12. Alina
12
Alina
I’m dozing on the massive couch when a sound wakes me… it might have been the elevator or the front door. The room is dim, only ambient light filtering in from the city beyond the massive windows.
A dark form stalks toward me.
Damian.
Scrambling to a sitting position, I watch as he peels off his jacket. The muscles of his arms stretch the short sleeves of his t-shirt. He tosses the jacket aside then pulls his t-shirt over his head, leaving his torso bare. My breath stops. He’s all lean muscle and tattoos—the solid planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, the muscled caps of his shoulders. I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous. Or so dangerous.
His eyes glitter as he advances toward me, a predator, his muscled frame radiating raw, masculine power.
“Damian?” His name is barely a whisper, a question… an invitation.
“Alina.” His voice is a low growl, velvet and whiskey with a hint of gravel. Just the way he says my name sends a shiver of lust through me.
I surge to my feet as he comes nearer, then back away.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper.
“A terrible idea,” he agrees. “And I don’t fucking care.”
There’s something wild about him tonight. Something feral and dark.
Well…darker than usual.
“Did something happen?” I ask, clicking on the lamp. I gasp. His hair is a damp, tousled mess. His right eye is swollen and bruised, his knuckles cracked and bloody. And he’s staring at me with brazen hunger, like he wants to eat me alive.
“Something happened,” he says. “And I came here. To you. Don’t fucking ask me why because I have no fucking clue.”
“I—”
“Take your clothes off, Alina.” A command. It touches something deep inside me, something that aches to obey. His words, the low tone of his voice, the expression on his face all turn me on.
Still, I shake my head, backing away until there’s nowhere for me to go, my back pressed against the cool glass of the window.
“Please,” I whisper, but I don’t know what I’m asking for.
He keeps coming until he’s a foot away, his gaze roaming my face, my body. “Clothes. Off.”
I stare at him, my heart pounding, my mouth dry. I could tell him to go. I could say no.
But I don’t.
The seductress buried deep inside me roars to life, wanting—needing—his eyes on me. Slowly, so slowly, I peel off my top. I’m not wearing a bra. My nipples harden in the cool air. His gaze drops to my naked breasts, his expression hungry and savage, twisting a knot of desire low in my belly. I hook my thumbs in the waistband of my yoga pants and panties, shimmy them down over my hips, my thighs, my calves, then I kick free of them and straighten, my chin high, shoulders back.
In one swift motion, he pulls me to him. His lips are on mine, demanding and fierce. Teasing. Tormenting. Tongues tangling, teeth grazing, a clash of dominance and submission.
He kisses me like I am air to a drowning man, like I am all he needs or will ever need.
Heat roars along my veins, leaving me dizzy and weak. He has one arm around my waist. If it wasn’t, I’d be a boneless puddle on the floor. His free hand roams up my body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Tangling his fingers in my hair, he tips my head back. His lips move to my neck, sucking, biting, leaving marks. Want and need arrow through me. He smells incredible, hints of citrus and musk.
I twine my fingers in his damp hair, silky soft.
He tastes me, his tongue moving down my neck, over my collarbone, then tracing the swell of my breast. He takes my aching nipple in his mouth, licks the sensitive peak, bites me, just hard enough to make me cry out and arch my back. He pinches my other nipple, his fingers wicked, making me whimper. Panting, I pull him closer, aching for his touch.
Rearing back, he studies me, his eyes dark and fathomless, heavy lidded with lust.
“Hands above your head,” he orders.
The words coupled with the tone of his voice reach inside me and make me long to obey his every command. My back presses to cool glass as I lift my arms and press the backs of my hands against the window.
His mouth moves hungrily on mine, exploring, tasting. Claiming. His kiss is like the best wine, like ambrosia. Hot, heavy, raunchy lust spirals through me. My heart races, my legs tremble.
His hand slides to my hip, then lower, his fingers easing between my legs. “So wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “So tight.”
I moan as he slides his fingers inside me, curling them to touch me exactly the way I need. I reach for him and he stills, denying me.
“Hands above your head, Alina. Keep them there. You move only when I give you permission.”
“Damian.” His name is a plea, a prayer. I want to touch him. I want to feel the hard planes of his body. I want to wrap my fist around his cock.
My legs wobble. I feel swollen, aching, on fire… my breasts, my pussy. I’ve never been this turned on in my life.
He lifts me and carries me to the couch, setting me down on my back, arranging my body the way he wants. Hands above my head. Knees bent. Legs splayed, leaving me fully open to him.
Suddenly shy, I start to bring my knees together, but with a dark laugh he pushes them apart, even wider than they were before. And I let him. His lips curl in a dark smile as he stares down at me.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, then leans down and kisses me, hot and wild. I arch into his kiss, but keep my limbs exactly as he placed them. I’m naked. He’s still wearing his jeans, a power imbalance that turns me on.
He kisses his way down my body, sucking first on one nipple, then the other. Kissing the edges of my ribs. Tracing his tongue around my belly button. Lower. He runs his tongue along my center in a slow glide. Again he licks me, and again. I arch and whimper as his tongue swirls around my clit, then his lips suck and pull. He teases me, his tongue working in slow circles as he palms my breasts, playing with my nipples while he licks my clit. Pinching. Twisting.
A moan escapes me and my hips shift restlessly forward and back. “I need… please… I need…”
He makes a low laugh. “Patience, Alina.”
There’s only Damian. The feel of his hands on my breasts, his mouth on my clit.
He uses his teeth, just hard enough to make me cry out. He uses his tongue, slow and gentle, then faster, working me to a frenzy.
I gasp. I sigh his name. I moan.
Please. Please. Yes, like that. Just like that. So close. So close…
He torments me until I am writhing and begging, my need so exquisite I feel like I’m going to combust. Then he presses his tongue firmly against my clit as he pushes his fingers inside me and I come so hard I scream, my back bowing off the couch, my heart slamming against my ribs. He eases the pressure of his tongue, gentle now, letting me ride the waves of my orgasm, drawing them out in an endless ribbon.
I don’t know how long I lie there, unable to move, his big hands stroking my arms, my legs, my belly, gentle, soothing.
Rising to his feet beside the sectional, he stares down at me, eyes glittering in the lamplight, lips curved in a feral smile. His gaze holds mine as he undoes his jeans. His cock springs free, long and thick and hard.
I lick my lips.
“What do you want?” he asks.
Choices, choices. I want his cock in my mouth. I want it in my pussy.
“I want you to fuck me,” I say. And I do. Oh, god. I’ve never wanted anything more than I want Damian’s cock inside me, stretching me, filling me. I cut him a sidelong look through my lashes. “Please.”
He laughs, low and rough. “Since you ask so nicely…”
I watch while he slides on a condom. He flips me face down before pushing a cushion under my belly and positioning my legs, knees bent. He kneads my ass. “Fuck. You have a gorgeous ass.”
He lands a light slap on my right cheek, then a harder one on my left. I squirm but don’t protest. Why don’t I protest? Because I like it. I like the feel of his palm on my ass, the sting, the promise of what will come after.
He reaches down and strokes my pussy, then pulls the moisture up between my cheeks, letting the tip of his finger graze my asshole. I make a mewling sound and try to pull away but he presses his palm against the small of my back, holding me still. “Not today, pretty girl. Today I’m going to fuck your gorgeous pussy. But it’s only a matter of time before I make every inch of you mine.”
Shifting closer, he positions himself at the opening of my pussy, pushing the wide head of his cock into me, just a little, just enough to make me want more. I arch and squirm, but he takes his time, squeezing my ass cheek while he stretches me. God, he’s so big, so hard. He pulls back just a little, pushes forward a little more, the glide slow and slick and I ache to set a rhythm, a pattern.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he says. “So tight.”
With a moan, I arch, needing him to fill me. “Please,” I whisper.
“Such a good, greedy girl,” he says, and shoves his cock all the way in.
He fills me, his cock deep inside me, his hand kneading my ass.
Taking his time, he pumps in, out, a slow tease, making me writhe and rock and ache, feeding the lust roaring through me. Each thrust pulls me deeper into mindless need. There’s only Damian, the feel of him, the scent of him.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please. Please.”
His fingers find my clit and he strokes me as his thrusts grow faster, rougher, deeper.
I’m so close. So close. So—
He thrusts hard and holds still and I feel him throbbing inside me as he comes, my own orgasm crashing through me. I scream my release, my world spinning, heart hammering. I collapse beneath him, his chest against my back, the weight of him pinning me.
I lie there slowly coming back to myself. My only thought is that I just had the best sex of my entire life. Whatever happened to Damian tonight, he brought his pain and need and rage and desire to me. He came to me.
And that I am secretly, darkly glad that he did.
I am so screwed.