Page 80 of Owned

His fingers moved in me and I moved with them, writhing in his lap, ignoring the crowd that watched just beyond the spotlight. They didn’t matter to me. Only he did.

Pleasure was a slow clench of a fist, but he didn’t close it all the way, much to my disappointment. He moved again, and I protested, knowing already he liked hearing it because when he shifted to kneel in front of the couch and his golden eyes flared. He stared ferociously up at me as he carefully lifted my legs over his shoulders. Then he leaned forward, bent his head, and began eating me out with all the relish of a starving man at a feast.

The pleasure was incredible. I writhed as his wicked tongue pushed into me and then began to explore. He put one hand on my bare stomach, holding me down, the pressure intensifying everything.

“Who do you want, beauty?” he growled against my wet flesh. “Who do you want to make you come?”

I wasn’t too far gone to notice that I wasn’t ‘toy’ now and that thrilled me. “Y-You,” I gasped aloud. “Please Atlas…”

He lapped at me, his tongue pushing deeper, his gaze blazing into mine as he licked, the intimacy of his stare an aphrodisiac all on its own. There were people watching us yet under the spotlight it was just him and me.

Him and me and the physical magic we created together.

He watched me as he worked me with his tongue to fever pitch, and then he murmured, “I want you to scream when you come. Scream, so everyone can hear how much pleasure I give you.” And his finger pressed down on my clit and the orgasm swept over me, and I gave him what he wanted. I screamed his name as I came.

I was still shaking when he lowered my legs and got to his feet. Then he looked down at me, his hand on the first button on his jeans. “My turn,” he said roughly.

“Wait,” I murmured, pushing myself off the couch, my thighs trembling. “Let me.” And I reached for his belt, my hands shaking.

His hand fell away and he let me unbutton his jeans. He wasn’t wearing underwear, there was only the heat of his cock as I drew him out all hot, velvet skin. Then I leaned forward and licked him, loving the taste of him, salty and masculine.

I knelt there, worshipping his cock with my tongue and my teeth, sucking and nipping him, licking him and making him growl. Because I was starting to realize that as much as he wanted everyone here to see that I was his, I wanted them to know that he was mine.

It wasn’t shocking to understand that about myself. It felt natural. He was a passionate man and I was a passionate women and we matched each other perfectly in so many ways, including that. So I didn’t hold back as the possessiveness rushed over me. And when he looked down and met my gaze, I let him see it.

He was mine just as I was his.

He gave a growl when I abruptly pulled away, but he didn’t stop me as I rose to my feet, reaching for the hem of his T-shirt and pulling it up. He had to help me because I wasn’t tall enough to get it over his head, but then it was off and his chest was bare, and I got to lick his skin. Got to run my tongue over the cut lines of his abs and the hollow of his throat, his nipples and then, as I pulled down his jeans so he was as naked as I was, everywhere else. Worshipping him as he worshipped me, driving him to the edge in front of all of these people.

Until finally he gripped me, his patience gone and started to put me on my knees at the front of the dais, but I pulled him onto the couch instead, settling myself under him. “I want to see your face,” I whispered as he came down on top me.

He said nothing as he spread my thighs and for a long moment, he just looked at me, the smoky gold of his eyes boring into mine. Heat burned there, along with something else, something powerful and violent, that made the blood rush hard in my veins and my breath catch hard.

What Charlotte had told me in the car about how he’d covered up a murder had been shocking but I hadn’t been afraid. I knew Atlas was ruthless, that he’d done some questionable things, but over the course of the few weeks I’d been living with him, I knew what else he was.

Caring and gentle when he wanted to be. Kind. Generous. But there was a fierce spirit in him that needed to be set free, a warrior spirit, and all of a sudden I knew that’s what he’d been afraid of. The piece of him he thought was his father’s. It wasn’t his father’s though. It was his. It was his own hunger and desire, his need to be loved, and I knew because I’d felt the same need in me.

He would never admit it, but I wanted to give it to him nonetheless. And make him feel it.

Slowly he pushed inside me, sinking in deep and then he stayed there. He didn’t move and I felt no urgency, just ripples of pleasure, sparkling like bubbles in champagne, effervescent. Lost in the gold of his eyes.

There was no sound in the room, as if everyone was held spellbound in this moment along with us.

I stared up at Atlas, this beautiful, powerful man, this billionaire who could have had his pick of anyone. This man who was so intense, so possessive, and so afraid of what he wanted. But he didn’t need to be afraid, because that’s why I was here. I was his, no one else’s and I didn’t to be anyone else’s, not ever.

I reached out and touched his cheekbone, the pressure of what I felt too much to keep inside. “You,” I whispered to him. “I choose you.”

His gaze flared, intensity blazing in it as he began to move at last, a deep, slow slide in and out, pleasure catching hard inside me with every thrust.

Inexplicable emotion clogged in my throat and it took me a minute to understand why this was affecting me so intensely. Why there was this incredible feeling pressing hard in my chest, against my heart. A feeling as violent and intense as the look in his eyes.

It mattered to me, because he mattered to me.

At some point, at some time, despite my best intentions, I’d fallen in love with Atlas Blackwood. With his intensity, his passion, his ruthlessness. With his fierce spirit that was somehow a match for mine. With his own brand of rough honesty, and with well of deep feeling that I could see right now, blazing in his eyes.

I loved him and perhaps always had.

He moved deeper, slower, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, dug my fingers into the powerful muscles of his shoulders, and moved with him. And then when the orgasm came, as brutal and relentless as he was, I whispered to him, so only he could hear.

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