Page 64 of Owned

I could hardly breathe, definitely couldn’t move, every part of me feeling as if I was being invaded by him. Conquered in a very real and disturbingly erotic sense. Take it, I’d challenged him and he was definitely taking it. He was taking me.

His mouth shifted, his teeth against the delicate cords of my neck as he nipped and bit, then sucked hard. The movement of his hips was making me shift restlessly beneath him as hot, bright strikes of pleasure arced through me.

He moved again, releasing one of my wrists a moment to jerk down his zipper and free his cock, then he was between my legs again, the hot blunt head of his dick pushing into me. I was already wet and he slid in easily, making us both groan. My sex was stretched around him, my thighs spread wide, every part of me wide and open to him.

He paused, deep inside me, sliding his hands beneath my knees and drawing my legs around his waist. Then he reared up, shifting yet again, hooking my knees over his shoulders, my hips almost off the bed as he pushed deeper and deeper.

A wail escaped me, the feeling of invasion almost overwhelming. He was everywhere, around me, inside of me, as if there wasn’t enough room for both myself and him.

“This is what I mean,” he hissed through his teeth as he wound powerful arms around my thighs, keeping my hips high and his dick firmly planted. “By taking everything.” He thrust, deep and hard, I groaned aloud. “Every part of you, toy, is mine.” He withdrew then thrust again, golden eyes burning into mine. “Who is your master, toy?” Another deep thrust. “Who owns you?”

I twisted in his grip, an orgasm building and building relentlessly inside me. “Y-You,” I stuttered.

“Say my name.”

“You…oh…god….A-Atlas.”

“That’s right,” he said roughly. “I do.”

Then he shifted his hand, one finger pressing down on my clit and I came, screaming his name.

22

Atlas

I sat in one of the armchairs in Caleb’s study in Arcadia, my legs kicked out in front of me, a good scotch sitting on a table at my elbow. Ten had the armchair opposite while Caleb lounged on the sofa between us.

We were meeting to discuss Charlotte, though I had a few things of my own to arrange with Cal.

It had been a couple of weeks since Rowan and I had married, and she was now comfortably ensconced in my loft, Cait having taken a room at one of the mental health facilities I’d recommended.

Charlotte had immediately been on Rowan’s case about fertility clinic visits in the days following the wedding, but I’d called her and explained why fertility clinic visits were no longer necessary and I was specific. Charlotte had sounded suspiciously pleased about it, which made no sense to me, but that wasn’t my problem.

My problem was dealing with the blackmail information she was holding over Ten’s head. Something had to be done. I’d been casual about it before, thinking that all it would involve would be a sham marriage, a few sperm samples, and that was it. But things were different now. Rowan was involved and the baby might already be a reality rather than samples in a jar, and I had underestimated my feelings about that. Greatly underestimated, as it turned out.

Bottom line, though, there was no way was I giving up any kid of mine to Charlotte Hamilton.

However, that presented us with a problem, because Charlotte had every conceivable official in the city in her pocket, belonging as she did to one of America’s most famous political dynasties, and the blackmail information she was holding over Ten was real. She could send him to jail and there wouldn’t be a thing Ten, Cal, and I could do about it. We were rich and powerful, sure, but Charlotte had a century or more of wealth and influence behind her, and that was difficult to combat.

“Lawyers,” I said into the silence. “We could tie up the process with appeals and all sorts of bullshit. Could give us time to work something else out.”

“Sure,” Cal murmured. “But any kind of trial and or conviction will involve publicity, and that’ll tank Fox Tech.

He wasn’t wrong, fuck it.

Ten leaned forward, hands clasped. “I should answer for?—”

“No,” I interrupted, knowing already what he was going to say, the self-sacrificing prick. “We’ve had this discussion approximately ten thousand times and it’s still no.”

Ten looked at me, blue eyes like ice. “You do not speak for me, Atlas.”

I leaned forward, mimicking his posture. “And do you remember who helped you cover that shit up? Who will also go down with you?” I stared at him. “You might want to nail yourself to that cross but I don’t, not when I have a wife and possibly a child to protect. Also, I think Zara might have something to say about you and your martyr tendencies, or did you really want to abandon her?”

Ten’s mouth firmed. “Your pretend wife, you mean,” he said, his voice chilly.

“It’s not pretend.” I kept my tone flat. “I’m keeping her and if there’s a child, then the child too.” And there would be a child, of that I had no doubt. Not after the past two weeks.

Something had softened in Rowan, or maybe relaxed was a better word. She’d settled into my house as if she’d been there her entire life, and it made my chest tighten every time I walked in to find her sitting on the couch doing something on her laptop or reading. Sometimes she was cooking and sometimes she was on her phone, talking to Cait. She never seemed to be still. And sometimes — when I’d texted her my instructions — she was waiting naked in the hallway, ready for me when I got home.

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