Page 51 of Owned In Misty Mountain

“M-Mike—”

“Take off your fucking clothes.”

She opens her mouth—smartass locked and loaded.

I yank off my shirt.

Her brain resets.

She watches my abs flex, jaw unhinged.

Then she reaches for the hem of her dress. Slowly. Teasing.

“Now.”

She strips.

Fuck, she’s perfect.

Naked and flushed and already glistening between those soft, thick thighs.

I drop to my knees.

She moans before I even touch her.

I bury my face in her pussy and don’t come up for air.

—-

She’s writhing. Hands in my hair. Crying my name.

And I don’t stop until she’s shaking so hard I have to catch her before she falls.

I lift her again.

Carry her to the bedroom.

Toss her onto the bed.

Climb up.

“Spread,” I rasp.

She does.

So pretty.

So ruined.

So mine.

—-

No condom.

Not tonight.

I drag the head of my cock through her soaked folds. Position. Press in.

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