No gentleness. No tease.
Just a hard, claiming thrust that slams me against the wall and splits me open around him. His mouth swallowed my gasp, his tongue already inside—like he can taste the ache dripping out of me.
I’m already soaked, already shaking, already there.
Damien holds me up like I weigh nothing.
With one arm braced under my ass, the other fisted in my hair, pulling my head back so he can lick down my throat. His breath hits hot across my skin, and I feel every syllable before I hear it.
“You want to forget?” he growls against my neck. “Then fucking remember whose cunt this is.”
A shudder tears through me.
I moan—raw, cracked—and he slams in harder.
My back thuds against the wall. My teeth catch my lip. But I don’t want soft.
I want this.
Him.
Unhinged.
Unforgiving.
His fingers dig into my hip, spreading me wider.
My legs shake, barely clinging to his waist.
Every thrust punches the air from my lungs. The wet slap of skin on skin echoes, vulgar, loud, filthy—like we want the walls to hear.
His voice dips—lower, darker—as he fucks me deeper.
“You walked in here like you wanted a reminder, little spider.”
I whimper.
“You wanted me to make you feel owned again.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes—please—Damien?—”
He bites my earlobe, breath ragged. “Then you crawl into the web, and you stay.”
I can’t breathe.
I don’t want to.
He grinds into me with a twist of his hips, cock angled perfectly, forcing the friction so high my toes curl. I claw at his shoulders, nails digging in. His muscles flex beneath my hands—coiled, controlled.
But his control is fraying.
I feel it in the way his rhythm stutters, breaks, recovers even harder. His breath is sharp; his growl feral.
“You think anyone else can fuck you like this?” he rasps. “Anyone else can fuck the fear out of you?”
My eyes roll back.
He slams in again.
