“Hands.” I lace them behind my back, trembling.
I stay silent, his commands rewiring my nerves, arousal already dripping down my thighs.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. It’s as if my bones dissolve every time he praises me, heat flooding my core. “Stand up and undress me,” he orders, voice low. “Slowly.”
I slide his tux jacket off, fumbling with his cuff links before unbuttoning his shirt, revealing that body I can’t get enough of—abs like granite, broad shoulders, that chest carved with scars, jagged lines across his ribs, a faded burn on his pec, those gorgeous tattoos.
He unzips, freeing his cock, thick, veined, and throbbing, the tip slick with precum, dripping for me. My mouth waters, pussy aching.
“Now, take me in your mouth,” he says. His voice is a rough command that vibrates through me.
I drop back down to my knees, lips parting, stretching my mouth wide as I slide down his shaft. My tongue traces the throbbing vein, savoring the musky tang of him filling my senses.
I swirl around the swollen tip, lapping at the bead of precum, slick and salty on my tongue. I suck harder, lips tight, trying to draw a groan, a shudder—anything to claim a piece of his power. My hands grip his thighs, nails digging into the taut muscle.
“Breathe,” he orders.
His dark blue eyes bore into mine, unyielding. I push deeper, testing his restraint, my throat tightening around his cock as I take him to the hilt. He pulls back sharply, a low growl in his throat, eyes blazing with warning.
“Not yet.”
My pussy pulses, the denial a sweet, torturous burn that sets my nerves alight. I whimper, my core clenching with frustrated need, pride and surrender warring in my chest.
God, what is he doing to me?
“Now sit.” Damien nods toward a chaise lounge on the other side of the room.I stand and stroll over, sitting down slowly, eyes never leaving his.
He drops to his knees before me and parts my thighs with a deliberate nudge. His breath is hot through the lace of my thong,a sizzling tease against my swollen clit. The fabric clings to my slick folds, a maddening barrier as his tongue flicks the edge, grazing the sensitive bud. Then, finally, he pulls the fabric to the side, his tongue touching my bare lips.
Wet, obscene sounds fill the air—his lips sucking, my arousal soaking through, my moans mixing with the distant hum of the ballroom. It feels so goddamn good.
“Count,” he commands.
“One,” I gasp without hesitation as he sucks lightly, my hips bucking, chasing the pressure.
“Two,” I choke out as his tongue swirls, teasing the seam where lace meets skin, my thighs quaking.
“Three,” I moan as he grazes my clit again, lips brushing with agonizing precision, pulling me to the brink.
“Tell me where you are,” he says, breath hot against my core, hands gripping my thighs, holding me open.
“Almost there,” I whimper, voice breaking, the words a leash he tugs tight. He edges me again, tongue lapping slow, then fast, my body trembling, desperate for release.
“Four,” I manage as he pauses, my pussy throbbing, liquid heat dripping down my thighs. He repeats the torture, each lick a spark, each pause a denial like a drug I can’t quit. My head falls back, my breaths ragged.
“Now.”
His tongue flicks my clit again, relentless, and I shatter, my pussy convulsing against his mouth, a scream ripping through me as pleasure floods my core, leaving me wholly his.
“Eyes,” he growls, and I snap to his gaze.
He stands and pulls me to my feet, my legs unsteady as he guides me to the full-length mirror.
“Look,” he orders, positioning me to see my flushed reflection—lips swollen, thong dark with my arousal. His tongue finds my neck, a slow, possessive lick that makes me moan.
He swats my ass, a sharp, purposeful strike, the heat blooming into a delicious ache.Another swat lands, firmer this time.
“You like that, don’t you?” he asks, his hand lingering, kneading the heated flesh.
