Page 15 of Owned In Misty Mountain

Because this is my girl.

My virgin.

My obsession.

And I’m gonna ruin her.

I hook my fingers in the waistband of her leggings, tug them down slow—watching her thighs, her panties, the soaked spot between them that makes my mouth water.

“Look at you,” I rasp. “So fucking ready for me.”

She gasps when I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

Another halfway up.

And when I finally nuzzle against her pussy, mouth warm over damp cotton, she moans like she’s never felt anything like it.

I mouth her through her panties until she’s shaking—hips rocking, hands in my hair, thighs squeezing around my head.

Then I slide the fabric aside and lick her for real.

Long. Slow. Deep.

Her whole body jolts.

“Mike—oh my God—”

I groan against her clit, lapping her up like a man starved, dragging two fingers along her slick entrance but not pushing in. Not yet.

“I’m gonna eat this sweet pussy until you come all over my tongue, Shanay,” I growl. “Then I’m gonna carry you home and take what’s mine.”

She cries out—high and wrecked.

And I don’t stop.

Eight

Shanay

His mouth is on me.

Mike Costa—gruff, quiet, too-old-for-me Mike—is on his knees, holding my thighs open and devouring me like I’m his last meal.

And I can’t think.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t even remember my own name.

All I know is that his tongue is circling my clit, slow and steady, while his fingers press deep into my thighs to hold me still—like he knew I’d try to squirm away from the overwhelming pressure.

“Mike—” I gasp, head falling back against a bookshelf.

I feel his growl before I hear it. The vibration rips through me and I nearly come right there.

My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling, desperate, and he groans like he likes it.

“This sweet little pussy,” he rasps between licks, voice all wrecked and low. “Never been touched. Never been tasted.”

---