Chapter 27
Brielle
Damian’s hard body beneath mine. My hand on his rock-hard chest. The touch of his skin under my fingertips. His steady heartbeat pulsing in his neck.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to his penthouse apartment.
I try to shake the images away before I knock on his door, but they persist, stubbornly stuck in my head.
I’ve thought of little else since the other night.
I even went to his office this afternoon on some trumped-up claim that I needed his eyes on one of our short-form videos, when in reality, I just wanted to see him.
Damian doesn’t answer my knock, and I’m comfortable enough after being here almost every day to let myself in. I step into the living room just as Damian is coming down the hallway.
Shirtless, sweaty, and out of breath. His gray sweatpants hang low on his lean waist. A peek of those furrowed grooves on his pelvis leads my gaze directly to what’s hiding beneath the cotton fabric. It’s like he’s walked straight out of my fantasies.
He’s clearly just finished a workout. He runs a towel over his hair, and my insides liquefy. He’s a masterpiece, built like a model, every muscle in his chest sculpted to perfection.
A foreign sound leaves my mouth, a cross between a gasp and a squeal. Damian’s gaze shoots to mine, his eyes darkening with desire.
He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he makes his way to me from the other side of the room.
“You’re early,” he says, his low voice rumbling, sending vibrations that I can feel all the way to my core.
“Looks like I’m right on time to me.”
I take a step toward him, my body pulled to his by a magnetic force. Tension surrounds us, an electrical current circling the air, pushing us ever closer.
Damian tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers caressing my jaw. He tilts my face up to his, and my breath catches in my throat. My lips part, inviting him to take them, to claim them.
“I need to take a shower.” He drops his hand. The broken eye contact steals the air from my lungs as he turns and leaves, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable.”
I bustle around the kitchen, my nerve endings shooting off a restless energy that buzzes through me. He’s right down the hall, naked and wet. And I’m standing here in his kitchen, alone.
What am I doing?
What we have, it’s already past the point of boss and employee. We spend every day together. The memories of what it’s like to be with him make my blood thrum. We’re already risking everything just by our friendship. Why am I denying us the satisfaction that we both want?
I’m sick of pretending like our platonic snuggles are good enough. I’m tired of having to pleasure myself to the memories of our night. It isn’t enough. It never is.
I stride to the bathroom like a woman on a mission.
The sound of the shower gets louder as I slowly push the door open.
The frosted doors make it hard to see through clearly.
I swallow down a wave of lust, my panties wet with anticipation, and close the door behind me with a thud.
I can feel Damian’s eyes on me, even though I can’t really see them.
“Brielle,” he warns. “What are you doing?”
“Thought right now was a good time to revisit that friends versus lovers conversation.”
A dark chuckle slips out of him. “If you want to talk, you’re going to need to get in here so I can hear you better.”
I pull my shirt over my head and tug my pants down my legs. Through the textured glass, I see Damian stroke himself, the slow, steady movement captivating me.
Warm water cascades down his body from the rain-head shower system as I step inside. His chest expands with every breath, his gaze raking over every inch of me.
“So, what did you want to discuss, specifically?” he asks, his fist still wrapped around his impressive cock. My mouth goes dry, and I lean against the shower wall. Watching him stroke himself while his eyes are on me makes my head spin with desire.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“You’re the one who came in here, beautiful. You tell me. Because I know that if it was up to me, you’d have your hands against those tiles instead of your back, holding on while I buried my dick so deep inside of you, you’d feel be feeling me for a week.”
I push myself off the wall. “Is that what you think about when you make yourself come?”
“Not always.” He shakes his head. “Sometimes you’re on your knees for me. Other times you’re riding my cock like you own it. But it’s always you, Brielle.” His hand cups my jaw, his thumb dragging across my bottom lip.
I wrap my hand around the base of his skull, pulling myself close to him, my lips crashing into his.
His arms surround me, his erection thick against my belly.
I don’t stop to think. There are no thoughts to be had.
It’s just Damian, the touch of him consuming me.
His tongue slips into my mouth on a heavy breath.
His hands travel down my back, gripping my ass tightly.
The heady sensation has my hips rolling against him, desperate for more.
Damian breaks the kiss and spins me around.
His lips find the column of my neck as he explores my body.
Featherlight, he touches the swell of my breasts, circling and swiping delicately across my nipples, down my sternum.
Goose bumps erupt over my skin. It’s sexy and erotic, and I need so much more.
His hand snakes lower, following the curve of my hip, until he slides his finger through my aching slit.
“How many times have you touched yourself, wishing it was me?”
I moan a response, tilting my head to the side to give him better access to my neck. He dances his finger between my legs, his touch lighting me up. Wetness pools in my core, ready for more. Ready for everything.
“That’s not an answer, Brielle. How many times?”
He’s not giving me what I need. I push into his hand, seeking friction, seeking pressure. “I don’t know. Too many to count.” My voice is high and breathy. He continues to tease me, pulling back when I try to take more.
“You’ve been torturing me for weeks. For months. And you think you can just get in here and take what you need? I’ll give you what you need, beautiful, on my time.”
He pushes two fingers into me, slipping into my wet center easily.
It feels so good. He curls his fingers, stroking the inside of my walls on every pulse.
I can’t help the noises coming from my lips.
With his other hand, he pulls my nipple hard, squeezing and tugging on my breast. Pressure settles low in my pelvis, building higher and tighter as Damian continues to play with my body.
A third finger finds my back hole, and he presses in slowly, the stretch making me feel so full of him.
I moan, shameless and needy. I’m so close.
I can feel my orgasm about to explode. Damian pumps his fingers into me from both angles.
“God, yes. I’m right there.”
He sucks on my neck, a groan on his lips, before suddenly, he pulls his hand away. I’m gasping for air, desperate for the release that was so close.
“Patience, Brielle. You don’t get to be greedy when you’ve made me wait weeks to touch you like this again.” His voice is pure sin and darkness. Arousal drips from my pussy, and I can feel Damian’s hard cock pressed into my ass.
He soaps up his hands and slowly starts to wash me.
His hands glide over my back, my shoulders, down my arms, and across my belly.
I massage the bar soap under the water until my hands are sudsy and start at his chest, moving to his abs and around his waist. We take our time, touching, exploring each other in every way.
His thick cock begs for attention between us, and I wrap my hand around him, washing him from base to tip.
Damian growls, the muscles in his stomach tensing. He lowers his head to mine, claiming my lips, taking my breath away, stealing my ability to think of anything else but him. He shuts the water off without breaking the kiss. His arm cradles my back close to him as he walks me out of the shower.
“Mhmm,” I moan into his mouth, then proceed to dry him off inch by inch with my lips. I kiss a trail down his chest and over his abs. The muscles in his stomach tense, and something about seeing him affected by me turns me on even more.
I lower myself almost to my knees in front of him.
“Hold on.” His voice is gruff and scratchy. He pulls a fluffy black towel from the counter and tosses it to the floor by my feet. “This floor is made of stone.”
I have no words for the small consideration that is somehow the sweetest gesture.
My knees hit the towel, and my lips close around his shaft.
I work him in my mouth, dragging his head along my cheek while my hands stroke him simultaneously.
He smells like soap and tastes like sin.
I take him all the way to the back of my throat for as long as I can before I need to pull off of him to breathe. And then I do it again.
Damian grips my hair. His hooded eyes gaze down at me with a tortured look of ecstasy. “Fuck, Brielle. I’m not going to last. Your mouth feels too damn good.”
I bob my head faster. His muscles clench as a deep groan rips from him. Two more strokes, and he breaks. Damian grips my chin, opening my mouth, and jets of his warm, sticky release coat my tongue. I swallow it down, licking the last drops from his throbbing cock.
“Up. Get up,” he heaves.
As soon as I’m on my feet, his lips are on mine again. I expect the same kind of bruising kiss that we shared a moment ago, but this is different. It’s slower, deeper, more intimate. His hands cup my face gently as he drinks from my lips.
It breaks me, opening my heart to let him in. These emotions that I’ve been feeling rush to the surface. I want this. Him.
I want our evenings together, having dinner and chatting.
I want our snuggles and the protection I feel wrapped in his arms.