POV Noelle
I should have told him to leave.
I should have screamed, should have pushed him away again, should have said anything that resembled self-preservation. But my body didn’t get the memo.
I should have cared about what my father would think. But right now? I didn’t want Owen fired. I wanted him mine.
So when he told me to take off my clothes, I did.
My hands trembled as I peeled my top over my head. My breathing was already ragged, heart pounding like it wanted out of my chest. I dropped it to the floor, fingers fumbling at my bra.
The clasp felt foreign, clumsy against my skin, but I managed it.
Then came the shorts. The panties.
Every piece of clothing felt heavier than it should, like I was peeling off more than fabric. Like I was shedding every lie I’d told myself about control, about safety, about him.
I wasn’t thinking, not clearly. Maybe I just didn’t want to think anymore.
Owen looked at me like he was memorizing me. Like this was a line he swore he’d never cross—but now that he had, he wasn’t stopping.
“Get on your bed, angel,” he said.
I laid back on the bed, completely bare, pulse fluttering beneath my skin like a live wire.
Owen stood at the foot of the bed, eyes fixed on me like I was something sacred and sinful all at once. His jaw was tight, chest heaved, but he didn’t pounce.
He dropped to his knees before me. The sight alone made my breath catch.
His hands slid slowly up my thighs, palms warm, fingers strong as they pressed against the softness of my skin. He parted my legs like he had every right to, like he owned this moment.
My breath hitched as the cool air kissed the wet heat between my thighs, and then his mouth was suddenly so close.
His breath ghosted over my soaked folds, and I whimpered—helpless, aching.
“You smell like sin,” he murmured, voice dark and rough. “And fucking heaven.”
Then his mouth was on me.
His tongue dragged a long, slow stroke over my clit, and I shattered with a cry, my hips bucking. He growled against me and wrapped his arms under my thighs, holding me down.
Anchoring me to the bed while he devoured me like he had all the time in the world.
His tongue circled, teased, then flattened and licked again—sucking just enough to make me sob. My fingers tangled in the sheets, head tossing side to side as I gasped his name.
I’d touched myself before. Thought I knew what pleasure felt like.
But this? This was entirely different. Filthy. Consuming. Perfect.
Owen moaned like he was the one being wrecked by it.
“Look at you,” he growled against my pussy. “Already this wet. Let me give you something else to remember.”
And I did. I remembered everything—the scrape of his stubble, the way he groaned when I gasped, the way he didn’t stop when I came. Not when I whimpered. Not when my thighs shook.
Not even when my orgasm tore through me, loud and sharp and unrelenting.
He just kept going, licking me through it, lapping at every trembling wave, sucking and teasing until I was crying from the intensity.
When he finally pulled away, his mouth was wet with me, his eyes dark with hunger. I reached for him, not even knowing what I was asking, just needing him closer.
“Please…” I breathed.
He climbed over me, muscles taut with restraint, kissed me deep and slow, and I tasted myself on his tongue. Then his gaze dropped to my flushed, naked body like he wanted to devour me all over again.
Owen stood, reaching for the hem of his shirt, dragging it over his head with one clean pull. My breath hitched at the sight of him—broad, scarred, every inch carved in muscle and fight.
He unbuckled his belt slowly, the metallic sound of the clasp making my thighs clench. Then the zipper. The slide of denim.
His cock sprang free, thick, heavy, hard enough to make my mouth go dry.
Owen climbed onto the bed, crawling over me with a predator’s grace, the heat of his body sinking into mine. He hovered there, forehead pressed to mine, jaw tight with restraint.
“Just this once,” he growled, voice low and dark, “I’m going to be a fucking gentleman.”
I swallowed hard, heart pounding like a drum.
“For your first time,” he murmured, brushing his nose against mine, “I’ll be soft. I’ll be slow. I’ll hold back.”
His hand slid along my thigh, up to my hip. Gentle. Reverent.
“But make no mistake, angel…” He kissed the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then the edge of my throat. “After this, once I know you can take it… I’m going to ruin you.”
I gasped as his cock nudged against my pussy, slick and swollen and… so fucking big. My body tensed, already fearing it and craving it.
“I’m going to treat you like the teasing little slut you are,” he growled into my ear, voice deep and burning. “Make you scream. Cry. Beg.” His teeth closed gently on my neck, just enough to make me gasp. “And you’ll love every second of it.”
A moan spilled out of me, soft and sharp, helpless and soaked in want. I didn’t try to hide it. I couldn’t.
He lined himself up, cock heavy at my entrance, his body braced above mine like he was barely holding back a storm. His tip pressed inside, just a stretch of heat, and then he stilled.
“Tell me you still want it.”
I nodded, breathless, wrapping my legs around his waist like my body already knew who it belonged to.
“I want you,” I breathed. “All of you.”
And God, he gave it to me.
Slowly. Carefully. So damn deep.
He rolled his hips forward, inch by inch, splitting me open with the kind of stretch that made my back arch and my mouth drop open on a silent moan. My nails sank into his shoulders, legs tightening around his hips.
It burned. It ached.
But it was perfect.
From being filled, from feeling every thick, unrelenting inch of him sink inside me until there was no space left. Only Owen. Only this.
“Okay?” he murmured, his forehead pressing to mine.
I nodded, wide-eyed, breath caught in my throat. “It’s… intense. But yes. Okay.”
He kissed me then. Slow. Devouring. His hips rocked forward again, gentle but deep, like he was fucking me with reverence instead of rage. His hand cradled the back of my neck like I might break. His voice, when he spoke, was thick and reverent.
“You feel like heaven,” he rasped. “So fucking tight. So warm.”
His praise made my whole body shiver.
I moaned into his mouth, overwhelmed and open, every nerve lit up and hungry. He kept it slow, deep strokes that made me feel every part of him, holding himself back with visible effort.
And when my body adjusted—when I started moving against him, lifting my hips, rolling my spine—he groaned, guttural and raw.
“You’re doing so good, angel,” he whispered, voice breaking as his thrusts sped up slightly. “So fucking good.”
The orgasm built too fast, sharp and aching, like I’d been on edge for years and never knew. It ripped through me in a rush of moans and clenched thighs, my body pulsing around his cock like it couldn’t stand to let go.
I came with a cry, clinging to him, trembling. He held me through it, kissed my jaw, my mouth, whispered things I couldn’t even process. And when my body sagged beneath him, legs open, breath uneven, completely spent—he changed.
His grip tightened. His hips drew back. And the fire in his eyes went from restraint… to reckoning.
“I warned you,” he growled, slamming back into me, hard enough to jolt my spine against the mattress.
I gasped, the sound punched out of me. My whole body lit up again.
“Now,” he snarled, voice rough and shaking with control he wasn’t holding onto anymore, “I’m going to fuck you how I need to.”
He flipped me like I weighed nothing, planting me facedown against the mattress. I barely had time to catch my breath before his hand came down hard against the curve of my ass.
The smack echoed, followed by the searing heat of his palm. I moaned, wrecked, breathless.
Then his hand wrapped around the front of my throat—firmly, pulling my back into his chest, his cock already driving into me from behind, deeper than before.
“You thought you can tease me,” he hissed in my ear, voice dark, animal. “For months. Look at me like that. Talk back.”
He thrust again—hard, brutal, perfect.
“This is what it costs, angel.” Another thrust. Harder. “You owe me.”
His grip on my throat tightened just enough to make my pulse pound harder.
“And I’m going to take it back—in moans. In screams. In every goddamn orgasm your body can give me.”