Chapter 8 Damien #2
“I noticed." Color floods her cheeks. “At the party, I mean. You were so calm.”
“Panic doesn't help anyone.”
"No." She finishes her drink. “It definitely doesn't.”
I signal the waitress for another round. When Morgan protests, I cut her off with a look.
“One more won’t hurt.”
“Bossy.”
“You respond well to someone being dominant.”
Her pupils dilate, lips parting before she catches herself. The blush deepens, spreading down her neck.
“I—” She clears her throat. “That’s presumptuous.”
“Is it?”
Our drinks arrive. This time, when she reaches for hers, our fingers brush. Neither of us pulls back immediately. The contact sends heat through my arm, settling low in my gut.
Her breathing changes. Shallower. Faster.
I shift my chair closer, closing the distance between us. Our knees touch under the table—just barely, but enough that she notices. Her eyes drop to where our legs connect, then back to my face.
“Tell me about Madison,” I say quietly.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Liar.”
She flinches, but doesn’t retreat. “Why do you care?”
“Because you ran out of that gym class like someone lit you on fire. Because you look over your shoulder every thirty seconds. Because—” I lean in, voice dropping. “Because I want to know what put that fear in your eyes.”
“Damien—”
“Is it an ex?”
Her hand trembles around her glass. “What makes you think that?”
“Experience.” I rest my hand on the table between us, palm up. An invitation. “I’ve seen that look before.”
She stares at my hand for a long moment. Then, slowly, she places hers in it.
Her skin is warm. Soft. My fingers close around hers, and something in my chest shifts dangerously.
“He hurt you.”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Did you see him while you were back in town for Christmas?”
Her eyes widen. “How did you—”
“Lucky guess.”
“I saw him on Christmas Eve.” Her voice cracks. “At a gift shop. He touched me and I just... I ran.”
My grip tightens fractionally.
“Easy.” I keep my voice level. “You’re safe now.”
She nods, but her hand trembles in mine.
I understand it now—the constant vigilance, the panic attacks, the reason she fled two states away and never looked back. Marco isn’t just an abusive ex. He’s a ghost she’s been running from for five years.
“You did the right thing,” I tell her. “Getting out. Starting over.”
“It doesn’t feel right.” She pulls her hand back, wrapping both around her glass. “It feels like I’m still running.”
“Because he’s still there.”
“Yeah.”
I take a slow sip of whiskey, letting the moment settle. I need to be careful here. Can’t show the bloodlust simmering beneath my skin, the hunger to wrap my hands around Marco’s throat and squeeze until his eyes bulge.
“You deserve better than that.” I lean back, shifting gears. “Better than spending five years looking over your shoulder.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” I hold her gaze. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve let him win.”
Her jaw tightens. “That’s not fair.”
“Maybe not.” I shrug. “But it’s true.”
She drains the rest of her vodka, setting the glass down harder than necessary. Color rises in her cheeks—anger this time, not fear.
Good.
“Come back to my place.”
Morgan blinks. “What?”
“Let me show you how a real man treats a princess.” I keep my tone casual, like I’m suggesting we grab coffee. “No pressure. Just... something different than what you’ve known.”
Her lips part. “Damien—”
“Yes or no, Morgan.”
I expect hesitation. A polite refusal. Maybe nervous laughter.
Instead, she says, “Okay.”
My pulse kicks up, heat flooding my veins as I process what just happened. She agreed. No games, no dancing around it.
Fuck.
I signal for the check, mind already racing ahead—the layout of my apartment, what she’ll see, what she can’t see. The locked room at the end of the hall flashes through my thoughts, but I push it aside. She won’t go there.
And beneath all that, darker and more insistent—Marco. How I’m going to make him suffer for touching her. For putting that fear in her eyes.
But first, this.
I pay and stand, offering my hand. She takes it without hesitation, and we walk into the December night.
The cold bites at my skin, but I barely feel it. Morgan stays close, our arms brushing as we navigate the sidewalk to where I parked. Every few steps, she glances up at me, then away. Nervous. Excited.
She’s quiet in the car, but her breathing quickens when we turn onto my street.
I unlock the building’s entrance and hold the door. She walks through, and I follow, hyperaware of every movement she makes—the sway of her hips, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, how her fingers flex at her sides.
Third floor. My apartment door.
I key in the code and push it open.
Morgan steps inside, and I watch her take it in—the clean lines of my furniture, books organized by height on the shelves, weights stacked precisely in the corner. Everything in its place.
“Neat freak?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“Something like that.”
I close the door behind us. The lock clicks, and the sound echoes through the silence.
She turns to face me, back to the wall, chest rising and falling faster now. The vulnerability in her eyes makes my cock harden. She came here willingly. Wants this.
Wants me.
I cross to her slowly, deliberately, giving her time to change her mind. She doesn’t move or look away.
When I reach her, I brace one hand against the wall beside her head.
“Last chance to leave.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
The words snap whatever control I’m holding onto. I cup her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip.
Then I kiss her.
It’s not gentle. My mouth claims hers with the intensity of every moment I’ve held back, every second of restraint crumbling as her lips part against mine.
She tastes like vodka, and I pull her closer, deepening the kiss until the world narrows to just this—her softness against my hardness, her breath mixing with mine.
When I finally break away, we’re both panting.
“I’ve imagined this,” I tell her, voice rough. “Your lips on mine and wrapped around my cock. Those pretty eyes looking up at me while I fuck your throat.”
Her breath hitches.
“You want that, princess?”
“Yes.”
“Then kneel.”
She sinks down without hesitation, hands braced on her thighs, looking up at me exactly like I pictured.
Perfect.
I unbuckle my belt, the metal clinking in the quiet apartment. My cock strains against my jeans, aching for her mouth.
“Like a good girl,” I murmur, freeing myself. “That’s exactly right.”
I thread my fingers through her hair, gripping tight enough that her scalp pulls. Her eyes flutter closed.
“Eyes on me.”
They snap open—dark, glassy, pupils blown wide.
“Good girl.” I guide my cock to her lips, dragging the head across them. “Open.”
Her mouth parts, and I push inside. Hot. Wet. Her tongue flattens against the underside, and I groan when she licks around my piercing.
“Fuck. Just like that.”
She takes me deeper, hollowing her cheeks, and the suction makes my thighs clench. I watch her lips stretch around my girth, the way her throat works as she adjusts to my size.
“You look perfect like this.” I rock my hips slowly, testing her limits. “On your knees for me.”
She moans around my cock, and the vibration shoots straight up my spine.
I pull back, then thrust deeper. Her hands brace against my thighs, nails digging into muscle. Not stopping me—steadying herself.
“Take more.”
She does. Inch by inch, until I hit the back of her throat and she gags slightly. Tears gather at the corners of her eyes, but she doesn’t pull away.
“That’s my princess.” I hold her there for a beat, then ease back. “Breathe.”
She gasps, saliva connecting her lips to my cock, and the sight nearly breaks me.
“Again.”
This time she controls the pace, bobbing her head, tongue working the sensitive ridge beneath the crown. Her right hand drops between her thighs, and I catch the movement.
“You touching yourself?”
She nods, eyes locked on mine.
“Let me see.”
She shifts her knees wider, and I can just make out her hand moving beneath her jeans. The sight—Morgan sucking my cock while pleasuring herself—makes my balls draw tight.
“That’s it. Make yourself feel good while you take care of me.”
Her rhythm quickens, both her mouth and her hand. Small desperate sounds escape around my cock, and I’m close. Too close.
“Fuck, Morgan—”
The pressure builds at the base of my spine, coiling tighter. I pull out before I lose control completely.
Her lips are swollen, red. Slick with saliva.
I haul her up by her arms and walk her backward to the couch, hands already working the button of her jeans.
“My turn.”
I shove the denim down her hips, taking her underwear with it. She kicks them off, and I push her back onto the cushions, spreading her thighs wide.
The scent of her arousal hits me, and my mouth waters.
“Let me taste what’s mine.”
Her thighs quiver as I drop to my knees. I spread her wider, exposing her completely. She’s soaked, glistening in the low light of my apartment.
“Look how wet you are for me.” I drag my thumb through her folds, collecting her arousal. “Been thinking about this since I first fucking met you.”
Morgan whimpers, hips lifting off the couch. I press her back down with one hand splayed across her lower abdomen.
“Stay still.”
I lower my mouth to her center, giving her one long, slow lick from entrance to clit. She tastes like honey and salt, better than I’d imagined. Her body jerks, a gasp tearing from her throat.
“That’s it, princess. Let me hear you.”
I circle her clit with my tongue, applying just enough pressure to tease, not satisfy. Her hands fly to my hair, fingers digging into my scalp.
“Please,” she whispers.
I look up, maintaining eye contact as I suck her clit between my lips. Her back arches, eyes rolling back.
“You’re going to come on my tongue,” I breathe against her, before flicking my tongue over the bundle of nerves. “And then you’re going to come on my cock.”
I slip two fingers inside her, curling them to get to the spot that makes her cry out. When I find it, I press firmly, setting a rhythm with my fingers while my mouth works her clit.
“So fucking perfect,” I growl against her flesh. “This pussy was made for me.”
Her thighs begin to shake, internal muscles clenching around my fingers. She’s close.
“Look at me when you come.”
Her eyes lock with mine, glazed with pleasure.
“That’s it. Give it to me. Now.”
I suck her clit hard, fingers pumping faster, and she breaks. Her body convulses, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as she comes against my mouth. I don’t let up, licking her through each wave, her taste flooding my senses.
“Mine,” I murmur against her sensitive flesh. “Every inch of you is mine now.”