The study glows as I descend the stairs, the massive fir tree casting reflections that dance across glass ornaments, catching the fire’s flicker. The air smells of pine, citrus, and wood smoke, warm and intimate.
Damien lounges on the sofa, open-neck black shirt hugging his muscular chest, slacks tailored to his powerful thighs. His Audemars Piguet glints as he swirls a lowball of whiskey, dark blue eyes lifting to meet mine—cool, aroused, and completely in control.
“Close the door,” he says. I shut it, the click final sealing us in. He scans me slowly, from my bare feet to the open collar of my robe, his gaze a touch I feel everywhere.
“You have something to say?”
I nod and take a breath. “Two things. Thank you, and I’m sorry.”
His lips curve into a tiny smile, his eyes darkening. “Show me how sorry you are.”
I untie my robe and let it fall, pooling on the floor like liquid silk. Beneath it is a gift—lingerie I designed just for him. A deep wine balconette bra with power mesh lifting my breasts, high-waist garter belt with satin seams carving out my waist, sheer thigh-highs and a Brazilian brief with a velvet bow matching the red ribbon at my wrist.
Strategic boning sculpts me smooth, every line deliberate. His breath hitches and his eyes darken with lust, the whiskey glass hitting the table.
“You made this?” he asks, voice rough.
“For you.”
He reaches out, fingers hovering over the garter clip, not touching, teasing. “For us.”
He leans back into the sofa, legs apart, shoulders back, and crooks a finger, beckoning me to him. I kneel between his knees on the thick rug, tree lights haloing the scene, casting a warm glow over his skin.
“Eyes,” he says, a velvet demand that sends a shiver through me. I meet his gaze, my core clenching, desire mingling with the need to atone.
“I’m ready to make it up to you,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow. “Makewhatup to me?”
“Denying you before.”
A small smirk.
“Then show me.”
My fingers graze his belt.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I murmur, voice soft as I ease the zipper down, freeing his cock—thick, hard, glistening. My breath catches and I steady myself, one hand wrapping firmly around his base, the other resting on his thigh, feeling the muscle tense. “Let me make it right.”
I start slow, lips parting, my tongue tracing the pulsing vein with reverence, every glide a plea for forgiveness.
“I shouldn’t have denied you,” I whisper against his skin, the salt of him sharp on my tongue. I seal my lips around the tip, sucking softly, then slide deeper, my hand twisting at his base.
His fingers thread into my hair, guiding gently, letting me pleasure him.
“Good girl,” he whispers, eyes dark with hunger.
“That’s it,” he says, his voice husky with desire. “Make it up to me, just like that.” His praise lands like sparks, fueling me.
I push deeper, each motion a whispered penance.
“Eyes,” Damien commands, his voice a low, molten pull that sets my nerves alight. I meet his gaze, my body humming with need and remorse. “What do you want, Cassandra?”
“I want to make you come, sir,” I whisper. “To please you.”
A slow grin spreads across his face, dark and approving.
I relax my jaw, taking him deeper. His grip in my hair tightens slightly, a low groan escaping as he nears the edge.
