Page 38 of Owned In Misty Mountain

His eyes are locked on my mouth. His jaw is tight. His Henley is stretched across his chest like it’s working overtime to hold in all that tension. All that heat.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stands, takes my empty plate, and walks it to the sink with deliberate movements.

When he turns back to me, there’s something in his eyes that makes me swallow hard. Something wild.

Like he still can’t believe I’m here. Whole and his.

He crosses the room and stops in front of me, voice low. “You sure?”

I nod, but it’s not enough. I stand, slide my hands under his shirt, and press my lips to his chest—right over his heart.

“I’m sure.”

—-

Mike takes my hand and leads me to his room.

The space is quiet. Dimly lit. It smells like him, plain soap and cedar.

He turns me toward him and lifts the hem of my hoodie.

Slowly. Like he’s unwrapping something delicate.

His fingertips brush my stomach as he peels the fabric away, and I shiver—not from cold, but from how tender he’s being. Like hedoesn’t want to risk hurting me after everything we’ve just been through.

He cups my cheek.

“You’re alive,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle down my jaw. “You’re safe.”

I reach for him. Frame his face. Press my lips to his and whisper, “So are you.”

Then I take his shirt off.

—-

He’s massive. Golden skin stretched over thick muscle. I trace the scars on his shoulders, down one side of his ribs. The fine trail of hair leading from his chest to the waistband of his jeans.

He watches me like I’m something he doesn’t dare touch.

So I keep going.

I reach for his belt. Undo the buckle. Tug down his jeans and his boxers.

His cock is thick. Hard. Veined. Already leaking.

And when I touch him—just the pad of one finger tracing down the underside—he hisses through his teeth.

“Shanay…”

“Yeah?” I whimper.

“You gotta let me take this slow. I need to feel all of you.”

—-

He lays me down like I’m everything he’s ever wanted.

My sweatpants are gone in a blink. So are my panties.

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