I shudder.
I don’t know if he’s lying.
I don’t know whether I care.
I was supposed to fake it—moan at the right times, writhe the way Damien trained me to.
But now?
My moans aren’t lies.
My begging isn’t scripted.
My body is betraying me, and I’m letting it.
“You like it,” he growls. “You like not knowing if it’s me or him.”
“I—” I don’t answer.
I don’t know because I feel like I’m falling between two jagged cliffs and I’m reaching for either just to feel anchored. Just to feel owned.
He pulls out suddenly and flips me onto my back.
I gasp—my thighs slick, clit swollen, nerves fried—but I still arch for him.
Like a fucking offering.
He grabs the vibrator, presses it to my entrance, sliding it up and down my folds while he stares at me.
Not with lust.
With worship.
With devotion that looks like madness.
“You’re not Damien,” I whisper, eyes wide, chest heaving.
He smiles. “No, baby.” He thrusts two fingers in, then withdraws. Slow. Cruel. “I’m the part of him you wanted more of. The part that would’ve broken you sooner. Deeper. Harder. The part he hid.”
He leans down, and when his tongue touches me again, I cry out—not from fear. Not from pain.
From the terror of how much I want him to keep going because Damien is the shadow I ran to.
But this?
This is the flame I want to burn in.
And for a heartbeat—I stopped thinking about escape.
His tongue moves as if it knows every ruined nerve in me.
And maybe it does because I’m not sure anymore if he’s learned my body from watching…Or if I’ve always belonged to him.
He sucks my clit, slow and obscene, while his fingers slide inside again—two, then three, curling just right, like he’s not trying to bring me to orgasm?—
He’s trying to destroy it.
“Say it,” he murmurs, licking a stripe from hole to clit. “Say who you want it from.”
