Chapter Seven
511 Words
“We’re such a good team!” she chirped, bouncing over to him, wiping her sweaty hands on a rag.
She opened her mouth to say something else—
And Owen moved.
He snatched the rag from her hands and shoved it between her lips, gagging her mid-sentence.
Leia’s eyes went wide.
Shock first.
Then a rush of heat so fierce it felt like her body was betraying her before her brain could catch up.
Oh.
Oh.
Was he—?
He was.
Her thighs clenched instinctively, arousal shooting straight to her core.
Owen grabbed her waist and slammed her back against the damp wall, knocking the breath from her lungs.
Paint smeared across her arms, her back, her thighs, but Leia barely noticed.
She whimpered against the gag, heart pounding, caught somewhere between laughing and moaning.
Her whole body shuddered as he pinned her wrists above her head with one strong, paint-slicked hand, yanking her shorts down with the other in a single brutal motion. Fear skimming the edges of arousal, then vanishing, swallowed by the way he held her.
Her knees wobbled.
Her pulse screamed.
She whimpered into the rag again, trying to nod, trying to say yes, yes, yes—
---
Owen looked down at her with something dark and consuming in his eyes.
And then—
Without warning—
He was inside her.
She thought it was him. All of him. The part that still wanted her.
She didn’t realize he was mentally somewhere else entirely.
Leia’s back slapped against the wet wall, paint streaking across her shoulder blades.
She cried out behind the gag, the sound shredded and messy, and he didn’t slow down.
Not once.
Not even a little.
---
He gripped a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back, exposing her throat.
He drove into her again and again, the rhythm brutal, the wall behind her rattling with every thrust.
Paint streaked her skin.
She couldn’t stop moaning.
Couldn’t stop grinding against him.
Her ass slapped against the wall with every brutal collision, every hungry drive of his hips.
Her hands fluttered uselessly against his shoulders, nails scraping for purchase, desperate for more, more, more—
He shoved her higher up the wall.
Her thighs trembled around his waist, barely keeping her anchored.
She was messy, wrecked, dripping with sweat and paint and drool, but she didn’t care.
She felt him shudder.
Felt the way his grip tightened.
Felt the deep, primal grind of him coming inside her, hips jerking against her brutally.
---
When he finally pulled back, she blinked up at him through dazed, heavy-lidded eyes.
Paint streaked her vision.
Her chest heaved.
She was smiling around the soggy gag, grinning stupidly.
He pulled the rag from her mouth and tossed it aside.
She giggled breathlessly, slumping against the ruined wall.
She didn’t notice the silence.
Didn’t see the way he looked through her, not at her.
Didn’t feel the ghost he’d painted over her skin.
"God, that was hot," she panted. "We should ruin the guest room next—"
- Writer
