“You’re doing so good,” I whisper, fingers trailing down his chest, over the scar I once kissed in confusion. “Look at you, holding back for me. Breaking for me. Just like I did for you.”
He groans—the kind that sounds like surrender and sin and suffering all braided into one beautiful breath.
I roll my hips again—once. Deep. Slow. Let him feel every inch of how wet I am. How wrecked he made me. How much I still want more.
His head tips back. Throat exposed. Chest rising like he’s trying to breathe through the fire.
I drag my tongue along the hollow of his throat, then bite down, just enough to make him jerk. “Still not yet.”
He makes a sound as if he’s going to argue.
I silence it with a kiss.
Not sweet.
Claiming.
Filthy.
Mine.
And then—I ride him harder.
Just enough to push him to the edge again.
Just enough to make his thighs shake.
Just enough to feel the pulse of his orgasm threatening at the base of his spine.
And I whisper: “Now.”
His body detonates.
He thrusts once, twice—loses it completely.
His hands finally grab my hips, dragging me down onto him as he cums—hard, hot, deep, spilling inside me with a growl that sounds like he’s dying and thanking me at the same time.
I watch his face as he falls apart.
Open. Raw. Unmasked.
His eyes flutter shut. His mouth parts and for a second, I think I see all of him—every version.
Every single one is mine. He’s still inside me. Soft now. Spent. His hands are slack on my hips, thumbs twitching like he wants to pull me closer but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to anymore.
His chest is slick with sweat. His throat bitten raw. His eyes half-lidded and too honest.
I just rested there, my hands against his chest, my body trembling with the aftershocks of everything we just did—everything we survived to get here and for the first time, I’m not afraid of what comes next.
I’m not afraid of what I’ll see when he opens his eyes because there’s nothing left to hide behind.
No priest.
No surgeon.
No monster in the dark.
Just Damien.
