Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
Damon
She remains still, caught between the glass wall and my body, making no move to escape. Her eyes never leave mine, searching for something—reassurance, perhaps, or proof that this isn't just a game to me.
I can't wait any longer. The need to taste her overrides every other thought. I lean down, giving her time to turn away if she wishes. She doesn't. Her lips part slightly, an unconscious invitation I accept with a growl of triumph.
The first touch of her mouth against mine is electric. Soft. Yielding. Perfect. I keep the kiss gentle for all of three seconds before the beast inside me breaks its chains. My hand slides to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as I deepen the kiss, demanding a response.
She gives it. Her lips part further, a small sound escaping her throat as her hands come up to grip my shoulders. Not pushing me away—holding on. I press her more firmly against the glass, my body flush against hers, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. What she's always done to me.
I break the kiss only to growl against her lips, "You're driving me fucking insane, and you don't even know it."
"I...I'm not trying to," she whispers, her breath coming in short gasps that make my control fray further.
"I know." And I do. That's part of her power over me—her complete unawareness of it. "That's what makes it worse."
I capture her mouth again, pouring six weeks of frustration and desire into the kiss. She responds with unexpected passion, her tongue meeting mine, her body arching slightly against me. The movement brings her hips into contact with mine, and I groan at the pressure against my still-sensitive flesh.
My hand slides down her side, feeling the curve of her waist, the flare of her hip. So small compared to me, so perfectly proportioned. I want to touch every inch of her, to map her body with my hands and mouth until I know her better than she knows herself.
"Tell me to stop," I murmur against her lips, giving her one last chance to end this. One last opportunity to walk away before I claim her completely.
Her eyes open, meeting mine with startling clarity. "I can't," she admits, the words a confession and a surrender.
That's all I need. My hand continues its journey, slipping beneath her sensible skirt, tracing the soft skin of her thigh. She trembles beneath my touch, her eyes widening as she realizes my intent.
"Here?" she gasps, glancing around the empty atrium.
"Here," I confirm, my fingers finding the edge of her panties. Simple cotton, practical like everything else about her outward appearance. But they're damp, betraying what her words won't say. "No one's here but us. And I need to touch you. Need to feel what I do to you."
Her head falls back against the glass as my fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding her slick and ready. The evidence of her arousal nearly undoes me. I've fantasized about this moment countless times, but reality surpasses imagination. She's wet for me. Wet because of me.
"Damon," she moans, the first time she's used my given name. It's the sweetest sound I've ever heard.
I stroke her gently at first, learning her body, watching her face for reactions. Her eyes flutter closed, lips parting as her breathing quickens. I memorize every expression, every tiny shift of pleasure across her features. This is mine. All mine.
"Look at me," I command softly. "I want to see your eyes when you come for me."
She obeys, her gaze locking with mine as I increase the pressure, the speed of my strokes. Her hips move against my hand, seeking more contact, more pressure. I give it to her, circling her most sensitive spot with practiced precision.
"That's it," I encourage as her breathing becomes erratic. "Let go, Lucy. Let me see you."
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, her body tensing as she approaches the edge. I press her more firmly against the glass, my free hand cradling the back of her head to protect her as she writhes beneath my touch.
"I can't," she gasps, not in refusal but in disbelief at the intensity of her response. "I’ve never…It's too much."
My cock surges to full mast at the confirmation that she’s a virgin. That no other man has ever touched her.
That this sweet, innocent angel will be completely mine in every fucking way.
I almost come in my pants on the spot, but I grit my teeth and ignore my leaking cock. This is about her.
"You can," I assure her, my voice rough with need. "You will. For me."
I press harder, move faster, my gaze never leaving hers as I drive her toward release. Her pupils dilate fully, her mouth forming a perfect O of surprise as pleasure overtakes her. She's beautiful in her surrender, more precious than anything I've ever possessed.
"Damon!" My name on her lips is a prayer, a curse, a plea as she shatters beneath my hand. Her inner muscles clench around my fingers, her entire body trembling with the force of her climax.
I watch, enraptured, as wave after wave washes through her. This is what I wanted in the bathroom—to see her lose control, to know I'm the cause of her pleasure. But this is better, infinitely better, because it's real. Because she's in my arms, not just in my fantasies.
As she comes down, her body still quivering with aftershocks, I press my forehead to hers. My own need is almost painful, but I ignore it. This moment isn't about me. It's about claiming her, marking her as mine in the most primitive way possible.
"You are the most exquisite thing I've ever seen," I whisper, removing my hand from beneath her skirt, reluctant to break contact even for a moment.
Her eyes, dazed with pleasure, focus slowly on mine. There's confusion there, and wonder, and something else—something that looks dangerously like the emotion burning in my own chest.
"What happens now?" she asks, her voice small but steady.
I stroke her cheek, marveling at how quickly she's become necessary to me. How completely she's infiltrated my carefully ordered existence. "Now," I tell her, "we begin."
Because this is just the start. Just the first taste of what we'll be to each other. And I know, with bone-deep certainty, that I will never get enough of Lucy. Never tire of her responses. Never want to let her go.
She is my addiction. My obsession. My salvation.
Mine.