Then he turns.
His eyes burning with something I don’t recognize until he’s in front of me. His hands slide down, heavy on my thighs. The weight alone makes my breath catch.
And then—he parts them.
Slow. Firm. Like he was always meant to stand there, fitting between me while I sink helpless into the chair. My breath hitches so loud I swear the walls hear it.
His palms drag higher, up my hips, over my ribs, pressing heat into my skin until both his hands are tangled in my curls. He fists hard, yanking my head back, exposing my throat, my chest arching without permission.
And then—his mouth. Right against mine. Close enough to steal the air before I can breathe it.
“I’m going to drill you so hard for all that chirping, pup,” he murmurs, low, lethal, wrecking me with every word. “You’re going to faint all over again.”
My whimper’s instant. Shameless. My whole body jerks, thighs clamping around him. My lips part under the weight of his breath, my pulse hammering against the cage of his hand in my curls.
The promise is still on his lips when his mouth crashes down on mine.
No warning. No hesitation. Just steel and fire and the kind of kiss that feels like punishment. My gasp never makes it out—he swallows it whole, teeth scraping, tongue forcing me open like he owns the inside of me, too.
I moan. Loud. Shameless.
The chair scrapes under me when he grinds forward, pinning me in place. My thighs clamp around his hips, my hands fly uselessly to his chest, but it’s not to push him away—it’s to hold on. Because I’m drowning. Again.
His fist in my hair yanks, tipping me back, baring my throat even as his mouth drags lower, biting down hard enough to bruise. I cry out, nails digging into his shirt, my cockstraining against thin fabric because holy fuck—this is breakfast?
“Cap—sir—fuck—” The words break between gasps, between moans.
“Quiet,” he growls against my jaw, grinding into me rougher. The chair creaks, and I’m pretty sure I’d let him ruin the furniture if it meant he didn’t stop.
My chest arches, my thighs squeeze tighter, my body wrecked under the weight of him—but my grin still claws its way out, reckless and cracked. “This—this your idea of team bonding?”
He bites my throat for that. My cry echoes in the kitchen, my hips jerking helplessly against his.
And then his lips drag back up to mine, kissing me filthy, relentless, until I’m gasping into his mouth.
I’m gone. Completely gone.
His mouth leaves mine, just an inch, just enough to make me whine into the space between us. My chest heaves, my lips bruised, my thighs trembling around his hips.
The smirk that cuts across his scar is lethal.
“Do you want the rest of that?” he murmurs, his breath brushing my lips like temptation.
“Yes, sir,” I rasp, too fast, too desperate, nodding before the word’s even finished.
His knuckles drag slow up my throat, pressing just enough to feel the stutter of my pulse. My whole body jerks with it, my breath catching sharp as his stare pins me to the chair.
“Then get dressed,” Damian says, calm, final, a blade wrapped in velvet. “And get your pretty little ass to practice. You’ll give me everything you’ve got on that ice, pup.”
His lips brush my ear, low and rough, sealing it like a vow.
“Then I’ll give you the rest of that.”
My thighs squeeze tighter around him, my curls fall into my eyes, and all I can do is nod—wrecked, buzzing, desperate—because holy fuck I’ll bleed myself out on the ice if it means he keeps that promise.
And then—he lets me go.
The absence is brutal. My body slumps back into the chair, chest heaving, throat raw, while Damian just straightens, calm as if he didn’t just wreck me with a single threat.
