Her brows lift, breath catching in surprise. Her hand fumbles toward the phone, trembling as she finds the audiobook app and hits play. The narrator’s voice cuts the air, slow and deep—seductive, commanding.“You want to make me feel good, don’t you? You want to be useful?”The words thrum through the room like a pulse.
I guide her to sit on the edge of the ottoman, right in front of the tall mirror. Her reflection blooms around us—her flushed cheeks, the gleam of her eyes, her parted lips already wet with anticipation.
I rest my hands on her knees, keeping her spread open, exposed, gorgeous. Her gaze flickers from me to the mirror, then down again. I catch her chin, tilting her head.
“No,” I whisper. “You watch.”
The narrator’s voice continues, thick with suggestion.
“Look at yourself. Look at how eager you are. You like being watched, don’t you?”
Her breath hitches, her back arching slightly. I trail my fingers up her inner thigh, watching her in the mirror as her expression changes—uncertainty melting into need.
The male narrator’s voice flows through the room—deep, slow, thick with heat. He’s telling her to kneel. To open. To take what he gives her like a good girl.
Marlowe’s eyes flick away from the mirror.
“Don’t look away,” I rasp, dragging my hands up her hips. “Look at me. Look at you.” I guide her gaze back to the mirror so she can see herself clearly—her flushed skin, her parted lips, the way her thighs shake just from my voice alone.
I slide my hand between her legs, fingers trailing slowly through her slick heat. Her hips jerk.
“See that?” I whisper against her neck as I rise behind her, my fingers now working slow, maddening circles over her clit. “See how wet you are just from his voice? From the way I touch you when you listen to it?”
The narrator says something darker now—something about obedience, about claiming her, about making her beg. I matchthe rhythm of his voice, curling my fingers inside her, stroking her exactly how he describes.
Her head falls back against my shoulder, her mouth parting in a soft moan.
“No,” I growl. “Eyes on the mirror. Watch how I fuck you with my fingers. Watch what that filthy little audiobook made you into.”
Her breath shudders, her hands gripping the edge of the cushion. Her reflection is wild—cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes dark and glassy with need.
“You love this,” I say, curling my fingers again. “Being caught. Being played with while some stranger talks about ruining a girl like you.”
The voice continues in the background—building, coaxing, commanding.
And I keep going—until she’s trembling, writhing, staring at herself as she comes apart on my hand, with every dirty word echoing through the room.
“Good girl,” I murmur, letting the praise thread through the heat. “Keep watching.”
I press a slow, reverent kiss just above her navel, then lower. Her body bows toward me, needy and open, every breath a soft plea. I lower my mouth to her—slow and savoring, tasting her like she’s mine to consume, because she is. Her breathing gets louder, eyes wide in the mirror as her thighs tremble around me.
“Keep watching,” I say against her slick heat. “Look how messy you are. Just from a voice. From words. From my tongue.”
I lick a long, slow stripe over her, then circle her clit with the tip of my tongue.
“Damian,” she gasps.
I glance up. God, she is a masterpiece—legs spread, hair wild, lips parted around the softest moan. I slide two fingersinside her, watching the way her eyes flutter, then refocus on the mirror, trying to obey.
The audio plays on.
“Good girl. Just like that. Open wider. Let me see all of you. Let me see my filthy little whore.”
I follow the command, using my shoulders to spread her thighs wider. I curl my fingers just right, stroking her from the inside as I suck hard on her clit. Her body jolts.
“Say it,” I growl between strokes. “Tell me what you are.”
She shakes her head, already unraveling.
