8. Gabriella
Gabriella
C ould I blame my heart?
No.
My heart knew this was a bad decision. It was my body that wanted Damien.
As he stepped inside my suite and fastened the lock on the door, my breathing quickened, and I shook my head. “Damien...”
“No, Gabriella.” His deep voice reverberated through me like the rumble of thunder warning of an impending storm. He reached for my chin, holding my gaze to his. “Don’t overthink this.”
“I’m not,” I lied.
Overthinking was an understatement. My thoughts were multiplying by the second, each one frantic and scattered.
The storm brewing within me built, twisting my insides as my thoughts spun with tornado-strength winds capable of obliterating my new world, the world I’d built without the man before me.
The turbulent sea churning in his orbs meant he didn’t believe me or just maybe he was having the same cascade of thoughts.
“If I don’t kiss you again,” he said, his voice low, “I’m not sure I’ll survive.”
Before I responded, Damien collided with me.
All of him.
Six feet, four inches of solid muscle.
Our lips reunited as they had in the elevator, the same as they had during the years we were together. Body memory was a theory I learned about while working with Damien. It played a role in the research for the PTSD drug that brought Sinclair Pharmaceuticals fame and fortune. Body memory was the hypothesis that the body itself was capable of storing memories, as opposed to only the brain having that function.
That was what was happening.
It was the most likely explanation.
My body was on autopilot, flying me into the center of the Damien storm.
We sought one another in a frenzied dance.
Strong and possessive, his lips took mine. His body pressed against me, sandwiching mine between him and the wall—two immobile objects—as my fingers grasped for the lapels of his jacket, and the air around us filled with the primitive erotic sounds of two people starving for what the other had to offer.
I relinquished my mind to the passion my body sought, sensing the building desire in the twisting of my core and the sudden emptiness of my pussy. His kisses left my lips, skirting over my jaw, to the sensitive skin near my ear, and lower to my collarbone. I gasped as Damien lowered the zipper on the back of my dress.
As I met his clouded stare, he grinned. “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you at the elevator with the drunk assholes.”
Reaching for his tie, I teased the knot.
Damien grasped my hands in his. “I’m all about consent. But if you don’t tell me to leave in the next five seconds, there’s no turning back.”
“One time,” I said, my voice cracking with the combination of my need and the weakness of my resolve.
“One night ,” Damien corrected.
With my nod of approval, he spun me around, further lowering the zipper on my back. A hiss echoed as he realized not only did the neckline not allow for a bra but the way the material clung to my curves made me decide to go without panties. “Fuck, Ella.” He pushed the dress from my shoulders. The garment I’d carried through the airport so as to save it from wrinkling was now a puddle near my bare feet. He took a step back, his focus scanning from my head to my toes. “You’re even more stunning than I remember.” His grin quirked. “You’ve gone natural.”
He was talking about the lack of waxing at my core.
Warmth filled my cheeks. “I wasn’t planning on…”
Damien shook his head. “I like it. I’m getting too old to fuck a bald cunt. I want a woman, not a child.” He met my gaze. “I want you.”
I knew who was in charge when it came to Damien and sex. Hell, when it came to Damien and anything—it was always him. And never had that been an issue. If he said kneel, I knelt. If he told me to spread my legs, I did. My obedience wasn’t out of fear or my own insecurities. No, my compliance was spurred by the reward I’d receive due to his unmatched capabilities.
The air around us thickened with anticipation, leaving me drunk from the expectation of what was to come. Now, standing completely nude in front of his fully clothed body, I sought the control I never had.
With a sly grin, I licked my lips before falling to my knees and reaching for Damien’s belt. His hands again grasped mine.
“Ella.”
The rough gravel tone spurred me forward.
“I want your cock, Mr. Sinclair.” I was keenly aware that I was playing with fire. The thing was that fire was essential to survival and maintaining life. It was the heat that saved us from freezing, the element that cooked our food, and the flames that stoked our desires.
In the cool of the air-conditioned suite, I unbuckled his belt, unfastened his pants, and lowered the zipper, each step sparked flickers igniting my circulation. As I pushed down the silk boxer shorts and released the beauty of his erection, the singe of the flames heated my skin.
“Fuck,” he mumbled, reaching for my head and entwining his long fingers in my hair.
After lapping the shiny tip of his penis, I opened my lips, straightened my spine, and offered my mouth for his pleasure. At the first lick, I recalled the uniqueness of his spicy and masculine taste.
My gag reflex hadn’t received the memo on body memory. His length and girth challenged my resolve. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I savored the power of my position. Yes, in the past, I’d fallen to my knees and sucked him at his command, but this wasn’t the same. I initiated the action. It was my doing. And every glimpse of his contorted handsome expression reinforced the knowledge that I was making the great Damien Sinclair fall apart. I was his undoing.
His thrusts quickened as he pulled tighter at my hair.
My jaw ached as his cock pressed against the back of my throat. And each passing second, my nipples hardened, and my pussy throbbed with need. His deep voice rumbled with the dirty talk he spewed at times like this. “That’s it. Take it deeper. You’re hungry for my cock. Look at you. Damn, you’re beautiful on your knees.” His breaths deepened and his praise began, “Fuck yes. Good girl.”
His words and phrases were demeaning and at the same time, they affected me like the striking of flint. A two-year near-drought left my body dry as kindling. His baritone words added fuel to the blaze. By the time he came, I swallowed with flames raging through my circulation. As I licked him clean and his praises continued, I was on the verge of orgasm.
Damien lifted my chin, bringing my face upward and my gaze to his. His smile grew. “Damn, first the lunch.” He offered me his hand to stand. Once on my feet, his lips met mine, his tongue seeking his own salty taste. My sensitive breasts flattened against his chest. “And now this.” His grin quirked. “This take-charge seductive side of you is fucking hot.”
“I wasn’t sure you were on board.” Sarcasm dripped from my response.
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“Are you hot, Ella? Will I find your pussy as warm and wet as your mouth?”
I nodded.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Right now, I want you, Damien.”
His intense stare held my gaze hostage as his grasp of my wrists tightened, holding my hands in front of me while step by step leading me backward into the suite. It wasn’t until we passed beyond the small living room through the open French doors to the bedroom that I realized our uncontrollable passion had exploded in the entry.
“Keep it up,” he said with a smirk. “Be specific, Ms. Crystal. What do you want?”
Prizing my gaze from his, I looked down to where our hands were—where mine were held—to the sight of his cock, springing monstrously thick and hard with each step. Looking back to his stare, I lifted my chin. “I want your cock, Damien. I told you I wanted it.”
“Is that all you want?”
“I could lie.”
“You won’t.” Releasing my wrists, Damien lifted me from the floor, cradling me against his solid chest. “You forget. I know you.”
In the security of his arms, with my hands free, I pushed against the shoulders of his suit coat jacket until it hung on his arms. Barely moving me within his grasp, Damien allowed one sleeve to fall and then the next, his suit coat falling to the floor. As he did, I loosened the knot in his tie and pulled the silk from around his neck. By the time he laid me on the bed, I’d released three buttons on his shirt.
Lying back, I continued my task until the shirt parted, revealing the six-pack of abs I’d also missed. My fingertips skirted over each muscle, sensing the warmth of his skin and definition of his torso. Placing my hand over his pecs, I splayed my fingers. “Your heart is beating fast.”
“It’s because I’m thinking about your request.”
“Undress first,” I said, knowing that disrobing was an issue for him. We’d probably dated for months before I saw him completely nude. He’d seen me. At the time, it seemed sexy and forbidden to be nude while he remained mostly clothed. There was nothing about his naked form that should remain hidden—he could double as a work of art, a Roman statue. Nudity was Damien’s barrier; one he held as a threshold to intimacy.
“Ella,” he said my name with a warning tone.
I scooted up the bed and leaned against the headboard. “Knowing goes both ways.” If asked, I’d admit to the satisfaction coursing through me as Damien kicked off his shoes, removed his socks, his pants, and finally after freeing the cufflinks, removed his shirt. The boxers were the last to go. In only the illumination coming through the large windows, the man before me was the perfect specimen of manhood—a Greek god come to earth.
“That was the last time for the night,” he said as he crawled toward me. From the end of the bed, he appeared as a predator playing with its next meal.
“Last time for what?”
Damien grasped my ankles and pulled me down the mattress.
I gasped as the ceiling became my view.
Lifting my head, I met his stare. “Last of what?”
“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve had your time. Like I said, I enjoyed your power play back at the airport and again here. Now I’m in charge.”