Chapter 2 #2
She laughs, breathless, but her eyes are glassy with want. “I didn’t think it was that loud.”
“I heard every filthy little thing.”
I sink to my knees between her legs, watching her as I drag my palms up her thighs, spreading her open. She hums a small moan. I kiss the inside of her knee, then higher, then higher still, my lips trailing heat across every inch of her, savoring the way her muscles twitch under my touch.
“Look at you,” I murmur, my breath brushing the soft skin at the top of her thigh. “All wet from your little audiobook.” I glance up, and her eyes are needy. “All those filthy words making your pulse race, and you knew I could hear every goddamn one.”
She swallows, lips parting like she wants to defend herself. But she doesn’t.
“You like those stories, huh?” I say low. “Letting some smooth-talking narrator put ideas in your pretty little head while you soak in the tub. You think about me when you listen to that?”
She nods, almost imperceptibly.
My lips twitch, not quite a smile. My hands tighten slightly on her thighs. “You’re such a little book whore, Lo.” I lean in, close enough that my words ghost against her skin. “Filling your head with dirty little fantasies when I’m just in the other room.”
Her breath shudders.
“You didn’t even try to be quiet,” I go on. “You wanted me to hear. Wanted me to know exactly what you need me to do to you.” My thumbs stroke up and down her inner thighs—teasing, slow—the kind of touch that makes anticipation coil tighter in the air between us.
I press my mouth to her skin, just shy of where she wants me most, and her thighs tense beneath my hands.
“Put it back on,” I murmur against her clit. “The audiobook.”
She blinks down at me, color staining her cheeks.
I meet her eyes with a slow, deliberate drag of my thumb over the inside of her thigh. “Go on. Let’s see what that filthy book tells you to do next. I’ll help you follow every word.”
Her brows lift, breath catching in surprise.
Her hand fumbles toward the phone, trembling as she finds the audiobook app and hits play.
The narrator’s voice cuts the air, slow and deep—seductive, commanding.
“You want to make me feel good, don’t you?
You want to be useful?” The words thrum through the room like a pulse.
I guide her to sit on the edge of the ottoman, right in front of the tall mirror. Her reflection blooms around us—her flushed cheeks, the gleam of her eyes, her parted lips already wet with anticipation.
I rest my hands on her knees, keeping her spread open, exposed, gorgeous. Her gaze flickers from me to the mirror, then down again. I catch her chin, tilting her head.
“No,” I whisper. “You watch.”
The narrator’s voice continues, thick with suggestion.
“Look at yourself. Look at how eager you are. You like being watched, don’t you?”
Her breath hitches, her back arching slightly. I trail my fingers up her inner thigh, watching her in the mirror as her expression changes—uncertainty melting into need.
The male narrator’s voice flows through the room—deep, slow, thick with heat. He’s telling her to kneel. To open. To take what he gives her like a good girl.
Marlowe’s eyes flick away from the mirror.
“Don’t look away,” I rasp, dragging my hands up her hips. “Look at me. Look at you.” I guide her gaze back to the mirror so she can see herself clearly—her flushed skin, her parted lips, the way her thighs shake just from my voice alone.
I slide my hand between her legs, fingers trailing slowly through her slick heat. Her hips jerk.
“See that?” I whisper against her neck as I rise behind her, my fingers now working slow, maddening circles over her clit. “See how wet you are just from his voice? From the way I touch you when you listen to it?”
The narrator says something darker now—something about obedience, about claiming her, about making her beg. I match the rhythm of his voice, curling my fingers inside her, stroking her exactly how he describes.
Her head falls back against my shoulder, her mouth parting in a soft moan.
“No,” I growl. “Eyes on the mirror. Watch how I fuck you with my fingers. Watch what that filthy little audiobook made you into.”
Her breath shudders, her hands gripping the edge of the cushion. Her reflection is wild—cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes dark and glassy with need.
“You love this,” I say, curling my fingers again. “Being caught. Being played with while some stranger talks about ruining a girl like you.”
The voice continues in the background—building, coaxing, commanding.
And I keep going—until she’s trembling, writhing, staring at herself as she comes apart on my hand, with every dirty word echoing through the room.
“Good girl,” I murmur, letting the praise thread through the heat. “Keep watching.”
I press a slow, reverent kiss just above her navel, then lower.
Her body bows toward me, needy and open, every breath a soft plea.
I lower my mouth to her—slow and savoring, tasting her like she’s mine to consume, because she is.
Her breathing gets louder, eyes wide in the mirror as her thighs tremble around me.
“Keep watching,” I say against her slick heat. “Look how messy you are. Just from a voice. From words. From my tongue.”
I lick a long, slow stripe over her, then circle her clit with the tip of my tongue.
“Damian,” she gasps.
I glance up. God, she is a masterpiece—legs spread, hair wild, lips parted around the softest moan. I slide two fingers inside her, watching the way her eyes flutter, then refocus on the mirror, trying to obey.
The audio plays on.
“Good girl. Just like that. Open wider. Let me see all of you. Let me see my filthy little whore.”
I follow the command, using my shoulders to spread her thighs wider. I curl my fingers just right, stroking her from the inside as I suck hard on her clit. Her body jolts.
“Say it,” I growl between strokes. “Tell me what you are.”
She shakes her head, already unraveling.
I slap the inside of her thigh, not hard—just enough to sting. “Say it.”
Her voice is a broken whisper. “I’m your filthy little whore.”
A growl builds low in my throat. “That’s right. My perfect little slut. Every filthy fantasy in those pages? I’ll do them all with you.”
She lets out a strangled moan, teetering right on the edge.
“Not yet,” I snap, pulling my mouth away just before she tips over. Her cry is sharp, desperate. Her hips jerk, chasing my mouth. I hold her down.
“Please,” she whispers, looking down at me.
“I said watch.”
Her eyes dart up to the mirror again—wild, undone.
“Touch yourself,” I command. “Right there. Like you do when I’m not around.”
Her hand moves shakily between her legs, fingertips circling her clit with slow, tentative strokes. She’s already so close—already so wet around my fingers. I keep them buried deep. My knuckles brush the sweet, tender ache inside her as I curl them just right.
“You’re going to come with my whole hand inside you,” I growl, my voice rough with hunger, “and you’re going to watch yourself in that mirror while you do.”
Her eyes flick up, catching her reflection—glazed, panting, desperate. I slide my other fingers in, stretching her open, filling her completely. I add one finger at a time until my whole hand is inside her—tight, pulsing heat wrapped around my knuckles. I curl them into a slow, deliberate fist.
Her body bucks, muscles tightening around me, hips jerking forward in frantic little thrusts.
In and out, I work my hand through her, pushing past resistance, claiming every inch.
The sound is obscene—wet and raw—and it only makes her moan louder.
She whimpers, thighs trembling violently, her orgasm building, spiraling too fast to control.
“You gonna come for me, baby?” I rasp, my mouth at her ear. “Show me how good my dirty little book slut can be. Come on, let me feel it. Let me see that pretty face fall apart.”
She shatters.
Her cry is low, raw, breaking against the walls as she clenches around my fist, her hips jerking uncontrollably. Her head tips back, then forward again, watching herself fall apart in the mirror.
I don’t let up.
I keep my balled hand moving through every pulse of her orgasm, drawing it out, feeding on every whimper until her body collapses into the ottoman, boneless and panting.
I rise slowly, grabbing her chin and tilting her face toward mine. I kiss her—slow and deep—claiming every last sound she makes. Then I lift her up and carry her toward the bed, because I’m not nearly finished.
I kneel on the edge of the bed, spreading her open, watching the way her slick folds pulse—still clenching from the orgasm I dragged out of her.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” I murmur, dragging my tongue across the inside of her thigh, leaving a wet, possessive trail.
I glance up at her. She’s watching me again, her fingers curled into the blankets, eyes glassy and waiting.
And then I devour her. No teasing. No restraint. I eat her like I’m starving, like her pussy is the only goddamn food I’ve ever known. My tongue drives into her, my lips locking around her clit and sucking hard, over and over, until she’s clawing at the sheets, her cries raw and desperate.
She jerks beneath me, thighs shaking around my head, but I hold her steady, grinding my mouth against her like a man possessed. She tastes like sin and surrender—sweet and sharp and completely mine.
“Damian—please—I can’t,” she gasps, but her hips are bucking into my face, chasing every flick of my tongue.
“You can,” I growl against her. “You’re going to come again, and then I’m going to fuck you so deep you’ll feel me every time you walk through that goddamn bakery.”
Her moan breaks.
I thrust two fingers inside her again, curling them, stroking that soft, swollen spot that makes her legs fly apart.
She unravels again.
Hard.
Her scream rips through the room as she comes for me again, her body jerking, writhing, soaking my hand, my mouth, everything. Her nails dig into her own stomach, trying to ground herself as I ride her through it—relentless, merciless.
Fuck, I need to be inside her.
I crawl over her body, dragging my soaked fingers across her lips before shoving them into her mouth.
“Clean them,” I rasp. “Taste what a good girl you are.”
She moans around them, sucking greedily, her tongue swirling over my skin, and I nearly come right there. But I need to be inside her. Now. I reach down and line my cock up to her soaked entrance, and she’s already lifting her hips—desperate, ready for more.
I slam into her in one savage thrust.
She gasps my name, her back arching like her body was made for mine. I bury myself to the hilt, grinding into her like I want to fuse us together.
I brace on my elbows, my mouth dragging across her cheek to her jaw to her lips, and then I whisper against her skin, “Say it. Say who you belong to.”
“You,” she breathes.
“Say it like you mean it.”
Her eyes blaze as she locks onto mine. “I belong to you.”
I fuck her hard, deep, grinding into her with every thrust. The bed slams against the wall, her moans rising with every brutal stroke.
Mine. She’s mine.
Her legs wrap around my waist, her arms around my neck, and we move like one body, one breath, one fire burning too hot to contain.
And just when I feel her start to tighten again, start to fall over the edge, I wrap my hand around her throat—not hard, just enough to hold her in place.
“Come for me, Lo. Let everyone know who fucks you like this.”
She screams my name, coming hard, shaking apart beneath me.
And I follow her.
I spill deep inside her, every muscle locked, my body grinding into hers as the orgasm rips through me, violent and perfect.
We stay tangled like that, sweat-soaked and breathless, her nails biting into my back, my lips buried in her neck.
And for a second, everything feels still.
Safe.
Mine.
A text message pings on my phone. She snuggles her ass closer to me as I reach for it. One is Bridger complaining about being downstairs waiting, and another is from my contact in Vegas.
Clay’s lawyer pulled property records from the sale of the house. Make sure there’s no paper trail to the memory care place. He hit the motorcycle shop too. Kicked over a few bikes. He’s pissed.
I toss the phone down, pull her closer, and slide back inside her. I should have known better than to think this peace would last.