Page 41 of Owen (Storm Enterprises)

I want to mark her, make her mine, coat her with my arousal like she’s coating me. “You’re all warm and wet for me, Laya. Is this just blood, baby girl, or more? Is this little cunt dripping with your pussy juice too?”

“Ye-yes,” she pants out as I continue pumping, picking up my pace as she clenches around me.

“Come for me, baby girl. Coat my fingers in your blood.” I circle her swollen clit with my thumb, and my mouth waters when her pussy convulses.

“Holy shit. Owen. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” Her pleas are a match that ignites an inferno inside me.

Her back arches and her head falls back, and fuck me, it’s beautiful.

“My perfect girl, all swollen and bloody for me.”

Her pussy contracts around me, tightening to the point that I hiss in pleasure. “Owen…” I groan at my name spilling from her lips. The sound I’ve longed to hear, the sound that’s haunted my dreams and also brought me solitude.

“Good girl,” I praise and revel in the fact she pulsates on the endearment. “Such a good fucking girl.”

She collapses against the mattress, and I withdraw my sticky-cum- and blood-coated fingers from her. When she lifts her head, I bring my fingers to my lips and suck them into my mouth. My eyes roll back in pleasure. The copper tang blended with her cum has my free hand fumbling to unbuckle my belt.

I need to mark her, cover her in my cum.

Mark her with my pleasure, like she’s marked me.

LAYA

Owen scrambles to open his belt buckle, and with his fingers in his mouth and his eyes closed in pleasure, my pussy throbs. Not only was that orgasm mind-blowing, but it was filthy and all-consuming.

Owen knows no bounds, and I’m here for it.

He tugs down his jeans and boxers, and his cock springs out, hitting his abs, and I want nothing more than to drop to my knees and please him. Blood coats his upper lip, and I have an insane urge to lick it clean, but I remain frozen, too consumed with lust to do anything. He withdraws his fingers, and his gaze latches onto my pussy. “Fuck. I need to fuck this pussy so bad right now, Laya.” The tendons in his neck are tight, and when he drags his T-shirt over his head, my mouth salivates at the sight.

How can his body have gotten any bigger? The artwork on him calls to my pussy like a beacon, and it drips in need. I want to tell him to fuck me as hard as he can, but I’m paralyzed, my throat clogged with awe and post-orgasmic shock. Then he wraps his thick, tattooed fingers around his cock, and my nipples begin to leak, but I don’t have it in me to be embarrassed.

His eyes flick up to my face as if hearing my thoughts. “Open your shirt, Laya.” He fists his cock faster, and I swear I feel the pre-cum drip onto my pussy. “Fuck, baby, you’re bleeding on the sheets, just like the first time I took you.”

My fingers pause on the buttons, and I dart my eyes up to face him. “I-I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry, baby girl. I like the thought of your mark. I like the thought of owning your blood.”

Oh god.

The mattress moves under his thrusts, and when I open the shirt and slip it off my shoulders, he growls, sending a wave of exhilaration through me.

“Are your tits leaking, baby girl?”

“Yes.” I arch my back, thrusting my pussy toward him.

“Fuck, yes. Your nipples are begging to be sucked, aren’t they?”

His fist moves faster and faster.

“Yes. Oh god, Owen.”

“Begging for my tongue to taste your milk.” He grunts. “For you to feed me.”

Every inch of his perfect muscles is coiled tight as he pumps his cock with vigor.

“Paint your tits for me, Laya. Paint your tits in your bloody cum.”

His cock leaks onto my pussy, coating it in his pre-cum, and my fingers trail down, itching to touch him, but I do as he commands and gather my wetness. Then I move toward my nipple, painting it with my bloody cum and mixing it with my milk.

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