Page 187 of The Owner's Temptation

“I didn’t peg you as someone who knows how to cook,” I say, voice casual, but my insides are a war zone of arousal.

“Contrary to what you may think,” he murmurs, lifting a wooden spoon to my lips, “I don’t survive off eating your pussy.”

The bite is perfect. Garlicky, salty, rich—and my stomach growls in appreciation.

He kisses me quickly. “Though it is my favorite delicacy.”

I hum. “I actually thought you lived off espresso.”

That earns me a real laugh. Deep and warm.

The whole pot goes to the table—no plates, no pretense. Just two forks. Just a few bites in and I set my utensil down.

He pulls me into his lap without warning, positioning me sideways with one leg on either side of his thighs. The robe falls open between us, exposing the soft heat of my center.

“You need to eat a little more for me, Angel,” he murmurs, holding a forkful up to my mouth.

His other hand slides between my legs. No warning. No hesitation.

His fingers graze my folds, parting them as I gasp.

“Can you do that for me?” he whispers, voice like gravel dipped in sin.

I nod, lips parted, eyes already heavy with lust.

“Such a good girl. Open.”

I do. I take the bite and moan—not from the pasta but from the way his fingers curl inside me a second later.

He works me slow. Gentle. Unhurried.

Each thrust matches his praise. Each bite is followed by a deeper ache.

Another forkful. Another finger stroke. Anothergood girlwhispered against my throat.

It doesn’t take long.

I’m moaning. Rocking. Clenching.

And then I’m coming, soft and slow, everything melting around me as he holds me in his arms.

He licks his fingers clean, eyes locked on mine. I kiss him. Desperately. Tasting myself on his lips.

“I want you to fuck me one more time before we go to sleep,” I whisper between kisses. “Soft.” Another kiss. “Bring me back to life.”

His arms are under me in a second.

He carries me to the bedroom, laying me down with care, untying the robe and letting it fall away. His towel hits the floor. His body lowers into mine.

And it’s everything.

He doesn’t just take me—he worships me. Our bodies move in perfect tandem. His mouth speaks things I never thought I’d hear. Filthy. Reverent. Full of devotion I’m scared to name.

When I come again, it’s with his name in my throat and his breath in my mouth. He follows, his arms shaking around me, his release spilling into me like a vow.

I’m drifting. Sleep tugging at the edges of my mind when he moves again.

“Come on, baby. Don’t fall asleep with my cum inside you.”

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