13. Sienna
SIENNA
I can’t stop thinking about last night.
I always assumed I couldn’t come for someone else.
I didn’t even think I could really come by myself.
I’ve had an orgasm a few times before, when I had a vibrator to use in my videos, but I couldn’t replicate the sensation with just my fingers, and I couldn’t afford a luxury like a sex toy.
But Damian’s hand undid me faster than I’ve ever come in my life, last night.
And the way he looked . God . I’ve never seen a man so gorgeous. He’s intimidating—terrifying, really—but I’ve never seen a naked man who looked like that up close, in person.
He looked like a sculpture, like he’d been carved from stone, all chiseled muscle and broad shoulders and chest, his tattoos covering swaths of his skin from his neck all the way down the sides of his thighs.
I could spend hours in bed just tracing them with my fingers, I think, looking at all the patterns until he was ready to go again.
And it didn’t seem to take him long. He was hard again minutes after I finished him off.
A shudder ripples through me as I remember how it felt when he came, part arousal, part fear.
He’s huge , bigger than I’ve ever seen, except for those men at the warehouse that night.
His cock is that big, something to be afraid of rather than want, but I can’t help wondering what it would feel like inside of me. If his finger felt that good…
I showered after I got back to my room, washing off the traces of his cum that soaked through the nightgown.
It had felt so good when it happened, feeling him throb in my hand, the heat of his release soaking through to my skin, the sound of his groans filling the air.
I felt beautiful… powerful. Damian is a brutal and terrifying man, but I made him come undone.
Part of me wants it to happen again, regardless of what he said. Even though, there at the end…
You’ve done enough.
I felt ashamed when he said that. I came to his room because I felt sure that I needed to, that I needed to find some way to please him in return for all that he’s done, but it felt like something else, when it happened. Him touching me felt like something else, like something more.
And then he said that, and I was reminded of what my situation is. Of how much I owe him.
I feel like he woke something up in me last night.
Something I didn’t know was there. Every time I close my eyes, I feel Damian's hands on my body, his fingers inside me, the way he made me come apart completely.
I've never experienced anything like that—the intensity, the pleasure, the way my entire world narrowed down to just his touch and the sensations he was creating.
I want to talk to him about it. To find out why we can’t just do this, why he can’t teach me everything I’ve been missing while I give him the pleasure he so clearly wants.
We’re married, and I don’t know why he keeps insisting that it’s so wrong.
He could throw me out if he wanted, put me in a terrible position, but how is that different from any other relationship where one person makes more money, or has their name on the apartment, or anything else?
I want to feel that pleasure again. I want to feel beautiful and powerful and sexy, in a way that I never felt at the club.
I want to know what else there is. And after last night, I don’t really think he’ll hurt me any longer.
I think he wants me, and he’s afraid he’ll hurt me, but I’m stronger than he realizes.
It’s fairly early in the morning still, and Adam’s still sleeping.
I pull on the new lace-edged robe I bought yesterday, over the silky sleep shorts and cami that I wore to bed after taking off the cum-soaked nightie, and push my door open, glancing out into the hall to see that it’s empty before padding toward Damian’s bedroom.
He’s probably already gone. But maybe…
I stop dead in my tracks as I hear a muffled groan from the other side of the door. Is he …
A strange, warm, excited feeling pools in my stomach as the curiosity becomes too much for me. I reach for his doorknob, my pulse leaping when I realize he didn’t lock it last night, and I slowly push it open just a crack, hoping he won’t notice.
What I see when I look inside has my pulse fluttering in my throat, racing as I take in the sight in front of me.
Damian is half-sitting up in bed, his cock in his hand, stiff and glistening as he strokes it. And on the laptop in front of him…
My heart stops when I recognize myself on the screen.
It's one of my videos from the club—one of the solo performances I did for the cam site. I'm wearing red lingerie, bent over a desk, holding onto the side of it with my back arched and my legs spread as I reach between my thighs and finger myself.
Damian is staring at the screen as if he wants to devour me, jaw clenched, the muscles in his arm and stomach flexing as he strokes his cock feverishly, a groan spilling from his mouth as he gets off to me touching myself.
A strange mix of emotions floods through me—embarrassment, shock, but also something that might be arousal.
The thought of Damian watching these videos, of him seeing me like this and wanting me enough to seek out more, makes heat pool low in my belly.
It only makes me all the more convinced that he’s lying when he says that he wants this marriage to be one in name only.
Last night, he told me not to come back to his room. But as I watch him, heat spreads through me, and I think I know exactly how to get what I think I want.
I’m not entirely sure what that is. I know I want to please him, to make sure that he wants me to stay, to make sure that he doesn’t feel like I owe him a debt when this is all over.
But what do I want? I’m not entirely sure.
I don’t know if I want to go all the way, if I want to fuck him, but I know I want more of what happened last night.
I want to know how other things might feel.
I want to explore, and he’s my husband. I’m his wife. I don’t see what could possibly be wrong with it.
An idea is forming—dangerous and probably stupid, but I can't shake it. If Damian won't admit he wants me, if he keeps running every time we get close, maybe I need to force his hand. Make it impossible for him to deny what's between us. Maybe I need to tempt him into doing more.
I back away from the door slowly, making sure he doesn’t see me as I go back to my room. I get dressed for the day, starting what’s begun to feel like a routine, but I can’t get the thought that’s started forming in my head not to linger.
It stays throughout the day. Through breakfast and lunch, swimming in the pool and going for a walk around the estate, through dinner and reading after, all the way up until I find myself back in my room, nervous and trembling at the thought of what I want to do.
It’s clear that Damian can be tempted. That he wants me, even if he’s fighting it. So all I have to do is keep pushing a little, just a little at a time, until I find out how far I want to go.
I know he’s not in his room yet. I overheard him talking to Konstantin about having a drink in the study after dinner, so I have a few minutes, at least, to do what I’m thinking of doing.
Adam is in bed, soundly asleep. The house is quiet. I pad down the hallway to Damian’s room, slowly opening the door, and I find that the room is empty, exactly as I thought it would be.
My heart races, my pulse thudding in my throat.
He might be angry with me. A few days ago, that would have utterly terrified me, but now it makes me feel something else, something strange that I don’t entirely understand.
It’s as if, after last night, the feeling of fear when it comes to Damian also translates to a strange sort of arousal.
I think of the video I saw him watching.
There’s no desk in here for me to bend over, so I decide to do something different.
I go to the armchair next to his bar cart, and slide my sleep shorts off, dropping them on the floor in a spot where he can’t miss them, leaving me in only my silky cami and the lace thong I wore underneath the shorts.
I sit sideways in the armchair, draping my legs over the side of it, and put one foot on the arm, tugging my panties to the side so that when he walks in, he’ll see my fingers between my legs.
The anticipation has me wet already. I can feel my arousal, damp against my fingertips.
It’s not the first time I’ve done this thinking that someone else will be watching, obviously, but it feels different.
My pulse flutters wildly in my throat, and I keep second-guessing myself.
What if he's angry? What if this pushes him even further away?
But then I remember the way he touched me last night, the hunger in his eyes, the way he groaned my name when he came. Whatever his reasons for pulling back, they're not because he doesn't want me.
I hear a sound, and I bite my lip, pressing my fingers between my wet folds, making sure I’m arranged in a way that looks seductive.
I watch the door as I hear the footsteps on the stairs, footsteps that are heavy, definitely masculine.
I hear him pause outside of the door, and when it opens, I'm ready.
It takes him a moment to see me. He looks around the room, clearly sensing that something is off, and then he sees the pink shorts on the floor. His gaze shoots to the side, and I see him freeze as he sees me draped over his armchair, my hand between my thighs.
For a moment, neither of us moves. Then his expression darkens, and he steps inside, closing the door firmly behind him.