Page 57 of The Retreat

But he doesn’t stop there. The infuriating man kisses my stomach and runs his hand over the bulge in my shorts, cupping and squeezing me like he’s testing the feeling.

He nips at the skin on my hip, sucking at it while his hand drives me fucking crazy. I’m about to sob and offer him anything he wants to get him to touch me when he grips the waistband of my shorts and pulls them, along with my jock, off.

“You are exquisite,” he says, sitting back on his heels and just looking at me.

“Take your pants off.”

He cocks a brow. “You aren’t in control, princess”

“Do you know what frotting is?” I doubt he does unless he and Oliver have a lot more conversations about sex than I expected.

“No, should I?” He rubs his thumb through the pre-cum pooling at my slit.

I can feel my lips turn up in a slow, seductive grin. “I’ll teach you. We need lube.” Luckily for me, I stashed bottles all over this apartment for just such an occasion. Reaching for the chaise, I shove my hand behind the cushion and feel around for the bottle.

“What are you?—”

“Got it!” I hold it up and lay back down.

“You have lube hidden in the furniture—no—never mind. I am not surprised in the slightest.”

“Yes. You’re welcome.” I open the cap and pour some in my hand. “Dick, out, now.”

Owen pushes to his feet and opens his pants as he stands over me. I squirm as he watches me stroke my cock. I bite my lip, rotating my hips as he stares.

Fuck, I love his eyes on me.

I love knowing he’s never looked at anyone else like this.

He shoves his pants down his powerful thighs, then straddles my hips, pinning me in place.

“I found silky lube, so it’s not sticky,” I tell him, and his eyes jump up to mine.

“You did?”

I get more lube, and he watches as I cover him in the smooth liquid. “Is it sticky?”

“No,” he groans. “It’s quite smooth.”

“Do you like it?” I ask on bated breath.

His head tips back, stretching his body out in the most delicious way. “Yes”

“You are so fucking hot.”

His nostrils flare, and he fucks himself into my hand. “Why does that feel so divine?”

“Better than your hand?”

“Far, far better.” His words come between gasps, and I feel so fucking powerful.

“Better than my mouth?”

His eyes snap open, and he hesitates, watching my hand move over him. “No.”

I grin. “Want to try frotting now?”

“What is it?”

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