Page 186 of The Owner's Temptation

It’s not soft. It’s not shy. It’s all the emotions I can’t say out loud—everything I’m feeling, everything I need. Our mouths crash together like a storm, and he answers me with the same intensity.

I climb into his lap, straddling him without a second thought. When I feel his cock, hard and thick between us, I moan into his mouth.

I need this. I need him. To feel alive. To feel wanted. To remind myself that I made it out.

He doesn’t stop me. He just growls deep in his throat as I shift, lining us up.

I slide down on him, slow and steady, and we both groan. He fills me completely. Stretching me, claiming me in the most primal way possible.

Everything else fades.

The world falls silent. The fear is gone. The blood, the screams, the guns—it all disappears.

There’s only us.

We move together like we’ve done it a thousand times, but it still feels brand new. Intimate. Deep. His hands roam my body like it’s sacred. My nails dig into his shoulders as I roll my hips, and his lips never stop kissing me.

He holds my face when I come. Whispers my name. Tells me I’m perfect.

And when he follows—his body tense beneath mine, his release thick and hot inside me—I swear I feel it in my soul.

He buries his face in my neck, breathing hard, clutching me tight like letting go would break him.

Maybe it would break me too.

But right now, in this moment, I’ve never felt more whole.

He washes my hair like it’s the most important thing he’s ever done.

His strong fingers massage the shampoo into my scalp, slow and soothing. I sigh as he moves with care, rinsing and conditioning, his touch gentle but thorough.

When he wraps my hair in a towel, he makes me bend forward for him to twist and secure it like a makeshift crown. I’m swaddled in warmth and tenderness and a robe so soft it feels like clouds.

It swallows me whole—and I love it.

“I can walk,” I mumble, wriggling a little in his arms as he carries me from the bathroom.

“I know.” He doesn’t stop. Just tightens his hold and keeps moving until I’m seated on the cool marble counter of his kitchen.

“You need to eat something.”

His voice is steady again. Controlled. Like he’s trying to reestablish some version of calm—for both of us. He moves around the space with confidence, pulling ingredients like it’s second nature.

A bottle of red is opened and poured. He hands me a glass, the rim clinking against mine with a softcheersbefore he takes a sip and starts to cook.

And holy hell—he knows what he’s doing.

He minces garlic with exact precision. Blisters cherry tomatoes in olive oil until they pop and burst. Tosses fresh basil in like a flourish. When the pasta is al dente, he drains it and swirls everything together with a handful of grated parmesan.

The entire space smells like heaven.

But nothing compares to the view. The towel slung low on his hips reveals the defined cut of his abs and that sharp V that disappears beneath the cotton. I can’t stop looking.

Especially not when the outline of his cock shifts beneath the fabric as he moves.

My thighs clench, heat coiling in my belly like instinct. I’m seconds from dropping to my knees right here in his kitchen when his eyes catch mine.

He grins. Smug. Dangerous. Fucking perfect.

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