Chapter 23 #3
My body aches for him, my legs trembling under the sheer force of his dominance. His growl vibrates against my ear, low and primal, sending a shiver down my spine.
“I want you so fucking bad, Serena,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.
I can only nod, though his declaration does not require that. My breath hitching as his hips press even harder into mine. He unzips my dress, and slides it down off my body.
Before I can catch my bearings, he grabs my arms, his grip firm yet possessive, and he walks me backward until my knees hit the edge of the bed.
Gently, he pushes me down onto the mattress, his gaze never leaving mine as he unzips his pants.
I watch, mesmerized, as he slides them down and steps out of them with a deliberate slowness that makes my heart race.
Damien slides his briefs down with an effortless motion, his long, hard cock springing free, thick and pulsing with need, making my pussy clench in anticipation, aching for him to fill me completely.
He climbs onto the bed, his body looming over mine as he pulls down the straps of my lace bra.
His mouth descends on my breasts, his tongue swirling around my nipples before he takes one into his mouth, sucking with an intensity that sends jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
I arch into him, a moan escaping my lips as his lips trail lower, down to the curve of my belly and the waistband of my panties.
Damien spreads my legs wide, his hands gripping my thighs as he buries his face between them.
The fabric of my panties does little to shield me from the heat of his mouth as he rubs his face against me.
Slowly, torturously, he hooks his fingers under the delicate lace and slides them down my legs, tossing them aside.
Without warning, he lies back and pulls me on top of him. His hands grip my hips, guiding me upward until my thighs straddle his face.
“Sit on my face,” he commands, his voice rough and low.
My breath hitches as I obey, lowering myself onto his mouth.
His tongue delves into me, hot and insistent, as his hands grip my thighs, grinding me against him.
I grab the headboard for support, my moans spilling freely as he tongue fucks my pussy with a ferocity that leaves me trembling.
The sensation builds, a fire deep in my core that I can’t contain.
My orgasm crashes over me, my juices spilling onto his face as I cry out, my body shaking with the force of it.
Damien doesn’t let me go, his mouth lapping up every drop as he holds me in place, his grip unyielding. When he finally releases me, he slides me down his body, my cum smearing across his chest until I’m straddling his hips.
I can feel him, his dick hard and ready against my entrance. His hands guide me as he positions himself, and with one slow, deliberate motion, he slides inside me. The stretch is overwhelming, his girth filling me completely, and I wince at the intensity of it.
He grips my thighs, spreading them wider as he thrusts upward, his movements deliberate and powerful. I grind against him, matching his rhythm as his hands find my breasts, squeezing them with a possessive force that makes my breath hitch.
Before I can process the sensations, he flips me onto my back, his body pressing me into the mattress.
He lifts one of my legs onto his shoulder, his cock driving into me with a merciless pace.
The sound of the bed creaking beneath us and his balls slapping against my skin fills the room, the rawness of it all driving me to the brink.
“I’m close,” he growls, his voice strained as he plunges deeper, his movements frantic. I rake my nails down his back, and he growls like an animal. His hands grip my hips so tightly I’m sure they’ll leave marks, his breath hot against my skin.
“Your pussy feels so good,” he growls, his voice rough and desperate.
“I can’t take it anymore.”
A shiver runs through me at the raw hunger in his tone. His hips snap against mine, each thrust driving me closer to the edge until my body can’t hold back any longer. My climax rushes through me in waves, and I cry out, clutching at his shoulders as my walls tighten around him.
He hits the perfect spot, over and over, and I unravel beneath him, my body trembling as I squirt, the juices running down my legs.
With one final deep thrust, he lets out a guttural moan, his body tensing as he cums deep inside my walls.
The heat of his warm seed fills me, and his trembling grip keeps me pinned beneath him as he rides out his release.
He collapses beside me, both of us struggling to catch our breath. He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, pulling me closer until my head rests against his chest. His steady heartbeat soothes the chaos inside me, and I let my eyes close, surrendering to the moment.
As the night deepens, I lie against him with the windows open enough to let the city in.
Paris moves below us in softened sounds.
A boat on the river. A motorbike somewhere far away.
The faint murmur of people walking home late under windows they will never look up at.
Damien’s hand rests at my waist, warm and heavy, and for once, I don’t reach for language to fill the space.
I have five days left.
The thought arrives quietly, not with panic, but with recognition. Five days until I return to New York. Five days until the life I built before Paris expects me to step back inside it as if this city has not changed the shape of me.
Leaving is not something I can stop–not yet. But it’s no longer simple.
Damien shifts behind me. “You’re thinking.”
“I’m always thinking.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s a warning,” I chime.
His mouth brushes my shoulder. “Noted.”
I stare out at the city, at the gold thinning from the sky, at the reflection of the room in the glass.
“I filed the review.”
His hand stills for only a second, as he takes a deep breath.
“I assumed.”
“I can’t tell you what it says,” I say.
“I know,” he says.
“And you can’t ask.”
“I will not.”
I turn slightly to look at him.
“You trust that?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. It nearly breaks something open in me. I face the window again before he can see too much.
“Diana said it’s the best thing I’ve ever written.”
“It is.” He says the words as a matter-of-fact.
“You haven’t read it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“That’s an arrogant amount of faith.”
“No,” he says. “It’s informed.”
Damien’s answer settles into the quiet between us, and for once, I don’t reach for another question to protect myself from what his certainty does to me.
Outside the glass, Paris glows along the river, beautiful in that careless way that makes leaving feel less like movement and more like consequence.
I’ve filed the most honest review of my career. I’ve lived the most honest month of my life. For the first time, leaving doesn’t feel like escape, discipline, or proof that I know how to keep myself intact. This time, I know exactly what I’m leaving behind.