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He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t explain?—”
I snort, interrupting him. “Oh, let me guess. You can’t tell me, and I have to trust you?” I cross my arms and continue. “Well, that ‘I can’t tell you, but you have to trust me’ bullshit line is getting old. It should be the town slogan. ‘Welcome to Edgewood, where lies run rampant and promises are never followed through.’”
“Ariah, please, ” Owen pleads, but I will not be deterred.
“No.”
“Angel,” he mutters. This time more in warning.
I know I’m pushing him. I know from seeing him over the last couple of months he’s struggling, and I shouldn’t goad him, but I still don’t take heed.
“You need to get the fuck out of here and go return to the bitch you all chose to marry. Me and my babies will be just fine without you?—”
Owen crosses the room, startling me with his swiftness before I finish my sentence. His fingers sink into my hair, tugging gently until I peer into his eyes. “Our babies.”
My breath hitches at the feel of cool metal on my heated skin. Chills shoot down my spine straight between my legs as he slowly rests the blade against my thrumming pulse.
I want to be angry at myself for being turned on, but the sensation triggers memories of when Owen’s knife touched my skin. I have to fight back the moan, trapping it in my throat.
“I can feel you, Angel—see the lust and excitement in your eyes. Lola and I have missed you.”
Lola.
I weep at the mention of the knife that will only ever be mine, then blink away all its sentiments. He’s probably given Samantha a blade of her own or, worse, used Lola on her.
“Bet you say the same thing to her,” I snap.
“The only thing I’d ever want to feel is her blood pumping from her body after I’ve gutted her for what—” His lips thin, and I watch as Owen seems to fight with himself in real-time.
I scrunch my nose in confusion. Why the hell would he want to gut his fiancée?
He flexes his jaw, showcasing the sharp set of his cheekbones before he speaks again. “It will all make sense soon. I promise, Angel. But I didn’t come in here to discuss Samantha!” He says her name like a curse, further perplexing me. “I came to see you,” he growls before the sharp tip glides down into the crook of my neck, nicking my skin and drawing blood.
My hiss morphs into a moan when Owen’s mouth replaces his knife. The thudding in my chest multiplies as he sucks the flesh between his teeth, making my nipples pucker and my knees go weak.
Owen releases his grip on my hair and wraps his hand around my waist, preventing my fall.
I should be pushing him away. He’s no longer mine. But some part of me knows they’ll always be mine.
Except they’re not. They didn’t choose you!
“No, this isn’t right,” I mumble, sobered by my intrusive thoughts.
My protests are met with a nip of teeth and a hand slipping between us into my leggings. Owen expertly works his fingers into my panties and begins rubbing slow circles against my clit.
I groan, making one last attempt to find the willpower to push him away, but when two fingers sink into my pussy, I grip his muscular forearm and tug him closer.
Unlatching from my neck, Owen’s mouth crashes down on mine, and I moan at the taste of him. The sound urges him on. One hand fists my hair while the other spears in and out of me.
“M-more,” I gasp, riding his finger already on the precipice of release.
No further words are exchanged. Owen walks me backward toward the couch in the lounge area, only pausing long enough to pull my leggings and boyshorts off.
I squeal when he hoists me in the air, forcing me to wrap my thighs around his waist. Then he kneels, lowering me until my ass rests on the top of the couch.
Owen lifts my legs over his shoulders, positioning his mouth at my entrance. I claw at the material of the sofa when his heated breath puffs against the spread lips of my pussy.
“So fucking wet and perfect,” Owen groans before his tongue swipes the length of me. My head lolls back when his lips latch around my clit.
