Chapter 24
Damon’s grip is firm and warm, a stark contrast to my clammy skin.
Each step up the staircase feels like I am inching toward something I both crave and fear.
The polished marble of the hallway floor seems to stretch endlessly as he leads me toward my bedroom, my pulse quickening with every step we take together.
When we reach the door, I turn to face him. My back presses against the cool wood as I search for the knob. “Are you coming in?” The words escape my lips before I can stop them, barely more than a whisper.
A slow smile spread across Damon’s face, his eyes darkening with renewed hunger. “Do you want me to?”
I nod nervously, my fingers twisting in the hem of his sweatshirt I’m wearing. “I think so.”
“That’s not an answer, trouble.” His voice is deep and low, sending shivers down my spine.
“I just… I don’t know for sure that I can give you what you want.” My confession hangs between us, vulnerable and raw.
He steps closer, his body heat radiating toward me as he lightly cups my cheek, tipping my face up to his. “What I want and what I expect are two very different things.”
I stare up at him, lost in the intensity of his gaze as my pulse hammers in my ears.
“What I want,” he continues, his thumb stroking my jawline, “is my cock buried so deep inside your pussy that you forget where I end and you begin.”
My breath hitches, and I gulp audibly.
“But I know you might not be ready like you were the other day,” he adds softly, “and as much as I want to fuck you, I have no expectations of it—or anything else—happening.”
“Really?” My question slips out, filled with disbelief and unexpected reassurance.
“Really.” His eyes hold mine. “What do you want?”
“For you to come in.” The words are steadier this time, more certain. Because something about everything being on my terms makes me more confident.
After letting us both into my room, I shut the door and flip the lock. Damon leans in and captures my lips in a deep, consuming kiss that leaves me breathless. “What else do you want?” he asks through our joined lips.
Heat floods my cheeks as I whisper, “For you to touch me.”
“Your innocence is adorable, but I’m going to need you to tell me exactly what you want.” His voice is gentle but firm.
“Under my shirt,” I manage, my face burning with embarrassment.
“You want me to touch your big, beautiful tits, trouble?” The raw words send a fresh wave of desire through me.
Before I can respond, he pulls his sweatshirt over my head, the fabric whispering against my skin before dropping to the floor. I stand before him in my white bra and shorts, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable.
His knuckles dust lightly over the swell of my breasts, the touch so gentle it is almost a tease. “With my hand, my mouth, or both?”
“Umm… I don’t know.” My mind is a blur of sensations, unable to think clearly enough to find an answer in my jumbled thoughts.
He makes the decision for me, cupping my breast through the fabric of my bra and kneading it lightly before dipping his head to press kisses over my plump cleavage.
His fingers deftly pull at the cup, exposing my nipple to the cool air before rolling it between his fingers.
I gasp as he swirls his tongue around the sensitive peak, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through my entire body.
When he sucks my nipple into his mouth, lavishing it with his tongue, I can’t stop the moan that escapes my lips.
His other hand palms my neglected breast, his thumb brushing against the fabric-covered nipple until it pebbles beneath his touch.
Damon releases my nipple with a soft pop, kissing over my skin as he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra entirely, letting it join the sweatshirt on the floor.
“Do you like that?” He peppers the words across my skin.
“Yes,” I exhale.
“Yes, Daddy,” he corrects.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“What do you like?” he presses, our eyes meeting as his hands continued their exploration.
“Your mouth and tongue on me.”
His attention returns to my heaving breasts, attending to them until I am breathless with need. The combination of his fingers rolling and tugging at my nipples while his tongue swirls and teases is almost too much to bear.
“Do you want my hands or mouth anywhere else?”
I nod, unable to form words.
“Show me.”
My trembling fingers find the zipper of my shorts.
I undo them with fumbling movements. I wriggle the fabric over my hips and thighs until it slides down my legs and pools around my ankles.
Taking his hand, I guide it beneath the waistband of my panties, a breathy sputter spilling over my lips when his fingertips slide through my lips.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he gravelly whispers. “Have you been thinking about how good my tongue feels in your pussy.”
His fingers tease over my clit and entrance, exploring with an expertise that makes my knees weak, and the only answer I can manage is a whimper.
He walks me backward, laying me down gently on the bed before removing my panties entirely.
I lie naked, as he pulls off his shirt and pants, keeping only his boxer briefs on, his erection jutting firmly against the fabric.
After climbing onto the bed beside me, he licks his fingers, moaning at the taste of me before sliding them back between my legs. “Do you really like the way I taste?” I whisper.
“I fucking love the way you taste. I will happily lick every drop of arousal from that little pink pussy of yours to show you how much.” He kisses down my body, his lips leaving a trail of fire on my skin as he moves lower, settling between my thighs.
He lowers his head, and the first bold, flat stroke of his tongue through my pussy sends an electric shock through my entire system.
My whole body shudders with a violent, uncontrollable tremor.
Licking again, this time with more purpose, the tip of his tongue circles my clit with a precision so devastating that it lifts my hips off the bed.
A desperate sound, something between a gasp and a sob, tears from my throat.
His hands firmly grip my thighs, holding me open for him as his mouth begins its exquisite torment.
He alternates between broad, languid licks, which have me seeing stars, and focused, sucking kisses on my sensitive clit, which make my thighs quiver.
He is relentless, a master of my body’s responses, learning every secret place with an artist’s attention.
His tongue delves lower, teasing my entrance before thrusting inside, mimicking the act I’m uncertain about but suddenly craving with a ferocity that scares me.
My fingers tangle in his hair, my knuckles blanching white as I fist it for an anchor in a sea of overwhelming sensation, pulling it free of his bun. The sounds I make are no longer under my control. Breathy whimpers, broken moans, and his name spill over my lips.
“Daddy… Oh, God, Daddy…”
He growls against my flesh as I cry out, the vibration pushing me closer to the edge.
My thick thighs, which are trembling with the effort of staying open, clamp around his head of their own volition.
It is an instinctual, primal response, trying to hold him in place, to keep this exquisite torture from ever ending.
The pressure spurs him on, his grip tightening as he redoubles his efforts, sucking my clit into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue until I shatter.
The orgasm that rips through me is blinding, a complete unraveling of my senses, until I am left limp and gasping, my thighs still quivering against his cheeks.
When he finally lifts his head, his beard is glistening with my arousal, pure, unadulterated satisfaction flares in his eyes.
He slowly licks his lips; the sight is so carnal that I already need more.
My chest is still heaving, and my body feels boneless, but my eyes were drawn downward with a nervous gravity I can’t control. They land on the distinct throbbing bulge straining against the black fabric of his boxer briefs. He follows my line of sight, and a soft, knowing smile touches his lips.
“It’s okay,” he insists, his voice gentle as he shifts to lie beside me, propping his head on one hand. He makes no move to guide my hand or press himself against me. He just waits.