, my body and mind at war with one another as his fingers continue to caress my pussy.

The bubbles from earlier have me dropping my inhibitions, but not enough to deem me not coherent. Of course I want him; he’s gorgeous, successful, charming, and I’m a girl who longs to forget.

When he slides inside me, I cry out at the intrusion. Only having been taken once before over three years ago.

“Fuck, you’re strangling my cock, mi amor.” I dig my nails into his back, and he hisses as he thrusts inside me to the hilt.

When his fingers stroke over my throbbing clit, I’ve no choice but to lift my hips in motion with his so we buck against oneanother. “The most beautiful girl I’ve set my eyes on.” His words wash over me as I try to banish the thoughts of Owen ravishing my mind, the dull ache when I think of him always there. Carlos lifts my leg to slide in deeper, and I feel it. Right in my soul, I feel it. Every part of me screams to stop this, that I’m betraying the man I love. Yet I know he doesn’t love me back, not how I want him to, at least.

I close my eyes to lose myself in the sensations waving through my body. Bright-blue eyes flash before me, and my pussy clenches around him.

“That’s right, mi amor, come on my cock.” His smooth baritone voice feels like a bucket of cold water spilling over me, a reminder of who it is fucking me. The deep feral gruffness is missing, the weight of his heavy body absent as the void inside me remains just that. When I hoped Carlos would be the one to fill it, I know deep in my heart he never could.

The edge now feeling so much further away.

Carlos stills, and when I snap my eyes open, caramel eyes filled with lust roam over my face. “What did he call you in bed?”

“Wh-what?”

“The man you’re in love with. What did he call you in bed?”

I turn my head away as a tear slides down my cheek. “Baby girl,” I whisper.

When I think he’s going to pull out, he surprises me by rearing back and slamming inside me harder than before. “Pretend it’s him fucking you, baby girl.” His grunts of pleasure fill the room and his hips begin to work again. “Fuck, baby girl. So damn good.” My body betrays me as his words filter into my mind. With each thrust and swivel of his hips, I become wetter, and my pussy responds, clenching around him until I pulsate deep inside. “Fuck, yes. Yes, baby girl, give it to me.”

My mouth falls open on a silent scream, and I squeeze the cum from his cock. He spills inside me while staring into my eyes, holding me hostage and forcing the air from my lungs.

He doesn’t withdraw his cock, and for that, I’m grateful. Instead, he rolls us so I am on his chest. “I’m going to make you fall in love with me,” he declares, and I chuckle into his chest while resting my head on the beat of his heart until it becomes steady and the soft sound of him snoozing fills the room.

A vibrating noise startles me, and I sit up, taking the sheet with me as I lean over the bed to grab my purse. I pull my phone out, and when I see the message on the screen, my heart plummets.

DOUCHE:Happy Birthday, baby girl. Always.

I drop my phone onto my purse as devastation racks through me, and I try to stifle the sob lodged in the back of my throat.

“Come back to me, mi amor.” Carlos’s sleepy voice makes my body pause, and when he tugs me toward him, I fall into his chest, ignoring the wetness coating my cheek and the sickness welling inside me.

His grip on me tightens. “You’re mine now, baby girl.”

His words hold a finality behind them that makes my blood still. It’s a vow, a promise, one that tells me my life will never be the same.

TWO

OWEN

OVER A YEAR LATER…

I’m sitting around the Kavanaghs’ dining table, hating every minute of being here. Her absence has left a deep crevice in everyone’s heart, along with a well of misery in mine.

“How old are the children you have staying here?” Emi, Shaw’s new wife, asks.

Tate’s parents have had an ever-revolving door of foster children over the years. After adopting Tate, Laya, and Dex from shitty backgrounds, they open their house up every summer to kids needing a break from the system. I glance out toward the patio and take in what they must see: a mansion with beautifully manicured lawns, tennis courts, a vast swimming pool, and a boating lake. They have a gym, a dance studio, a spa. This house is incredible, but it’s more than that. Steph and Mark have made it a home, and we sure as hell have used it as such.

“Anywhere from four to eighteen,” Steph replies, while I shove another forkful of vegetables into my mouth. Since my mom passed away, she’s become the closest thing to a mother I have, and as much as I appreciate her home-cooked food, being here when Laya isn’t and knowing I’m the cause of her absence makes the food sit like a heavy brick in my stomach.

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