Chapter Twenty-Two • Worship • Lillith
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My skin feels impossibly hot in the most pleasant way as I sit on the couch, half naked.
I hear the faucet in the kitchen as Damien hums to himself and washes his hands for entirely too long.
I realize he’s humming “Happy Birthday”.
Twice. Like how they told us to do during the pandemic to ensure we got all of the biohazards off our hands.
There is something oddly ominous about being sat on the couch while he cleans up. The threadbare fibers of the upholstery feel entirely new beneath my bare thighs despite the sofa being in my family for decades. I’m almost certain he means to create that foreboding air.
I’ve only seen little hints of Damien’s proclivities toward dominance.
The very first kiss he planted on me before the show started a little over three weeks ago.
The way he seems to enjoy marking me, or holding onto my wrists while we kiss.
The way he pressed his thumb and index finger into my pulse points while he told me about how he and Oren want to share me.
It’s strange, because I feel very calm around him normally.
I’d trust Damien with anything. With my drink.
With my best friend. If I still had it, I might even let him handle the Nightingale Pearl.
But when he comes into the room again, drying his hands with a fresh dishcloth, my heart starts to hammer so hard that I can hear my pulse in my ears.
He approaches the couch and stands right in front of me, lording over me—no, looming.
He’s totally looming. His eyes are narrowed and hooded as he almost absentmindedly rolls his split tongue over his lower lip.
Damien drops the dishcloth behind him with no real attention paid to where it lands, holding my gaze with a faint smile curving his full lips.
A smile that looks menacing with how it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
I can hear my breaths coming out of my lungs. They’re slow, controlled, but loud. My mouth goes dry, and I struggle with swallowing, hearing the click of my throat as my stomach bottoms out.
“You really put me through the wringer, Little Bird,” he says, his voice unnervingly calm. “And I don’t appreciate that.”
“What?” I blurt, stupidly.
“What did I tell you from the very start? When I first realized you were keeping things from me?”
“I don’t remember?” My heartrate picks up.
“Slow down,” he says, stepping closer and using his feet to kick out my ankles, sidling in between my knees while he continues to loom. “Think. What did I tell you from the very start?”
Slow down?
How the fuck am I supposed to do that, when he’s got me bare from the waist down, and the cool ocean breeze is making me painfully aware of just how arousing I find this entire scenario?
Gods, I’m... drenched. And he isn’t even looking at me there.
His eyes are soldered to mine, like he isn’t even aware of my sensitive pussy open before him.
“You’re so evil,” I whimper, looking away.
He clicks his tongue in a tutting, scolding way as he pinches my chin between his fingers. “Answer. The question.”
He says it so lightly—almost lilting. But when he tilts my chin up to meet his eyes again, they are strangely dull in the warm light of my apartment. There’s an almost frenzied quality to his stare, like there is something feral hiding just beneath the surface. Something sadistic.
It’s fucking thrilling. He’s fucking starving, but he’s playing with his food. Playing with me.
“What did I say, Lillith? Don’t make me ask again. You won’t like the punishment if I have to ask again.”
Oh... hells. Wow. I really, really like this side of Damien.
I like it so much that I almost go fully ‘blue screen of death’ in my brain.
I almost forget to answer—almost forget that this isn’t some Damien x Reader fanfic I’m reading and that I’m actually an active participant in this.
I blink rapidly, trying to remember his words verbatim.
You know you can tell me whatever, right? And I’m not going to think poorly about you?
“Y-you said that you won’t think poorly about me, no matter what I tell you,” I say.
He gives a curt nod. “That’s right,” he says. “And did you believe me, Lillith? Did you listen to me when I told you how serious I was about you?”
This feels like entrapment. It also feels like I have no other choice but to walk right into it.
I can feel myself teeter over the edge of being good and being in trouble, and I would do anything to be good for Damien.
I feel the shift into this submissive headspace as easily as stepping into the stream of a shower.
There is something soothing about being here.
Something that loosens the knots in my muscles and lifts some burden off of my shoulders.
“I didn’t believe you,” I confess on an exhale.
“And you made me suffer for that, Little Bird,” he says, his expression dark and oddly serious.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“I know you are,” he says. “And I know you’re going to show me just how sorry you are, aren’t you?”
I nod, eagerly, as I shift forward on the couch and reach for the button on his jeans. He grasps both of my wrists and pries them away from his fly, holding my hands above my head as his voice takes on a sharpened edge that I’ve never heard before.
“Did I ask you to touch me, Lillith?” Mean. Cold.
My blood cools. “I thought—I thought that you—”
“It’s not your job to think right now. It’s your job. To listen. To obey. And to keep these greedy little whore hands to yourself.”
I flinch and shrink back at the harsh words and a see little crack in the facade of this dark alter ego Damien has slipped into. He drops to his knees in front of me, but continues holding onto my wrists, pinning them at my sides.
“You didn’t like that, did you, little bird?” he asks, light returning to his eyes despite his tone still being stern.
“It’s fine, I deserved it,” I say, my voice warbling.
“Hush,” he says. “None of that. This isn’t about breaking you down, Lillith. I need you to be honest with me. No more lies. Not by omission, or anything else. You’re being punished, but that doesn’t mean I want you to think I feel anything but the desire to worship you from head to toe.”
To my complete horror, my eyes prick with tears. I try to lift my hands to hide my face, but Damien holds them firmly at my sides, and I have no choice but to let them fall onto my face.
He clicks his tongue again, but this time it’s more indulgent. Tender, even. He gathers both of my wrists in one of his large hands before using the newly freed one to wipe away the wetness from my cheeks.
“Words, little bird,” he says, gently.
I sniff and force them out. “I don’t like degradation.”
“Good girl,” he says, and if feels like a balm over the abrasion he just gave me. “I won’t do that again. I took a shot in the dark and I missed. I’m sorry. Do you want to stop?”
The question isn’t weighted. There are no suggestions for how he wants me to answer that question. It’s offered to me the same way one might offer any other morally neutral choice. Creamer in your coffee? Milk or dark chocolate? Sparkling or flat?
Do you want me to stop dominating you after inadvertently hurting you?
I shake my head.
“Words, Lillith,” he commands, though his tone is still kind—almost indulgent.
“No,” I sniff. “I don’t want to stop.”
He nods. “Lillith, I am playing fast and loose with you here, but you always have the power, even when I hold onto the control. Do you understand that?”
I nod before correcting the habit. “I understand.”
His smile reaches his eyes. Finally, he says, “Very good. You are such a fast learner.”
My lashes flutter with the euphoria that comes along with pleasing him—with being good.
“What do you know about safe words?” he asks.
“That they’re used to slow down or stop a scene,” I say, and I realize that’s what we’re doing together. We’re enacting a scene.
“I usually like to use some more traditional ones—specifically the ones coded for traffic lights. They’re easier to remember in a pinch. But do you have any you like to use instead?”
“I’ve never...done this for real,” I say.
He nods. “Alright. We can talk more about this in detail later, but if you want me to slow down and check in with you, I want you to say the word ‘Yellow’. Repeat it.”
“Y-yellow,” I say.
“Good. And if you are in the kind of distress that you don’t like, then I want you to use the word ‘Red.’ If you say ‘Red’, I’ll immediately stop whatever I’m doing.
I’ll check in on your immediate needs, and then we’ll go right into aftercare.
I will never be angry or disappointed with you for using your safe words. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Repeat it back to me.”
“You will never be angry or disappointed with me for using my safe words,” I say.
He nods and I watch with awe as he slips back into the persona he inhabited before the misstep with our little episode of trial and error. It doesn’t feel forced. It feels like he took a moment to handle an important tangent, but now we are back to the original agenda.
He goes back to holding my wrists against my sides as he settles in a little more comfortably between my legs, sitting on the floor and looking up at me.
“Lillith. I have a few different proclivities when it comes to being a Dominant. I consider myself a sadist, but I also think of myself as a pleasure Dom and a bit of a primal Dom. Do you know what that means?”
I shake my head before his brow arches, and I correct myself again. “No.”
“I’ll go into more detail with you about this later, but suffice to say, I enjoy turning you into a little whimpering puddle, even when I’m punishing you,” he says. “And you are being punished today. You’re clear on that, correct?”
I frown and nod. “Yes.”
“Good,” he says. “Do you see where your hands are right now?”
I look down at them, pinned to my sides. “Yes?”