Chapter 4: He Likes Fucking Me 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

She'd grown up, all right. She knew how to use her body to get what she wanted from him. Every time she pushed back, she did exactly this. Spread for him and ran her mouth at the same time. "What. I broke one mirror. Whose mirror is it, hm? I didn't like it."

"Adelaide," Owen said, looking right at her, "you don't like me either."

She stalled half a second, then came back light. "But you like me. Oh — wait. Sorry. You like fucking me." She laughed. The sound carried through the too-quiet room.

Owen was almost always composed. The only person who could pull the ripple to the surface was her. Most of the time the ripple was lust or anger.

"You'll have earned the right to say 'I don't like you' the day you stop putting out fires. Until then, you don't get the choice."

"You're the one who insists on being the man behind me. The day you let go is the day I'm allowed to be weak. Until then, why would I?"

Even at him, she wasn't taking a single one of his lines on the chin.

"Addie. Don't think I don't know what you're doing. You're testing my limits."

The flicker of irritation was gone. He was back to airtight composure.

He reached down and took her small foot in his hand, slow strokes along the ankle. The cut was still oozing a bit. It stuck to his fingertip.

"I thought a few years would domesticate you. Turns out, the opposite. You get bolder."

She tried to draw her foot back. He held it. She made herself smile, a sweet mean smile. "What did you expect. The man fucking me is the elite of the federal bench, and even that man has shown me his ugly little weapon. How do you expect me not to get a big head?"

She knew exactly how to provoke him.

"Everyone sees the suit and the badge and the righteous AUSA. Only I see the depraved animal underneath."

"You're worse than the lowlifes in your interrogation rooms. No — you're more brutal, more depraved. Rape, seduction, lies, manipulation. You've done all of it."

He listened, perfectly still. His eyes had the look of a calm dark sea, with something under the surface ready to break.

A strange long silence.

Then he smiled. He drew his hand up her bare leg. The ripple of pleasure went up her spine.

She frowned, then made herself smile again, made the moan come out exaggerated for him to hear. He caught the flinch she'd tried to bury.

Underneath the act, she was actually afraid of being fucked again. She was playing too dirty, too obvious, so he'd get bored sooner. Conquest and ruin were oxygen to him.

She was bright.

"When's the wedding? Soon, right. I'll need to get you a gift. To thank you for these three years of... attentive care." A pretty little knife in the line.

The other night, she'd accidentally overheard Edmund on the phone telling Owen to go to the Caldwells' immediately. She'd thought: once he marries, this private thing will have to die.

Owen saw right through her. "You think marriage will free you?"

"Why, AUSA Halloway — are you planning to keep a mistress? Aren't you worried about a misconduct complaint?"

She wasn't wrong. Cheating could derail his career. He wasn't stupid. Without the position he held, Adelaide Beaumont would have come at him with claws out years ago.

"Mistress isn't even the right word for what you are. You think that's what this is just because you say it? Mistresses get accounts in their name. They get audits. You and me — at best, this is a trade in skin. The only proof you have is the semen samples. You want to make a tape, for evidence?"

He could flick her off like that. She wasn't equipped to fight back when he went sharp. Every line drew blood. The mistress line was the worst — he was telling her she didn't even rate.

The smile dropped. She pulled her legs back and closed them.

She glared at him. "After you're married you're still going to come fuck me. Doesn't it disgust you, Owen?"

He made a small cold sound and slightly narrowed his eyes. "Do you think I care?" As he said it he was tugging his tie loose. The tie hit the chair. He took off the jacket. Tossed it. His long fingers undid three buttons of his shirt. A flash of chest showed through. He never broke eye contact. The whole sequence was easy. Practiced. He was telling her with his body that he was going to take her.

She watched him. Her chest tightened.

What else could she do but curse him out. Owen Halloway, depraved animal in a tailored suit — perfect example, right now.

Apparently she couldn't outdo him in shameless. Her acts had been wasted.

She gave it up. The performance fell off her face. She just looked at him, cold.

"Why the face?" He put one knee on the bed. He moved up toward her slowly. She scooted back, holding the sheet.

"You called. You said you'd come."

"Owen, you've had me three nights in a row. Are you not a person?"

Talking to him about being a person almost made him laugh. She was starting to actually panic — she was running out of moves.

He reached out and caught her thin ankle.

He pulled. She clawed at the sheets. The bed was wrecked in a second, a prelude before he'd even started.

His hand was big enough to cover her chest. His hand was big enough to encircle the top of her thigh.

She couldn't resist the strength. Her legs were pried open easily. Her breath was already short and his mouth — the mouth in that severe handsome face — was already coming down toward her cunt.

He clicked his tongue softly. "Still swollen. Pink. Look at that. Bet anything you can't even bear me touching it."

He was so close she'd stopped breathing.

"Mm—!" His hot mouth was on her.

He sucked. He licked from bottom to top in one wet, audible drag. Her swollen pink was so overworked already that everything sent shocks straight up her spine. Her skin wasn't just itching for it. It was a full-body pulse.

He pulled back a little, breathing hot against her. Her body went into small shakes.

"Tonight I'm going to teach you how to show me your cunt properly. Not the sloppy version you've been pulling." He stuck his tongue out and just barely set the tip against her entrance, the lightest tease of a lick. "It's not enough to spread the lips. Open this little hole. Show me this..."

The filthy things hit her with the rest of it. Her color went up to the roots of her hair. She pushed at him but had no leverage. From the waist down she was his.

He flicked the soft pink rim. "You're tight and you're soft. The second I push in you grip me like you've been waiting all day. Like you want me in your womb."

He pushed his tongue inside. She cried out. Her hips bucked up.

The thin pink membrane stretched. She was going to die. She was streaming down there, both lips snapping in and out hard.

He sucked hard, deep, fast. Her breath came shorter, her face a hot red, her nipples standing up tight and hard.

The sound between her thighs was obscene, slick streaming down.

Don't let any more out. Please.

He drank her in. "Haven't seen you come from this in a while. Tonight I want you to squirt in my mouth. I've missed your taste."

She turned her face away from him.

The huge bedroom window made a half-mirror in the dim — she could see them both. Her own bare body laid back, the strap of her dress fallen, breasts on display, bouncing with each breath she took. Owen still fully dressed, only the front of his suit pants strained tight over the hard line of him.

Break one mirror, there's a thousand more.

The pleasure got worse, and so did the misery.

Her body twisted on the bed, hips small-arching, white round ass clenching. The pink between her thighs was running so wet that the wetness ran down to the crease and dripped onto the duvet, soft little ticks of liquid.

She couldn't catch her breath. Her ears filled with the sound of her own pulse.

Her legs were finally lowered. Her eyes had unfocused. The heat was a melted thing inside her, waiting for him to stir it.

The second her gaze met his she said his name, unintentional, lost. "Owen..."

He lifted both her legs up, one in each hand, and lined the thick head of his cock up with the small entrance of her, and shoved.

"—Ah!" Her whole upper body came off the bed. Too deep, too thick, too much.

He let out a long satisfied sound — low and rough, soaked through with hunger.