THE CONTROL: An Arranged Marriage Romance by Elena Monroe (best big ereader txt) 📗

the spiraling stairs that led up to my hideaway. The corners of my mouth curved up just at the sound of his voice.

There would never come a day where my soul wouldn’t recognize him, my was heart so full it could burst. I would never stop feeling connected to him in a way that made me feel like our lives were entwined.

Looking over my shoulder, honing in on his footsteps, I smiled to myself, turning back to the canvas to finish the shading under his brow bone when I felt his hands hug my hips under the smock.

“It’s not fair, you know. You worshipping me like this.” His husky voice fell over my shoulder as his bare chest pressed into my shoulder blades. His warm lips planted a kiss on my neck as my head dipped to the other side to let him do it again.

Dropping the paintbrush in the cup of water, I exhaled feeling worshipped the same way he admired in my paintings of him. “You aren’t worshipping me right now, Bowey?”

His hand dropped from my hips, pushing between my legs when he whispered against the corner of my mouth, “Not yet I wasn’t…” I felt the pads of his fingers bully my clit into awakening when he whispered again, “Now I am, baby. Worshipping you the exact way you worship me. It’s a reckoning kind of feeling, isn’t it?”

I shuddered against his fingers teasing me, and my paint covered fingers grasped onto his bicep for leverage. I was already putty for him and he barely laid a finger on me. The wetness between my legs and the goosebumps on my arms told me a silent orgasm already waved through me.

He could breathe on me, twinkle those stormy eyes in my direction from across the room, flash the smile that only I got to see, and I would come for him.

Untying the smock from the back, his hands vacated the place I wanted them the most, helping me to bare my body that was no longer frail or broken. My hips had curves you could get into a car wreck on, my breasts were more teardrop, and my thighs had a jiggle to them that made me smile at all the delicious things I liked to eat now. His arms wrapped around my waist when his fingers muddled their way through the cool tone blue left on my palette and he drew a line from my neck to my nipple. “No song, no words, no amount of paint can capture the amount of beauty you have.

I was suffocating in Bowey. Being surrounded by paintings of him, with his body against my back, and his fingers trying to paint me all at once—it was everything I would ever need. My cheeks flushed in a kind of heat that felt unnatural at his words. I was still getting used to the version of my Bowey that was no longer afraid to let me see how much he loved me, even years later after saving each other.

His mouth covered my neck and shoulder before his hand in mine dragged me away. There was a couch upstairs in the attic that had been there before I claimed the space as my own. An emerald green, velour couch with a sheet half draped over it, doing a poor job of protecting it from dust.

Before I could twist around to sit on the couch his hand grasped my hip and his lips whispered against the shell of my ear, “On your knees, baby. Hands on the back of the couch.”

I wasn’t going to argue. There wasn’t a position or genre of sex that I didn’t like, as long as Bowey was filling me, I was content.

Although we did land somewhere that was much more desperate than love making. We devoured each other the way true lovers did. We didn’t waste a second on mediocre sex, we fucked until we couldn’t come anymore.

Pressing my knees into the soft surface, I stuck my ass out and pressed my forearms into the back of the couch waiting for Bowen to touch me. When he finally did I felt his flat hand smack against my ass with an unfamiliar wet sound echoing in the room.

Looking over my shoulder, I saw Bowen standing there, holding my paint palette with that infamous smirk that knew exactly what he was doing.

His belt jingled, undoing it before unzipping his pants, the sound echoing only in my ears while I waited patiently for him to close the gap between us. When his hands finally touched me again, I felt his warm crotch nudge against my ass until my knees fell even more apart and my back arched for him automatically.

“Bowey,” I begged him to stop toying with me the same instant I felt his tip stretch into me in a way that made me still. My hands fisted the back of the couch, already shaking like I was coming, and he wasn’t even inside me yet.

Letting me adjust to his size, his paint covered fingers ran up my spine, the cold paint making my nipples tighten and my pussy clench around him.

Slamming into me from the back, I felt my breasts sway with each thrust from behind and my hands grasp on tighter like it was the only leverage I had to keep myself up right. “Fuck, still so tight after all these years, Evey. When are you going to let yourself get used to me?”

It didn’t matter how many times he invaded the space between my legs, I was his regardless and the space that was molded to him was my heart not my pussy.

The moans lodged in my throat finally escaped my lips in a needy way that begged for more. “I’ll never get used to you. Harder,” I muttered between moans trying to lean into how dick drunk