Chapter 16
CASSANDRA
“Kneel.”
I sink to the plush rug, spine rigid, shoulders back, chin tilted as he likes.
“Eyes.” I lock mine onto his, my clit pulsing in anticipation.
“Hands.” I lace them behind my back, trembling.
I stay silent, his commands rewiring my nerves, arousal already dripping down my thighs.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. It’s as if my bones dissolve every time he praises me, heat flooding my core. “Stand up and undress me,” he orders, voice low. “Slowly.”
I slide his tux jacket off, fumbling with his cuff links before unbuttoning his shirt, revealing that body I can’t get enough of—abs like granite, broad shoulders, that chest carved with scars, jagged lines across his ribs, a faded burn on his pec, those gorgeous tattoos.
He unzips, freeing his cock, thick, veined, and throbbing, the tip slick with precum, dripping for me. My mouth waters, pussy aching.
“Now, take me in your mouth,” he says. His voice is a rough command that vibrates through me.
I drop back down to my knees, lips parting, stretching my mouth wide as I slide down his shaft. My tongue traces the throbbing vein, savoring the musky tang of him filling my senses.
I swirl around the swollen tip, lapping at the bead of precum, slick and salty on my tongue. I suck harder, lips tight, trying to draw a groan, a shudder—anything to claim a piece of his power. My hands grip his thighs, nails digging into the taut muscle.
“Breathe,” he orders.
His dark blue eyes bore into mine, unyielding. I push deeper, testing his restraint, my throat tightening around his cock as I take him to the hilt. He pulls back sharply, a low growl in his throat, eyes blazing with warning.
“Not yet.”
My pussy pulses, the denial a sweet, torturous burn that sets my nerves alight. I whimper, my core clenching with frustrated need, pride and surrender warring in my chest.
God, what is he doing to me?
“Now sit.” Damien nods toward a chaise lounge on the other side of the room. I stand and stroll over, sitting down slowly, eyes never leaving his.
He drops to his knees before me and parts my thighs with a deliberate nudge.
His breath is hot through the lace of my thong, a sizzling tease against my swollen clit.
The fabric clings to my slick folds, a maddening barrier as his tongue flicks the edge, grazing the sensitive bud.
Then, finally, he pulls the fabric to the side, his tongue touching my bare lips.
Wet, obscene sounds fill the air—his lips sucking, my arousal soaking through, my moans mixing with the distant hum of the ballroom. It feels so goddamn good.
“Count,” he commands.
“One,” I gasp without hesitation as he sucks lightly, my hips bucking, chasing the pressure.
“Two,” I choke out as his tongue swirls, teasing the seam where lace meets skin, my thighs quaking.
“Three,” I moan as he grazes my clit again, lips brushing with agonizing precision, pulling me to the brink.
“Tell me where you are,” he says, breath hot against my core, hands gripping my thighs, holding me open.
“Almost there,” I whimper, voice breaking, the words a leash he tugs tight. He edges me again, tongue lapping slow, then fast, my body trembling, desperate for release.
“Four,” I manage as he pauses, my pussy throbbing, liquid heat dripping down my thighs. He repeats the torture, each lick a spark, each pause a denial like a drug I can’t quit. My head falls back, my breaths ragged.
“Now.”
His tongue flicks my clit again, relentless, and I shatter, my pussy convulsing against his mouth, a scream ripping through me as pleasure floods my core, leaving me wholly his.
“Eyes,” he growls, and I snap to his gaze.
He stands and pulls me to my feet, my legs unsteady as he guides me to the full-length mirror.
“Look,” he orders, positioning me to see my flushed reflection—lips swollen, thong dark with my arousal. His tongue finds my neck, a slow, possessive lick that makes me moan.
He swats my ass, a sharp, purposeful strike, the heat blooming into a delicious ache. Another swat lands, firmer this time.
“You like that, don’t you?” he asks, his hand lingering, kneading the heated flesh.
I nod.
“Say it.”
My voice shakes, submissive under his gaze. “Yes, sir, I love it.”
His hand slides to the side of my neck, firm but careful, an anchor that steadies my racing pulse.
“This body is mine,” he says.
He bends me over the leather bench, my breasts pressing against the cool surface, eyes locked on our reflection. His knee nudges my thighs wider, exposing me, the lace thong a flimsy barrier. One hand pins my wrist while the other guides my hips to his rhythm.
“Look at how fucking gorgeous you are,” he growls, his breath hot against my ear.
I moan, watching my reflection writhe, my slit aching as I match his slow, deliberate pace, backing myself into his touch.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. Once again, the praise sets me ablaze, my core tightening with need. “Now, come here.”
He takes me by the hand and lays me on the bed, tying my wrists to the headboard with the red ribbon, the silk biting my skin.
“Eyes on me,” he orders. His gaze strips me bare, intimate enough to terrify and thrill. He kneels between my thighs, his cock teasing my slick folds through the lace.
“Beg for it,” he says, voice rough with desire.
“Please, sir, I need it,” I plead, voice raw, shame burned away by want.
“What do you need Cassandra?”
“I need you to fuck me.”
He rips the thong, the fabric tearing with a sharp snap, then slowly presses his cock inside, inch by torturous inch. The burning fullness stretches my walls, his thickness hitting every nerve, a searing, perfect fit that rips a gasp from my throat.
My back arches as his strong hands grip my hips, lifting me to meet his aggressive thrusts.
His scarred chest glistens with sweat, shifting with each powerful snap of his hips, his abs flexing, eyes blazing with hunger.
His cock drives deep, relentless, the wet slap of our bodies echoing, my walls clenching around him, slick and desperate.
“Fuck, you take me so well,” he growls, voice raw, pace brutal yet controlled, each thrust hitting just right, making my clit throb. My breasts bounce, nipples aching as pleasure coils tight, his shaft dragging against my sensitive walls.
“Hold it,” he says, denying me, my moans pleading as he pushes me to the edge. “Now,” he growls after a beat, thrusting deep. I shatter, my pussy spasming around his cock, a scream of pleasure tearing free.
He unties the ribbon and laces our fingers, his lips claiming mine in slow, deep kisses. Then he shifts us again, pulling me to straddle him, my hands free but his fingers digging into my hips, controlling my pace.
“Ride me slowly,” he orders. “Show me how much you want to please me.” I grind against him, my clit brushing his base, sparks shooting through me.
His hands roam my curves, squeezing the lush swell of my hips, kneading the soft flesh of my thighs before sliding up to cup my full breasts. His fingers tweak my nipples, pinching just enough to spark pleasure-pain, making my clit throb.
“Fucking hell, look at this gorgeous body,” he growls, voice raw with hunger, eyes devouring my curves, ass bouncing as I grind. “So fucking perfect and all mine.”
His praise lights me up, my pussy clenching around his shaft. I love being on top, hips rolling, grinding my clit against him, chasing another orgasm with every slick thrust. The contradiction—submission cloaked in power—sets my core ablaze, my body his yet I am in control.
“Tell me how much you love this,” he says, one hand gripping my ass, the other twisting my nipple.
“I love riding your cock,” I moan, “I love pleasing you.”
His eyes darken, a flicker of raw hunger breaking his control.
“You’ll come with me,” he snarls, hands tightening, guiding my hips faster. “Wait for my word.” I grind harder, my breasts bouncing, slickness coating his cock, pleasure coiling tight.
“Now,” he growls, thrusting up hard and deep.
His release hits, hot bursts flooding my core as I join him, his low groan vibrating as he fills me, his grip bruising my hips. I savor the searing heat of his seed, our orgasms merging, bodies trembling.
I collapse to his side, breathless. He pulls me close, one arm cradling me, his fingers tracing soothing circles on my back.
“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, handing me water, then smoothing my hair. “You did so well.” His warmth, his praise, wraps around me like a blanket, grounding me. My heart stutters as I realize he’s claimed my body and now my heart.
The realization thrills and shocks me simultaneously, a dangerous spark. I’m his, in ways I never expected.
A sharp pop rings out, like fireworks.
Then another.
The ballroom’s music stumbles. Bullets shatter the two-way mirror, glass spraying everywhere. A shard sears my arm and blood runs, crimson and hot. Damien slams me down, his body a shield, hand covering my head.
“Down,” he shouts. “Don’t move.”
I freeze, pain burning, ears ringing. He checks my arm—grazed, not deep— then rips a line of linen, binding it tight.
His comm crackles. “Lockdown. Sweeping the grounds. Routes B and C. Medical en route.”
He stays between me and the glass, pinning me, calm and grounding. “You’re okay. Stay with me.”
My heart pounds with fear, the words stay with me looping in my mind.