Chapter 33
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Emma
The air seemed to tremble around us.
“Can I come closer?” The words came out almost hopeful.
I nodded.
He moved to sit beside me, wrapping his arms around my body the moment I leaned into him. I snuggled closer, letting the warmth of him soak into my bones. His chin rested on the top of my head, a tender kiss pressed into my curls.
“How are you feeling?”
“A little overwhelmed,” I admitted, inhaling the warm spice of his cologne.
A chuckle vibrated through his chest. “I can understand that.”
I burrowed deeper, needing him close—needing the connection that had frayed last night and nearly detonated tonight.
“You’re… not mad about today?”
“No,” he said simply. “I’m not. I understand where you were coming from. Your reactions make sense when I think about how you’re wired.”
Guilt evaporated so fast it stole my breath. I pulled back just enough to look up at him. Then I kissed him. Soft at first, a thank-you, a plea. He answered immediately, fingers threading through my hair as our mouths fell into a steady rhythm.
I deepened the kiss. He accepted, his hand sliding to the back of my head, angling me exactly where he wanted me, taking control so subtly it made something molten unfurl in my chest.
I shifted, sitting up straighter, my hands fisting in his shirt, needing more, needing him.
He broke the kiss with a winded laugh. “Careful. You’ll rip the buttons off.”
“I don’t care,” I said against his lips.
He stilled—just for a heartbeat.
Then he moved.
His hands grew hungrier, more certain, skimming under my shirt before tugging it upward. I raised my arms, letting him peel it away. The cool air hit my skin—and then warmth replaced it, mouth tracing the edge of my shoulder.
I reached for his tie, loosening the knot with clumsy, eager fingers. Before I could reach the first button, he beat me to it—gripping both sides of his shirt and yanking.
Buttons scattered across the floor in tiny metallic pings.
My lungs stuttered.
His eyes—dark, focused, unguarded—lifted to mine.
And he let go.
My body answered.
I moved before I even thought to—swinging a leg over his hips, settling into his lap as if my body had been waiting for this exact moment, this exact man.
Our mouths collided again, the kisses turning wild, messy, hungry.
His hands roamed everywhere—spanning my waist, gripping my ass, dragging blunt nails up my spine until I gasped against his lips.
My bra was next.
He pushed the cup aside with a low, guttural sound in his throat, his mouth closing around my breast like he’d been starving for the taste. The scrape of his teeth stole the air from my lungs. My body jolted, shuddering, fire flooding straight between my thighs.
“Damien—” I choked, but it came out more plea than protest.
His hand slid between us, and under the layers of fabric separating us, feeling the slickness there, and he let out a sharp, tortured groan.
“Jesus Christ, Emma.” The words tore from him, forehead falling to my shoulder for one ragged second. His chest heaved against mine. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”
I kissed him fiercely in answer.
He answered back with equal fire—claiming my mouth, my jaw, the hinge of my neck, sucking hard enough to send jolts of pleasure down my spine.
“Bedroom?” he asked, voice cracked open with restraint he was seconds from losing.
“Second door on the left,” I panted.
He didn’t hesitate.
His hands slid under my thighs, and he stood in one fluid motion—lifting me as if I weighed nothing. I threw my arms around his shoulders, clutching him, dizzy from the sudden height and the fever rolling off his skin.
My back hit the hallway wall for a heartbeat—his mouth devouring mine—before he pulled me away again. A door thudded open, half kicked, half shoved, and then—
My body met the familiar warmth of my sheets.
I sank into the covers with a gasp as he followed, pressing me deep into the mattress with the full weight of his body and the full intensity of his hunger.
“I need you, Damien,” I moaned, pulling him closer, desperate to feel every part of him.
“I need you more,” he shot back, biting my bottom lip before kissing it better. Then he stilled—only slightly—heat ghosting against the curve of my throat.
“Emma.” My name in his mouth, rougher now. Lower. “Can we try something new tonight?”
His lips brushed the pulse at my neck… then he sucked, slow and deliberate, turning my bones to liquid.
“I promise.” The words brushed against my skin. “You’ll like it.”
“Like what?” I managed, as the rigid length of him pressed, insistent and hot, against the soaked ache between my thighs.
His lips brushed my collarbone—then dragged up, slow and claiming, to the shell of my ear.
“It’s called sensory play. I take your vision away… and then I tease you with hot and cold.”
A tremor rolled through me so sharply I couldn’t hide it.
He smiled against my skin—felt it, inhaled it, savored it.
His tongue swept a deliberate path up to my ear, and then he sucked the lobe into his mouth with a tenderness that unraveled my spine.
“Oh,” I exhaled, my voice slipping into a whimper.
His fingers found the clasp of my bra, flicking it open with practiced ease before tossing it aside.
Then his hand found my breast—bare now, nothing between us.
His fingers rolled and twisted the hardened peak, sending lightning straight through my core.
My back arched off the bed, rational thought cracking apart under the weight of pure, feral need.
“Okay,” I whispered—helplessly, honestly.
He shuddered, just once.
Then—
“Such an adventurous little one,” he murmured, the praise dark and sinful, dragging heat straight down my body. He pulled the swollen tip of my breast taut between his fingers, watching my reaction like it fed something deep inside him.
Pleasure tore through me, tightening everything low in my belly.
A sound broke from my throat—raw, involuntary.
His voice dipped, velvet-lined steel. “I’ll be right back.”
And then he withdrew.
His warmth vanished. His weight lifted. His body left the bed. My skin tingled where he’d touched me, every nerve reaching for him in his absence.
I swallowed, pulse trembling, and sat up to shed the last barriers between us. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my bottoms and panties together and pushed them down my thighs in one motion until everything lay pooled at the foot of the bed.
I lay back in the center of the bed—bare, open, waiting—pulse thundering, body already humming for whatever he was about to bring back through that doorway.
Because I knew this much: This wasn’t going to be like anything I’d ever experienced before.
And god help me, I wanted it. All of it.
His footsteps returned—a hunter’s gait. My pulse stuttered as he reentered the room—bare now, nothing but skin and intent—a silken tie draped over one finger, his belt coiled in the other, a glass beading with cold balanced against his chest.
He stopped dead in his tracks. “Holy shit.”
His attention dragged over my body like a touch—like he could devour me by sight alone.
Anticipation curled low in my stomach under the weight of his stare.
“I’m waiting,” I teased, letting my hips circle in a slow, sensual roll across the sheets—an invitation.
His grin sharpened. “I can see that,” he murmured, voice dropping into something dark and edged with delight.
He prowled toward me—shoulders relaxed, movements controlled—but there was something different now. A current humming beneath his skin. A focus so intense it was almost physical. Something that would’ve scared me, if it hadn’t made my whole body tremble with anticipation.
Instead of settling between my legs, he came to my side.
He raised the tie between two fingers. “I’d like to blindfold you.” No demand, no expectation—just a quiet, dangerous promise. “It heightens everything. Every sound, every touch. It makes the experience… more intense.”
I swallowed.
He set the glass on the nightstand and lifted the belt, letting it uncoil from his grip. “And your hands,” he added, the belt dangling from his grip. “Above your head.”
My pulse stuttered. “Why?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Simply more fun.”
There it was—the choice. The thin line between what I’d known and what I was stepping into. My mind wasn’t sure yet. My heart wasn’t sure yet.
But my body?
My body trusted him already.
“Okay,” I whispered.
He started with my wrists, fingers circling one, then the other, guiding my arms up until my hands met the cool iron of the headboard. The leather wound around them—warm from his body, supple against my skin—holding without bite.
Then he reached for the blindfold.
I closed my eyes for him.
And the world tilted.
Silk slid over my skin, from thighs to stomach, over my breasts, along my neck, until it finally covered my eyes. Damien lifted my head, tying the fabric in place, plunging me into darkness.
The world fell away.
All that was left was him.
A rustle of movement. The sound of him near. And then—
A single drop of something cold landed at the base of my throat.
I gasped.
The ice followed, gliding slowly down the center of my chest, from the hollow of my throat to the valley between my breasts. Each inch burned and froze all at once, every nerve alight.
“This is sensory play.” His voice was a dark hum that brushed over my skin. “Hot, cold, gentle, or forceful. All designed to make you shiver. To make you ache.”
He followed the path the cube had taken, chasing cold with fire—his tongue tracing the rivulets of meltwater as if he meant to claim every drop. The contrast sent a tremor through me. I arched involuntarily, a cry escaping before I could stop it.