Chapter 10
Mira
I force my eyes open, and memories from the night before fade in and out. And the realization of whose bed I’m waking up in hits me.
I look over at the other side of the bed, and I’m met with a faded imprint. Where’s Owen?
Shit, I must’ve fallen asleep. Ugh…
I roll my eyes, feeling annoyed with myself. I’m pissed that nothing happened and that I didn’t make a more forward move as I laid next to him in his bed. Every part of me wanted to fuck him—and still does—despite everything that happened.
I want that twelve-inch cock in me. And I almost had him. But nope…of course, I would fall asleep.
My ears perk up, hoping to hear some movement in the master bathroom or sounds of pots and pans in the kitchen. But there’s only silence.
I peel my legs out from under the thick covers and onto the cool wood floor and drag my feet over to the bathroom. I peek inside, thinking that he might be in there, even though I know he isn’t—the door’s wide open. I was just hoping that I’d be greeted by a naked and freshly showered Owen.
I splash some water on my face and square my shoulders at the reflection in front of me.
I’m impressed. I still look good after the cluster fuck that was last night. I sigh, feeling the sexual tension still lingering in my muscles. I twist my neck and stretch my arms, hoping to loosen them.
I notice a bottle of cologne in the middle of the large granite vanity. I pick it up to smell it, and my body tingles.
It smells of him, and it’s damn intoxicating. It’s a warm woodsy smell with hints of sweet spices. It feels like I’m drinking a rich scotch.
And I do love my scotch, mostly when it slowly slides down my body.
It makes me want to search him down, find him, and pounce. Force him underneath me and take him for the ride of his life.
I chuckle to myself, enjoying how that’d look and imagining how it would feel. My fingers know how to get the job done, but I know that him and that cock of his will go above and beyond what’s required.
I put the bottle back where it was, not wanting to get caught snooping, and walk through the bedroom and out towards the kitchen.
I look around, thinking I’ll find him somewhere in this massive penthouse, but no luck.
I beeline to his coffeemaker, needing some caffeine, and search through his cabinets until I find the Italian roast coffee.
Ahh, yes! I’ll take a hot cup of coffee on the side of a steaming hot man, please and thank you! Waking up to that every morning would be a dream.
I rummage through his fridge, looking for something to eat, and find some Greek yogurt and fresh berries. I guess this will do.
I’d rather have a hearty, more pleasurable breakfast, but there isn’t much in this house, surprisingly. I bet he has a housekeeper who shops for him and a cook who makes his meals.
I would hate that. Like everything else in my life, I like to have control, especially over what food I buy, cook, and eat.
I arrange a simple parfait and pour myself a cup of coffee. I sit on one of the barstools in the center island and begin to seriously contemplate his whereabouts.
Where in the hell is he?
It’s his place, after all; he couldn’t have just left me here alone. I might be a part of his family, ugh, but I’m still a stranger. And everyone tells you to not trust a stranger in your house, even though I am harmless.
Um…harmless to an extent. Apparently, there are many things in harm’s way with me just being here. It’s really fucking annoying, and everything in me just wants to say fuck it.
Hell, that’s what I’ve been doing so far.
I hear the front door slam, and I yelp, not expecting it.
Owen storms in, fuming. He briefly stares at me and throws a box of Danishes on the counter. He then slaps down the latest issue of The Capitalist Chronicle.