Owned Between His Sheets

The first time I saw Hunter Ryker, he was leaning against the bar like he owned the place. Dark eyes that promised sin, lips curved in the kind of smile that made my thighs press together. Hot, sexy, handsome as the devil himself—and the way his tailored suit clung to his broad shoulders screamed money. Exactly the kind of man I came here for.

I wasn’t here for free drinks or meaningless flings. No. I was here to catch a rich boyfriend. A ticket out of scraping by, a chance to trade rent worries for designer heels. That’s why I held onto my V-card, saving it like an investment, waiting for the right man to cash it in.

When Hunter’s gaze locked on me, it was like being set on fire. He bought me champagne without asking what I wanted, his confidence intoxicating. The way he leaned close, whispering in my ear, his breath brushing my skin—my whole body tingled. I told myself this was strategy, that I was playing the game. But when his hand slid along my thigh under the table, when he murmured my name like he already owned it, I forgot about strategy.

One kiss from him and my world tilted. His lips were hot, demanding, and before I knew it, I was tangled up in his arms, pressed against the expensive sheets of a hotel room that smelled of him—cologne, leather, and power.

He introduced himself as Hunter Smith. The last name was so common it barely registered—but with a face that handsome, who cared?

He undressed me slowly, deliberately, like he was unwrapping the rarest treasure. My heart pounded; my head screamed I was doing this for the money, for the future. But my body? My body betrayed me, arching into his touch, aching for more.

And when it finally happened—when I gave him the one thing I’d saved like a bargaining chip—there was no bargaining left in me. Only fire. Only him.

I thought I was buying security. Instead, I lost myself to Hunter Smith in one reckless, unforgettable night.

His mouth devoured mine, hot and urgent, as if he’d been starving and I was his first taste. My back hit the hotel bed, and before I could even catch my breath, Hunter’s hands slid down, tugging my dress over my head. His eyes darkened when he saw the lace I’d carefully chosen—black, delicate, expensive-looking even if it wasn’t.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice a sinful growl.

My skin burned everywhere his lips touched—down my neck, over the swell of my breasts, until he pulled one nipple into his mouth and sucked hard. A gasp tore from me, my fingers tangling in his hair. For a moment, I forgot the reason I was here, forgot that I had promised myself to give this gift only to the right, wealthy man.

All I knew was him—his heat, his strength, his hunger.

When he slid his hand between my thighs, pressing against the thin fabric of my panties, I whimpered. The friction was delicious, almost unbearable.

“So wet for me already,” he whispered, dragging the lace aside and slipping a finger inside me. My hips bucked helplessly, shame and pleasure mixing as I realized how easily he unraveled me.

I clutched at his shoulders. “Hunter…” My voice cracked on his name.

He kissed me again, rougher this time, while his fingers worked me open, stretching me, coaxing me toward a high I’d only imagined. And when he finally pushed inside me—thick, hard, filling me completely—I cried out, the sting sharp, my innocence shattering in one breathless moment.

He stilled, his lips brushing my ear. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s… perfect,” I panted, though tears pricked the corner of my eyes from the stretch. Because it was perfect—not tender, not sweet, but exactly what I wanted. Raw, claiming, the kind of first time that branded itself into memory.

Hunter began to move, slow at first, then faster, harder, until my nails dug into his back and the sound of our bodies colliding filled the room. The ache gave way to something wilder, something hotter, and soon I was begging—shameless, desperate.

“Yes, Hunter—harder—don’t stop—”

And he didn’t. He pounded into me like he meant to ruin me, and maybe he did. My first time wasn’t a careful fairytale—it was sweat and fire, his breath rough against my throat, his body driving me higher until I shattered around him, screaming his name.

I came undone beneath Hunter Ryker, billionaire, stranger, devil in a suit. And as he spilled inside me, I thought of only one thing—my V-card was gone, but I had chosen well.

Because if I was going to lose myself to a man, it might as well be one who could buy me the world.

The morning after, I woke up tangled in silk sheets that probably cost more than my monthly rent. My thighs ached, my body hummed, and beside me lay the devil himself—Hunter Smit—looking way too smug for someone who had just stolen my V-card and rearranged my bones.

Sunlight hit his jawline, making him look like some Greek god who moonlighted as a sinner. He stretched, muscles rippling, and I couldn’t stop staring at the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the sheets. Damn it, I wanted to climb him all over again.

But I reminded myself—focus. He was rich. He had to be. A man who fucked like that and wore suits that screamed custom-tailored didn’t exactly clip coupons. I curled against him, rehearsing how I’d casually bring up “future” and “security” without sounding like I was already drafting a prenup.

Then reality punched me in the face.

“Shit,” Hunter muttered, rolling out of bed, naked, shameless, and still annoyingly gorgeous. He dug through his pants on the floor, pulling out a slim leather wallet. He rifled through it and groaned. “Damn. Overdrafted again.”

I blinked. “Overdrafted…? Like… your bank account?”

“Yeah.” He grinned at me like it was a joke. “I live paycheck to paycheck. Bartending tips barely cover the rent.”

My jaw dropped so hard it nearly unhinged. “Excuse me? Bartending?!”

He shrugged, completely unbothered, pouring himself a glass of water like he hadn’t just wrecked me and then destroyed my financial fantasy in one breath.

“You—” I sputtered, sitting up, clutching the sheet to my chest. “You don’t have a trust fund? A penthouse? A yacht?!”

Hunter smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. “Sweetheart, the only yacht I’ve got is a blow-up raft my roommate left on the balcony.”

I nearly fainted. My grand plan—saving my first time for a wealthy man—just went down faster than I had last night.

And the worst part? I still wanted him.

Because when he crawled back into bed, pinning me under that hard body again, whispering, “Rich or not, you’re not done with me yet,” my legs parted on instinct. My pride screamed run, but my body remembered the way he made me come undone.

So I let him ruin me all over again—broke, fake, and utterly irresistible.