Page 96 of The Retreat

I smirk. “You already have that.”

“Post a video of that. See how people like seeing you worship me.”

My dick hardens. “I’m not exactly opposed to that.”

Owen chuckles. “You’re an attention slut.”

He’s not wrong.

Owen caps the water bottle and comes for me in sure, confident strides. Before he gets to me, I’m damn near panting and hard as fuck. He rips the tie from my hair and grips it, pulling my face up toward him as he kicks my legs open.

“Start your video.”

I swallow, flip the camera, and press record. Using my hair as a leash, he drags my face against the bulge in his dark wash sweats.

I moan into the fabric, opening my mouth to drag against the ridge of him. He makes me insatiable. Needy.

With my free hand, I slide it up his thigh to the waistband of his pants and slip my fingers under the fabric.

“Such a needy boy,” he growls, and I shiver.

“Only for you.”

“Damn right.” Owen lets go of my hair and pushes me onto my back, following me down and grasping my throat to ravage my mouth. I whimper into his kiss, desperate and needy so fucking fast.

“Please tell me you’re done training.”

A wicked smile lifts his lips, and I could cry.

“Nope.” He licks my lip, gives me a quick peck, then gets up and goes back to work.

“You’re the worst.”

“Put that in a damn TikTok. You’re welcome.”

I open my mouth to respond, but actually…

“Wait a minute.”

He turns to look at me with a ‘don’t you dare’ look.

“What if we post our story on social media? Then we control the story and what people know. We can spin it the way we want instead of hoping the journalists don’t fuck us over.”

Owen stops and thinks about it, which I appreciate. He didn’t just blow it off.

“Do you think that would work?”

“Can’t hurt.” I shrug. “The people get what they want and we can show the media that we can’t be controlled by their bullying and bullshit, and we stay in control.”

“It’s not a bad idea. I’ll have to check with the PR department before we do anything major.”

“Oh husband, don’t you know it’s better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission?” I slide my phone into my pocket and crawl across the wood floor to him. His eyes heat instantly, and I kneel at his feet.

“Are you going to beg?”

“I usually do when you’re involved.”

“Good boy.”

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