Chapter 25 #2
I pushed on my toes and pressed a featherlight kiss to his mouth.
He froze.
Then he was on me—surging forward, one hand in my hair as he dragged me into him, his mouth crashing into mine. The world dropped away. His kiss stole everything—breath, balance, thought—heat pouring from him in a way that felt primal and undeniable.
My hands skimmed his chest, muscle flexing under my palms. A breathy sound escaped me—gasoline to a fire.
He caught my waist and pulled me into his lap, the movement snapping whatever restraint I had left. He hardened beneath me instantly—twitching against the core of me—and a broken sound tore from my throat.
His hands slid beneath my shirt—warmth, bare skin—his palm finding the small of my back, scorching like a brand.
He broke the kiss, pupils blown wide, searching for a reason to stop.
A wicked smile curved my lips—permission.
He leaned back only long enough to drag his shirt over his head, the motion revealing the dark trail of hair scattered across the solid cut of his chest. The sight punched the air from my lungs.
Broad pecs, defined muscle, the elegant lines of his collarbones—everything shifting in one fluid rhythm as his hands found me again.
One hand found the hem of my shirt, fingers grazing bare skin; the other anchored my waist, pulling me flush against him.
Instinct took over—I rolled my hips, feeding the storm between us.
But it was me—caught in the rush of adrenaline and want—who grabbed the fabric and yanked it over my head. Cool air swept across my bare skin, lifting a trail of goosebumps along my arms.
His hand found my bra clasp with unnerving precision, freeing it in one smooth motion and tossing it aside.
His jaw went slack.
A heartbeat—no breath, no movement—just him staring.
Then, finally—
“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes raking over me.
Heat flooded his expression, dark and consuming, as his hands rose—careful, reverent—to cup my breasts.
His thumbs swept over my tightening peaks, a shiver snapping through me. Then his mouth closed around one, warmth and tongue drawing me in.
I arched against him, a groan slipping free—breaking into a sharp gasp when he grazed me with his teeth. He pulled back with a wicked, mischievous smile that made my whole body clench, then lowered his head to the other, sealing his mouth over it in a long, devastating pull.
His free hand found the breast he’d left behind, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers—gentle at first, then harder, blurring the line between pleasure and pain until my mind swam.
My hips moved without thought, grinding against him in an aching rhythm as warmth pooled between my thighs, dampening the layers of fabric separating us.
“Emma,” he growled against my skin. “We need to stop.”
“No.” My voice slipped out in a low, aching purr as my hands slid up to his shoulders, dragging him closer. “We don’t.”
His fingers tightened on my hips, digging into my skin as he fought himself, every muscle going taut beneath my hands. His chest heaved unevenly—shallow, shaky pulls of air like he was holding back something feral.
“Emma…” he warned again, voice rough and fraying at the edges.
I bent down, letting my lips brush the shell of his ear. “Don’t stop.”
He sucked in a ragged inhale—wrecked—pleasure and restraint colliding in his chest. He dropped to the waistband of my shorts, sliding beneath the fabric with deliberate, aching slowness.
Sensation roared through me as his palm curved over the fullness of my ass, fingers contracting in a firm, possessive grip that sent a tremor up my spine.
His hands locked on my waist, and in one fluid motion the world flipped—my back hitting the mattress, pillows softening the impact as his body came down over mine.
“God,” I gasped as he caught my mouth again.
The kiss wasn’t gentle.
It was raw—consuming—everything we’d buried erupting all at once in heat and relief and something dangerously close to desperation.
My nails dragged down his back, a shiver rippling through him at the contact, skin tightening beneath my touch.
The world collapsed to a single point—him above me, the weight of him, the sure press of his hands, the dizzy, dizzying certainty that this time….
This time neither of us was running.
His fingers slid into my hair, tightening just enough to drag a gasp from me as he pressed me back into the cushions, settling himself between my thighs. I arched instinctively, nails grazing the hard line of his biceps as I clung to him.
A low growl vibrated against my lips, rolling through me as his hand mapped the curves of my body with careful, ruinous intent. I caught his bottom lip between my teeth—teasing, daring.
His answer was a rough sound and a sharp pull on my hips, dragging me closer until every inch of him aligned with every inch of me. Power—pure and consuming—radiated off him, heat and restraint twisted together until it stole my breath.
“Tell me what you need,” he said against my throat, each word branding into my skin.
Thought vanished.
Air vanished.
Everything narrowed to sensation.
“You,” I breathed—raw, certain, trembling out of me before I could stop it.
His fingertips skimmed the waistband of my shorts, testing, giving me space to pull away. Instead, I lifted my hips—silent permission, all the invitation he needed.
He caught the fabric and slid it down in one smooth motion.
Electricity licked up my spine as his hand settled between my thighs, cupping me through the thin black lace—the final barrier between aching anticipation and everything I’d been holding back for months.
“Are you sure?” The words brushed my lips, one last tether, one last chance to turn back.
“Jesus Christ, Damien,” I gasped, my fingers curling into his shoulders. “Do you want me to beg?”
A low, ragged exhale escaped him, warm against my neck. “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.” Then his hand slipped beneath the lace, fingers finding me—finding the proof of how badly I wanted him.
“Oh, god, Emma,” he groaned, the sound torn from somewhere deep as he explored the edges of what I gave him. Fingertips trailing over my sensitive bud and dipping playfully into the slick of me.
I moaned, my head falling back against the pillow, turning liquid in his arms as he guided me through the ruinous sweep of his fingers, his mouth claiming the sensitive skin of my breasts in a way that sent a shiver spiraling through me.
Pleasure tightened low and electric, stealing every coherent thought from my mind—
Except one.
More.
I needed more.
My hand slid between our bodies, seeking him, finding the rigid proof of how much he wanted me. I wrapped my fingers around him, savoring the sharp, involuntary twitch that answered my touch.
He rocked into my hand, chasing what I offered. The groan that left him when his mouth lifted was raw, wrecked. He shifted onto his haunches, palm flat against my hip, the other hand never breaking its punishing pace.
Then he pushed his pants lower, freeing himself fully. The sight stole my breath—thick, flushed, wicked in the fading light. A dark smile curving his lips as his fist wrapped around the length of him, stroking with tantalizing control.
There was no way—no way I was going to survive him. And he knew it.
“Ah—!”
A cry slipped out as he sank a finger into me, easy but unyielding, the pressure lighting up every nerve. I arched instinctively, caught between the sight of his hand stroking himself and the way he held me open with the other.
“Do you like that, Emma?” he purred, curling his finger just right.
A sound—low, helpless—broke from me. Pleasure pooled deep in my center, tightening in rhythmic pulses.
His shoulder flexed as he continued stroking himself, each measured pump matching the motion of his fingers inside me. My eyes fell to the motion—the precision, the control—and the last thread broke.
“Oh, god,” I moaned into the cool night breeze.
He dropped lower, never breaking eye contact as his teeth caught the thin lace of my panties. He dragged them down my thighs with nothing but his mouth, and even then, his free hand never stopped, his touch coaxing more from me with every stroke.
Then his mouth replaced his fingers.
A sharp cry tore out of me as his tongue swept through my folds in one long, consuming stroke. My hands flew into his hair, gripping the dark strands as he devoured me—easy, then deep, then punishingly thorough.
The pleasure climbed fast—too fast—coiling tight in my belly. Each pass of his mouth, each curl of his fingers, pulled me closer to the edge he was dragging me toward.
I seized around them, around the warmth of his mouth as he licked the wetness he’d created. His tongue moved with hungry purpose, deeper now, drinking every reaction from me like it was his right.
“Damien—” My voice cracked. “I’m—God, I’m going to—”
“That’s it,” he growled against my skin. “Let go for me.”
My release hit hard, tearing through me in sharp, overwhelming waves. He stayed with me the whole way down—steady, focused—his touch gentling until the last shudder left my body and the world settled again.
“Damien, that was—”
The words barely left my lips when I felt him shift—felt the thick head of him brush against me as he adjusted.
He stilled. “Emma.” His voice was rough, strained. “I don’t have a condom.”
The words landed somewhere distant, muffled by the haze still clinging to my mind. I blinked, processing.
“I’m on birth control,” I breathed. “It’s fine. I want—” I swallowed. “I want to feel you.”
A sound rumbled through his chest—something between a groan and a prayer. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “Please.”
He leaned forward, lips crashing together in a mix of frenzied need.
Then pressure.
Heavy, stretching pressure that stole the sound from my lungs.
A broken whimper slipped out, and he froze instantly above me.
“Are you okay?” Hunger edged with concern.
I nodded, breath unsteady. “Yes… just go slow.”