16. Damien
16
DAMIEN
The elevator opens directly into my penthouse, and Sasha’s eyes widen the moment we step inside. She pauses in the entryway, gazing around like she’s trying to piece together who I am based on the space around her.
I’ve never wondered what someone would think walking into my home for the first time—never cared enough. But suddenly, with Sasha here, her bright eyes scanning every corner, I see it through her perspective.
Expansive floor-to-ceiling windows dominate the far wall, the city skyline sparkling like scattered diamonds against the velvet-black sky. The apartment itself is minimalist but luxurious—dark hardwood floors, black leather sofas, a marble fireplace, and tasteful abstract art hanging precisely where my interior designer suggested.
Everything orderly.
And then there’s Sasha—wild hair, flushed cheeks, red dress slightly rumpled, sneakers still firmly on her feet. She doesn’t belong here.
But, fuck, I want her here anyway.
She glances at me, her lips curving in a shy smile as she moves further inside. Her gaze lingers on the view.
“Wow,” she murmurs. “This place is…”
She trails off, shaking her head, then laughs softly, like she can’t believe she’s actually standing in my living room.
My chest tightens. For once, I feel…exposed. But in the best possible way.
“I’m glad you like it,” I say.
She spins slowly on her heel, taking everything in. Then her gaze returns to me, playful and bright.
“Very bachelor-pad chic,” she teases lightly.
I smirk, stepping toward her. “I’ll pretend that’s a compliment.”
She giggles, a soft, carefree sound that draws me closer, pulls me toward her like a magnet.
But then my rational side intrudes, because Sasha’s eyes are a bit too bright, her cheeks flushed from champagne.
I pause, reaching out gently to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She leans into my touch automatically, her eyes fluttering shut for just a second.
“Are you sure about this?” I murmur quietly. “You’ve had a lot to drink.”
She opens her eyes again, looking up at me through her lashes, a mischievous grin playing at her lips.
“Not enough,” she whispers, stepping directly into my arms. “I’m still thinking.”
I wrap my arms around her waist as she tips her face up toward mine, her warmth seeping through my shirt, burning straight into my chest. Our lips meet softly at first, cautious, careful—but restraint quickly dissolves as her hands clutch at my shoulders, her body molding against mine like she was made for me.
She pulls away just enough to murmur breathlessly, her forehead resting against mine, “Is this insane? You’re my boss. We’ve just texted?—”
“Sexted,” I correct firmly, my mouth curling into a smirk.
She laughs softly, shaking her head again, eyes bright with laughter, desire, and something deeper that neither of us is ready to acknowledge.
“Right,” she whispers. “We’ve sexted. That makes it so much better.”
I tilt her chin up gently with my thumb, needing to look into her eyes, needing to make sure she understands.
“It’s exactly why we should’ve done this sooner,” I murmur.
She smiles, and the nervous tension lingering in her posture finally eases. She relaxes against me, letting out a long, slow breath.
“You’re going to be trouble,” she says quietly, the corners of her mouth curving upward.
I tighten my hold on her waist, pulling her flush against me again. “You have no idea, printsessa.”
Her eyes flare at that, darkening, pupils wide with anticipation.
Then she rises onto her tiptoes and kisses me again, harder this time, deeper, desperate—and every ounce of restraint I’ve been holding on to finally snaps.
Our lips crash together again, hungrier now, the hesitation completely gone. Sasha presses her body against me, molding herself to my chest, her small hands gripping my jacket like she’s afraid I might change my mind.
I won’t. I can’t.
Not with her.
I walk her backward, steering us down the hall toward the bedroom, my hands sliding up her spine, savoring the feel of her warmth through the thin silk dress. My fingers find the zipper, dragging it down slowly, exposing smooth, bare skin. Her breath hitches against my mouth, and a low groan escapes me as the fabric slips from her shoulders and pools around her waist.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
My jacket hits the floor next, her eager hands already undoing the buttons of my shirt. Her fingers fumble slightly, impatient, and it only fuels the heat raging in my blood. I grab the hem of her dress, tugging it down impatiently, letting it drop around her ankles. She steps out of it, kicking off those ridiculous sneakers as she does.
The trail of clothing behind us is obscene—her red silk, my jacket, shirt discarded recklessly. I lift her into my arms, her bare thighs wrapping instinctively around my waist. Her body is soft and perfect against me, her breath hot against my neck, and it takes every bit of self-control not to pin her to the nearest wall and fuck her right there.
She pulls my mouth back to hers, kissing me like her life depends on it, fingers threading roughly into my hair.
We tumble onto the bed, my weight pressing her into the mattress. She arches beneath me, her legs spreading to accommodate me perfectly. Her soft curves mold against my hard edges, her nails raking down my bare back, igniting fire across my skin.
I pull back slightly, panting, gazing down at her—hair wild against my sheets, eyes heavy with need, lips swollen from my kisses.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” I growl, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, lower to her collarbone, savoring the way her breath quickens beneath my lips.
She laughs softly, breathlessly, trembling with anticipation. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, drawing me closer.
“Stop talking,” she demands, pulling me back up to kiss her again.
She’s under me, warm and soft in all the right places, her nails leaving faint trails of heat across my back. Her breasts brush my chest with every ragged inhale, and the temptation is too strong to resist. I shift lower, pressing hot kisses along the curve of her neck.
She arches against me, her pulse fluttering beneath my lips, and I can’t help the low growl that rumbles in my throat.
I want to leave marks, want everyone to know she’s mine—if only for tonight. My teeth graze her skin, and she gives a little gasp as I suck at the column of her throat, sure to leave faint bruises. She’ll probably swear at me for that later, but right now, she just moans, clutching at my shoulders like I’m the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.
“Damien,” she whispers, voice unsteady.
I kiss lower, down her collarbone, then lower still, my fingers tracing the soft swell of her breast before my mouth follows. Her skin is velvety and warm, tasting faintly of salt and perfume. I flick my tongue around her areola—teasing, savoring the ragged sound that catches in her throat—before finally taking her nipple fully into my mouth.
“God,” she breathes, her head tipping back into the pillows. Her body trembles against me, hips rocking up as though she can’t decide whether to pull me closer or demand more.
I suck gently, relishing her sharp intake of breath, the way her entire body arches beneath me. My free hand cups the other breast, feeling how soft it is against my palm, how perfectly she fits against me.
Her hands slip into my hair, tugging, guiding me closer, and I suck a little harder, a low groan escaping me as she practically melts against my mouth.
I lift my head, just enough to look at her—lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes heavy with lust. Her hair fans out around her, dark and wild against pale sheets, and something in my chest twists.
Because it’s never been like this before—never been this intense, this maddening.
I slide my hands beneath her thighs, lifting her legs until they rest on my shoulders, my palms pressing against the backs of her knees to spread her open for me.
Her thighs tense beneath my fingers when I kiss the tender skin on the inside of her leg, moving steadily upward. She arches her back, hips lifting toward me in silent encouragement, and I can’t help the low growl that escapes my throat. When I finally press my mouth to her center, she lets out a broken moan that sends a bolt of lust straight through me.
I take my time at first, exploring every inch of her with my tongue, learning what makes her breath hitch and her hips jerk. Her hands clench at the sheets, knuckles white, and I can’t decide if I prefer watching her face or feeling her thighs tremble around my head.
Her scent, her taste—everything about her is dizzying. I slide my hands up to grip her waist, holding her in place as she starts to writhe, pushing eagerly into my mouth. She’s already close, breath ragged, incoherent sounds spilling from her lips.
I suck gently, then harder, flicking my tongue in just the right spot until she shatters with a breathless cry, her body going taut beneath me. She trembles and moans, hips lifting off the bed in a wild spasm of pleasure. I don’t stop—don’t let her catch her breath—because the sight of her coming undone is too intoxicating to end so soon.
She comes again, this time with a raw, pleading sound that has me throbbing, my own control hanging by a thread. I hold her tight, keeping her thighs on my shoulders, drawing out every last tremor, every pulse of ecstasy. Her moans rise in pitch until she’s on the brink of yet another climax, back arching, mindless with need.
By the time she finally sinks back, chest heaving, her hair plastered to her damp forehead, I can hardly breathe myself. My heart hammers in my chest as I ease her thighs from my shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss to each trembling leg before I move up the bed to face her.
She’s flushed, eyes heavy-lidded and glazed with satisfaction. Her lips part, but no sound escapes, just shallow, uneven breaths. I brush her hair from her face, letting my mouth hover over hers, breathing in her soft whimpers as she tries to regain some semblance of composure.
“God,” she whispers, voice cracking with exhaustion and bliss. “You—Damien…”
I press a tender, almost reverent kiss to her lips, letting her taste herself.
I’m hovering over her, every nerve in my body lit up like a live wire. Her skin is warm under my touch—pale, silken, a perfect contrast to my darker complexion.
My cock is hard, aching with the kind of need that makes it difficult to think straight. I brace one forearm by her head and slide my other hand down, fingers drifting over her hip, memorizing the soft curves, the subtle dip of her waist.
I can’t help myself—a raw surge of need claws at my chest. With a low, unsteady breath, I reach down and wrap my fingers around my length, giving myself a slow stroke. It’s both relief and torment, my body nearly shaking with how close I am to completely losing control.
I haven’t felt this out of control in a long time. Maybe ever.
Her eyes flutter open at the movement, still hazy with the aftermath of her orgasms. When she notices where my hand is—and how hard I am—her gaze widens.
“Damien…” Her voice is husky, thick with desire. “You’re so…big.”
I hear the faint disbelief and awe in her tone, and a low, ragged sound escapes my throat, something between a groan and a growl.
I can’t find words.
My mind is too focused on the rush of heat coursing through me.
She slides one hand across my chest, fingers grazing the smattering of silver-dark hair there, then lower, exploring the lines of muscle. Her other hand slips between us, brushing mine aside, taking my cock in her smaller grip.
A hiss of pleasure rips from my chest the moment her palm connects with my length.
Fuck.
My eyes slam shut briefly, and I have to remind myself not to thrust forward into her touch like some desperate animal.
She makes a soft, breathless noise, stroking me with cautious curiosity, her brows drawn together in concentration. The sight of her—lips parted, eyes locked on what she’s doing—nearly undoes me.
“Sasha,” I manage, voice hoarse, fighting the urge to lose it right here. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
She looks up, meeting my gaze.
There’s a small smile on her lips—part shy, part wicked—and it’s enough to make my heart slam against my ribs.
“I think you’ll survive.”
I let out a strangled laugh, leaning down to steal another kiss, my hand covering hers on my cock. Tension coils in my belly, heat thrumming through me.
Her fingers close around me, sliding slowly from base to tip, the pressure making my head spin. I grit my teeth, a shudder racking my frame as I meet her gaze.
“Sasha,” I manage, my voice tight with need. “I?—”
She tilts her chin up, a hint of a daring smile ghosting her lips. “Don’t tell me you’re already at your limit,” she teases, but there’s a trembling note behind her words that betrays her own nerves.
My lungs burn as I inhale. I force a smirk, one hand sliding along her thigh to gently urge her legs open wider. “Never,” I murmur.
The humor fades from her eyes the moment I shift, lining myself up at her center, bracing one forearm beside her head to steady us. My free hand rests on her hip, thumb brushing a slow circle over her skin.
Time seems to slow, her breaths turning shallow, matching my own.
The slick heat of her entrance is nearly too much.
I have to shut my eyes briefly, or I’ll lose control right here.
I press forward, the head of my cock breaching her slowly.
She’s so tight—tighter than I expected. A small gasp escapes her, and I still instantly, a surge of protectiveness coiling through me.
My gaze snaps to her face. Her lips are parted, eyes wide, pupils blown, and it hits me like a punch—this is new for her.
God.
My chest constricts.
Why didn’t I realize it sooner?
The wicked mouth, the bold way she teased me…it all masked her innocence.
“Are you—” My voice comes out rough, unsteady. “Are you okay?”
She inhales, nods once, her cheeks flushed. Her legs tighten around my hips, urging me forward. There’s a tremor in her body, and I can’t tell if it’s fear or excitement—or both.
I cup her face, brushing a thumb across her cheekbone. “We can stop,” I say, forcing each word out even though it nearly kills me to offer.
She swallows hard, her throat working. Then she huffs a tiny laugh, sounding breathless and nervous and incredibly brave. “Damien…” she murmurs, sliding her hand to my arm. “I want this. I want you.”
The sincerity in her tone pierces through my haze of lust. Heart pounding, I exhale slowly, pressing a tender kiss to her parted lips.
“Then hold on,” I whisper.
She sucks in a breath as I push deeper, inch by inch, until I’m fully seated inside her. My vision nearly goes white at the pressure, her walls gripping me so tightly it’s almost too much.
Her nails bite into my shoulders, and I pause, letting her adjust, letting myself adjust, every muscle in my body coiled like a spring.
Damn. It’s never been like this.
This intense, this close to tipping over the edge from the very start.
I open my eyes to find hers locked on my face, wide with wonder, lips trembling in a small, breathless “o.”
I stroke her hair, my chest twisting at how new this is for her—and for me, in a whole different way. “Sasha,” I manage, voice thick, “tell me if it’s too much.”
She blinks, her expression flickering with something that looks like disbelief, then nods quickly. “Okay,” she whispers, hooking her ankles more securely around my waist.
So I hold still, just for a moment, savoring the sensation of being buried inside her, feeling her heartbeat against my chest.
I start slowly at first, giving her time to adjust to the feel of me inside her. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her head tipping back as she exhales in soft, unsteady moans. Each sound hits me like a pulse of adrenaline, pushing me dangerously close to the edge.
“Sasha,” I murmur, voice trembling with restraint. “Tell me if?—”
She just shakes her head, hooking her legs around my hips, pulling me closer. “Please,” she whispers, voice breaking on the last syllable. “I’m okay. I promise.”
I swallow hard, nodding once. Then I thrust a little deeper, and she whimpers, clutching at my arms. There’s a flash of something wild in her eyes, need coiling in every breath she takes.
I pick up a rhythm, each roll of my hips drawing a gasp from her lips.
I take my sweet time fucking her.
I can feel how close she is—her breathing comes in broken pants, her thighs trembling around my waist. With my free hand, I reach down between our bodies, finding the soft, slick heat at her center, my thumb sliding against her sensitive clit.
She cries out, eyes squeezing shut, her entire frame going taut. I keep applying pressure, circling slowly, then quicker, matching the pace of my thrusts until her head tips back and her lips part in a soundless plea.
She shatters around me, body clenching so hard I almost lose it right there.
My name rips from her mouth, a broken, desperate sound that sends fire through my veins. I ride out her orgasm, feeling every tremor as it pulses through her.
My own release surges in response.
My vision blurs for a moment, and with a rough groan, I let the last of my control snap. I drive deeper, chasing that razor-thin edge until it takes me under.
My head falls back, eyes shutting as I spill inside her in a wave of white-hot ecstasy. The world seems to tilt, and for a heartbeat, I forget everything but her—her warmth, her breathy moans, the way her cunt milks every pulse from me.
When I finally manage to pry my eyes open, Sasha is gazing up at me, dazed and sated, cheeks burning pink. The sight of her—lips parted, hair spread over my pillows—hits me like a fist to the chest.
Breathing hard, I lower my forehead to hers, tangling my fingers in her hair.
Neither of us speaks.
Eventually, I shift enough to gently roll to the side, keeping her close, afraid to let go just yet. Her soft exhale warms my shoulder as she tucks her face against my neck, and I hold her there, my heart still hammering.
I know one thing with absolute certainty.
I’m not letting go of her.