Chapter 24 #2
“Damian,” I sob, hips rocking helplessly against air, slick and pulsing and so fucking empty I could cry.
He keeps my legs spread wide, his grip iron and unforgiving, and then he lowers his mouth to my skin like he owns every inch of it.
A kiss to my inner thigh. Then another. Higher. Slower.
He moves to my stomach, pressing a hot kiss just below my navel, and then…
He exhales.
A cool breath ghosts over my wet, aching pussy.
I gasp. Arch. My wrists pull tight against the bra wrapped around the headboard.
My body’s a live wire. I’m soaked, twitching, clenching around nothing.
He looks up at me, eyes burning.
“Now,” he murmurs, voice like smoke. “I’m going to fuck you with my tongue.”
He moves between my legs again, slow, deliberate, cruel in the most beautiful way.
“I’m going to take you right to the edge again,” he says, brushing the tip of his nose just above where I’m soaked. “And you’re going to take it. All of it.”
And then he does.
His tongue parts me and I scream—no buildup, no mercy. Just heat and wet and pressure, deep and consuming. He flattens his tongue and drags it from my entrance all the way to my clit, slow at first, then faster, sharper, flicking and circling until I’m writhing beneath him.
My body trembles violently. My legs try to close around his head, but he shoves them apart with his shoulders, keeping me helpless, spread, ruined.
“Damian—” I sob, broken, shaking. “Please, I can’t—please—”
He groans into me like he’s getting drunk off how desperate I am. His tongue fucks into me, then pulls back to lap at my clit with maddening precision, over and over and over until I’m right there—every muscle locked, every nerve lit up, the orgasm clawing its way up my spine.
And then he pulls away again. I cry out—loud, ragged, raw. Fuck, I love when he takes control of me like this. My thighs try to chase him, but he holds them down, spreads them wider, forces me to endure the empty ache all over again.
“Not yet,” he growls, voice thick with hunger.
Tears burn at the corners of my eyes. I nod, shaking, because I’ll take anything he gives me—every second of this slow beautiful torture—just for the promise of how it will feel when he finally, finally lets me break.
And then he stands.
My breath catches.
Because he undresses in silence—slowly, like he knows I can’t look away.
First the button of his jeans, then the zipper, and he pushes them down his hips with a practiced roll, revealing hard muscle, inked skin, the thick line of his cock already straining beneath his briefs.
When he slides those off too, I forget how to breathe.
He’s big. Smooth. Beautiful.
Veined and flushed and heavy, curving perfectly toward his stomach, so hard it makes my cunt clench even though he’s not inside me. My mouth waters at the sight of it. My body aches—burns—just watching him bare himself for me.
And then there’s the rest of him.
The tattoos stretch across his chest and arms, some ink faded, others bold and black. His body is carved from tension and violence and power, but there’s something reverent in the way he looks down at me—like he’s the weapon, but I’m the war.
And I can’t believe he’s mine.
That this furious, beautiful, brutal man belongs to me the same way I belong to him.
“Damian…” I whisper, voice wrecked.
He doesn’t answer. He just steps closer. Climbs onto the bed. And then he does the cruelest thing yet. He slides the thick, smooth length of his cock against my soaked folds—slowly, not pressing inside. Just dragging it up and down, over my clit, through the mess he’s made of me.
I cry out—shameless, breathless, already on the edge again.
The heavy heat of him rubs over me in long, slow strokes, slick and teasing, the head brushing my clit over and over until my hips can’t stop rocking up to meet him, chasing that pressure, that friction, that release I need.
But he doesn’t give it to me.
He pulls away again, just when I’m about to tip, and I sob—broken, wild, undone.
Then he slaps my pussy. Once. Quick. Sharp.
I jolt with a gasp. The sting is hot and immediate, lightning flashing behind my eyes.
Another. And another. Three quick slaps to my swollen, aching cunt.
It hurts. It burns. It makes my clit throb with the sharp edge of pain laced with unbearable need. Fuck, I love this feeling.
“Damian—” I cry, not even sure what I’m begging for anymore.
He leans down, his cock dragging across me one more time, not entering, just letting me feel every thick, hot inch of it against my slick flesh.
“You’re going to take my cock so deep you’ll forget where your body ends and mine begins. You’re going to feel me for days, Lo. Every time you sit. Every time you breathe.”
I’m panting, straining against the headboard, my wrists aching in the best possible way, because if he doesn’t fuck me right now I might go insane. “Damian,” I whimper. “Please. I need you inside me. I need it now.”
He looks at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted. Like he’s about to destroy me just to see if he can put me back together again.
Then, he pushes in.
The thick head of his cock splits me open in one slow, unbearable stroke, and I cry out, head thrown back, mouth open wide as the stretch burns through me.
He’s huge. So hard. Every inch of him is solid, smooth, unrelenting. And he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, deeper, filling me to the hilt with one long, brutal thrust until he’s buried inside me, thick and pulsing and impossibly deep.
“Fuck,” he groans, jaw clenched, arms shaking as he holds himself over me. “You feel like you were made for me. You’re so tight—so fucking tight. This is all I need. You’re all I’ll ever fucking need, Lo.”
He’s all I’ll ever need too.
He starts to move. Slow at first. A grind so deep I can feel him in my chest, dragging out, then thrusting back in with bruising force. The sound of him inside me is wet and filthy, echoing off the walls with every stroke.
His eyes stay locked on mine—dark, crazed, obsessed. Like he’s watching my every reaction, memorizing every twitch of my body, every stuttered moan.
“You’re mine,” he grits out, voice low and brutal. “This pussy. This body. Every fucking inch—you belong to me.”
His thrusts get harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin drowning out the desperate cries spilling from my throat. My back arches off the bed, and he grabs my thighs, pushes them back farther so he can fuck into me deeper.
And it’s so deep I swear I can feel him in my spine, in my lungs, in the spaces I didn’t know could ache like this.
I sob his name. Over and over. Like a prayer. Like it’s the only word I remember.
And when he leans over me, breathing harsh against my mouth, his face twisted in the kind of intensity that borders on savage, he growls, “I’m going to come so deep inside you, you’ll feel me for days.”
And I want that. God, I want all of it. Every thrust is devastating.
He’s everywhere—inside me, around me, over me. His body drives into mine with a force that makes the bed creak and the headboard slam into the wall, but I don’t care. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can only feel.
His cock fills me so perfectly, stretching me wide, hitting deep, hard, over and over until the pressure inside me builds too fast, too hot, too much.
I’m right there—on the edge of something vast and blinding, and when his thumb finds my clit, rubbing it in tight, slick circles, I break.
I shatter.
My orgasm slams through me like a wave crashing into a cliff, sharp and endless. My whole body seizes. My legs lock around his hips, my back bows off the bed, and I scream his name—loud and guttural and full of something so raw it nearly tears me apart.
I cry.
Tears spill from my eyes without warning, not from pain, not from fear—but from the intensity. From the release. From the overwhelming, unbearable fact that I feel everything for him. Every inch of me is wide open and he’s inside it all.
Damian slows. He doesn’t stop. He moves softer now, deeper, his strokes long and fluid, his hands cradling my face as he leans down and kisses my lips, my tears, my throat.
I sob again, and this time it’s into his mouth.
He unties my wrists slowly, gently, and the moment my arms are free, I wrap them around him and hold on tight. He stays inside me, our bodies still locked together, his cock thick and pulsing as he rocks into me with the kind of tenderness that guts me.
His lips press to my temple.
“Fuck, I love you,” he whispers. “You hear me? I love you.”
I nod, face buried in his shoulder, heart pounding against his chest.
And then I feel it—his hips stutter. His breath catches.
He groans my name like a curse and a prayer all at once and pushes deep—so deep I swear I feel it in my soul—and he comes inside me, long and hard and utterly gone. His body shakes above mine, arms tight around me like he never plans to let go again.
BANG. BANG. BANG. A violent pounding slams into the door.
“Open up!” Bridger’s voice cracks through the silence, loud, panicked, wrong. “It’s Cody! He’s gone! He fucking left to go after Clay—alone!”
My whole body jolts.
Damian lifts his head and looks at me, already pulling away, already out of the bed.
The look on his face guts me. It’s not anger. Not confusion. It’s fear. Real, raw terror. The kind of fear that doesn’t come from what Cody’s done—but from what Damian knows Clay is capable of. He stares at me for half a second longer, chest rising, sweat still cooling on his skin.
And I feel the shift, right down to my bones. Because whatever softness just lived between us—whatever quiet we stole—just got ripped away.
He’s already moving.
One second, he’s wrapped around me, still inside me, still warm. The next, he’s out of the bed and pulling his jeans up with shaking hands. His jaw is clenched like he’s trying to hold himself together with nothing but adrenaline and rage.
I scramble to sit up, reaching for my clothes, but my hands are shaking too much. My legs are jelly, my body wrecked from everything he just gave me—but I force myself to move.
I need to move.
I need to go with him.
But before I can even get my jeans over my hips, Damian’s there. Kneeling in front of me. His hands are on my face, fingers strong and trembling, and his eyes—those hazel eyes that are usually sharp and hard and unflinching—look lost.
“Stay here,” he says, voice low and breaking. “Please, Lo.”
I open my mouth to argue, to tell him there’s no fucking way I’m letting him walk into something like this alone, but he cuts me off—thumb brushing across my cheek, eyes burning into mine like he’s memorizing me.
“If I don’t come back,” he says, and the words punch the air out of my lungs, “get on that flight. Take the IDs. Take Neve. Get the fuck out of here.”
“Damian—”
“Promise me.”
I shake my head, tears already hot in my eyes. “Don’t do this.”
But he leans in.
And he kisses me. Hard. Deep. Desperate.
It tastes like goodbye. And I can’t breathe through it.
His hands hold me like he’s afraid to let go, like this is the last time.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“I’ll come back,” he whispers, like it’s a vow stitched from blood. “I fucking have to.”
And then he’s gone.
Out the door.
And I’m left trying to hold myself together while everything starts to fall apart again.