Chapter thirty
Damon, Emma, and Annie's Home, London
Damon
Emma and I have known each other for two years, and I have never seen her look more breathtaking than she does tonight. It’s a shame this evening’s event is for work purposes, not pleasure. I’m so proud to have her on my arm.
When she came to my bedroom door and I looked up, the air was knocked straight from my body. All I wanted to do was touch her and kiss those plump red lips, though I’ve been warned not to ruin her make-up.
I had been nervous to tell her of the changes in my bedroom.
We’ve never discussed her staying in there, and I was unsure of her reaction.
Packing away Connie’s belongings had been difficult but cathartic, and a much-needed process to go through.
If Emma and I are to be together, she needs to be the woman of this house.
She needs her rightful place in the master bedroom with me, sharing my life.
Her expression was one of joy, terror, and confusion as I told her.
My heart broke a fraction when her emotion surfaced.
I knew she was attempting to control tears.
It had been a monumental conversation for both of us.
I was confirming that it was time to move forward and finally allow her to be my partner in this house with me.
She holds my hand as we descend the stairs, long slim fingers wrapped around mine.
Her hand is so delicate in contrast to my large, rough one.
When we reach the bottom step, I turn her to face me then drop a kiss on her forehead.
“Not your lips,” I whisper, “but I need to kiss you.”
She sighs softly, then lifts her hands to my shoulders and glances up.
We stand, my hands on her hips, holding each other at the bottom of the stairs.
My focus drops to the sheer panel at the front of her dress.
Large round breasts swell beneath it, and my mind flicks back to the night before when she was on top of me, and I held her tits in my palms as she rode my dick.
Her hips had rocked back and forth as she used me for her pleasure, and those perky tits had bounced happily whenever I released them from my grasp.
In the end, she placed her hands on my chest and pushed down, searching for as much friction as she could find.
The illicit memory causes my cock to stir in my tuxedo.
We haven’t spoken, but her rate of breathing increases, and I know she’s as turned on as I am.
One slender hand drops to my crotch, skimming over the material to tease my dick.
I harden further. “Don’t play with fire,” I warn, and she squeezes my cock through my suit.
My right hand rests on her hip, but I notice her dress has a long split from her thigh to the ground.
My fingers go in search of the opening and disappear beneath her dress.
Her skin is soft to touch—then I find her garter running down her leg. I pinch the elastic between my fingers, then snap it back against her. She inhales but parts her legs slightly in welcome. I continue my expedition, running my fingertips over her lace thong I saw earlier.
“I need a better look,” I say, then grab her hand, dragging her to the dining table.
She stands in front of me, and I lift her to sit on the edge.
“Get that fucking dress out of the way.”
She bunches the fabric up around her waist.
“Now, I want you to lie back, bend your knees, and open that pussy up for me.”
“My hair,” she mutters.
“Lean back on your elbows. But get in position, because I’m making you come before we leave this house. We won’t be going anywhere until that wet, swollen pussy of yours has given me what I want.”
She wriggles backward, pulling the dress up further then bending her knees and placing sky-high black heels on the wood. Her knees part, and I put my hands on the inside of her ankles to push them wider. When I look up, she’s resting on her elbows, watching me intently. I stand and take a step back.
“Do you know how hot you look?” I ask, and she smiles shyly.
Her cheeks flush a soft pink. “I am a lucky bastard.”
I walk back over to her, crouching to put my lips in line with her thong.
“Do you know what I love about you most?”
I glance up, and she shakes her head gently.
“You aren’t only gorgeous, you’re everything I need. Witty, intelligent, ambitious, and fucking argumentative.”
She giggles; it’s the most stunning sound.
“You challenge me, Spitfire. And I love it.”
Her eyes dance as she displays pearly white teeth behind plump red lips. One heel scratches against the wood as she opens her legs wider, an invitation for me to explore. “Quit sweet-talking,” she says sexily. “Be a good boy and put that tongue to better use on my clit.”
Not needing a second invitation, my focus moves to her underwear.
I move the scrap of material to the side then run a single finger down her entrance before pushing it inside.
Her body is ready for me to do what I please.
I add a second finger before pumping hard, not giving her more time to prepare.
She sucks me in exquisitely, and when I withdraw my fingers, I lift them to my lips to suck clean.
“Bloody delicious,” I whisper then lower my mouth to her clit.
At first, I nip and flick the sensitive spot.
She lifts her hips up, greedy for more. My mouth moves lower, my tongue playing with her lips then diving inside.
She moans above me, and I push harder, my mouth devouring everything she’ll give me.
“Come. Let go and give me everything. I want your taste on my tongue all night.”
I insert my fingers again, and this time three disappear inside her slick, swollen walls.
She opens up beautifully as I thrust, and I curl my fingers looking for the sweet spot.
Her body rewards me with more juice, warm and wet running over my hand.
My fourth finger hovers at her entrance—she’s wet and wide, open for me.
“Are you a good girl?” I whisper, and her eyes that were closed open slightly, barely focusing on mine. “Can you take another finger? Shall we make that pussy of yours stretch? I want to see more of me inside this stunning cunt.”
“Yes,” she pants back, and I slowly insert the next finger. I watch in awe as she opens up, taking more than ever.
“Good girl,” I say hoarsely. “You are fucking perfect. This body was made for my use.”
She whimpers softly but flexes her hips.
“Come for me. Let go. I want you to crush my fingers.”
I increase the rhythm and she moans. My cock is rock solid, desperate to be where my hand is.
“Come, now,” I demand as I lean down and bite the inside of her thigh hard while slamming inside her with curled desperate fingers.
Her body convulses, strong walls locking on.
Her pussy gives way, and she comes, sweet juices flowing from her over my skin.
“Good girl,” I repeat again. “Now, let’s go to the party.”
“What about you?” she shrieks. “You’ve not…”
“You can repay me later,” I tell her. “And I want interest on the repayments.”
***
Moreno’s restaurant is situated in the center of Canary Wharf, only a few minutes walk from the law office.
As the car pulls up in front of the building, it is clear that no expense has been spared on its creation.
The full frontage is floor-to-ceiling glass, and above is a silver sign in swirled writing with the name Moreno bold and clear.
A red carpet leads to wide glass sliding doors with a doorman on either side of them, admitting attendees.
Emma squeezes my hand as our driver steps out and opens her door.
I get out myself then go around to her side, taking her hand as soon as she rises from the car.
My friends arrive immediately after us in matching vehicles.
Harrison, Russell, and Connor exit the first limo, while Hunter and Greyson step out of the final one.
Everyone is a carbon copy of the other with black suits, white shirts, and black bowties. They all walk over to join us.
“Are you ready?” I whisper to Emma as they approach. She nods, but the nervous look on her face tells me she’s terrified. “We’re all here, nothing will happen. We just want our presence to be known to make them uncomfortable so hopefully they’ll slip up.”
“You being here will do that,” Russell interjects; obviously he was listening in on our conversation.
“Moreno will be unsettled by your presence, Emma. Thank you for coming, for being here…for Connie.”
I bristle at him using my late wife’s name.
In recent months, we’ve moved past the issues between us, but it pisses me off when he acts like she was his.
“Okay,” Emma murmurs, then holds my hand a little tighter.
“I don’t know about anyone else, but I need a drink,” Hunter announces.
“I hate these fucking things.” He pulls at his bowtie.
“And look at him.” He signals to an uncomfortable-looking Greyson.
“He looks like he’s wearing his father’s suit. Don’t think that ape’s ever worn a suit before, never mind a tux.”
“Fuck off,” Greyson responds then punches Hunter’s arm. “You’re not exactly Prince Charming yourself, asshole. Come on, let’s get this over with.” The two men head in the direction of the doors side by side; the doorman allows them entry, no questions asked.
The rest of us follow. I lift the invite, which is nestled in my breast pocket, and they wave us in.
Emma walks beside me, matching my steps on the red carpet.
When we enter the restaurant, I am blown away by how luxurious it is.
There are hundreds of people milling around with glasses of champagne, dressed in evening gowns and dinner suits.
Waiters navigate passage through the crowds with trays filled with intricate canapes.
“Wow,” Emma says, and Harrison steps up beside us.
“It’s really something, isn’t it?” he suggests. Emma nods, but her head is snapping from side to side, attempting to take everything in. “I’ve been taking a walk past here every day for the last few months. It’s crazy what’s been spent on the place.”
Russell and Connor move away and begin to mingle with those around them—no doubt they know plenty of people here. Insanely rich people tend to socialize with those who own similar-sized wallets.
“Look at her,” Emma says, pointing toward a stage set up at the back of the restaurant, behind the tables set with perfect white linen and highly polished silverware.