Page 13 of Owned In Misty Mountain

Then linger.

“You, uh… always work shirtless after hours?” she asks, trying to joke. But her voice is breathier now.

Yeah, when my skin feels too fucking tight. My body, like it’s burning because I can’t stop thinking about you.

I take a step closer.

She doesn’t back up.

“You always walk in like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to me?”

Her lips part. “I—I wasn’t—”

I’m in front of her in a second.

Close enough to feel her breath.

Close enough to see her pupils blow wide.

“You’ve been teasing me since the day I stepped inside this damn building,” I growl.

She shakes her head, lips parted. “I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s worse.”

My hand slides around her waist.

Not soft. Not tentative.

Like I already own her.

Because I do.

Her breath hitches when I tug her against me.

She feels everything.

Every inch of me, hard and thick and throbbing against her belly.

Her eyes flutter.

Her thighs press together.

She’s wet for me. I know it.

I lean in, mouth hovering near her ear.

Voice low. Dirty.

“You still untouched, baby?”

She gasps—barely audible. But still nods.

Fuck.

I fist the back of her hoodie and grind against her, slow and filthy, because I can’t not touch her now.

“You know what that does to me?” I whisper, voice shaking with how badly I want her. Inside her.

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