Page 66 of Owned In Misty Mountain

“You always taste this good?” he mutters, tongue dragging slow over my clit. “Or is it just because I haven’t had you in… what, four hours?”

I gasp. “Mike—”

He doesn’t let me finish.

His mouth seals over me again, sucking, licking, his tongue moving in tight circles while his fingers stroke deep and filthy.

“You gonna give me another one, sweetheart?” he murmurs against my soaked skin. “Gonna let me fill you up again?”

I arch, legs trembling. “You’re insane.”

“And you love it.”

God help me, I do.

He slides two fingers in and crooks them just right.

I cry out, hips bucking.

“Yeah,” he growls. “There she is. Come on, baby. Let me feel you fall apart on my mouth.”

I do.

Hard.

Shaking. Moaning. Gone.

—-

But he’s not done.

He never is.

Mike crawls up my body, chest to chest, cock hard and heavy between us. He kisses me deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue.

Then he slides in—slow and thick, inch by inch until I’m gasping again.

“You feel that?” he rasps. “That stretch? That fullness?”

“Yes—God, yes.”

“Good. ‘Cause you’re not leaving this bed till I’m sure you’re bred.”

I shiver.

He starts to move—slow thrusts, deep and rough, his hand gripping my thigh, the other splayed wide on my belly like he’s already claiming it again.

“You’re mine,” he grits out. “This body, this pussy. Every inch. All mine.”

“Yours,” I whisper. “Always.”

And when I come again—wrung out, overwhelmed, totally his—he follows with a broken moan and a hard thrust.

Emptying himself inside me like he owns my soul.

Which he does.

—-

---