Page 52 of Owned In Misty Mountain

Her eyes roll back.

I don’t start slow.

I claim.

Thrusting deep, dragging back, slamming in until the bed creaks and she’s gasping for every breath.

“You feel that?” I grunt.

“Yes—fuck—Mike—”

“That’s mine,” I growl, fucking her harder. “This pussy. These thighs. This whole body.”

“Yes—yes—”

“I’m gonna breed you.”

She moans like I just gave her an orgasm.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” I whisper, bending low, biting her earlobe. “And you’re gonna take every drop.”

She clenches hard.

I fuck her straight through it.

She begs.

She sobs.

She comes again.

And I keep going.

—-

When I finally lose it, I grip her hips and drive in deep, thick, hot pulses spilling inside her, my whole body shaking with how much I need to make her mine in every way.

I stay buried. Breathing her in.

Then I lean down, press my mouth to her neck, and murmur, “Tomorrow, I say ‘I do.’ But tonight? I already fucking have.”

Twenty Two

Shanay

I don’t cry when I slip into the dress.

Or when Brie zips it up and Tara gasps, “Oh my god, you look like a walking sin.”

I don’t cry when I see the little white lace veil clipped into my curls, or when Aunt May hands me a bouquet of soft spring peonies tied in a ribbon the exact shade of Mike’s eyes.

I don’t cry when the music starts.

But the second I step outside and see him?

Yeah. That’s when I almost break.

—-

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