Chapter Twenty-Four
MARLOWE
Ican’t do a damn thing but feel him.
Damian’s mouth is slow. Intense. He kisses down my stomach like he’s memorizing every inch, every freckle, every uneven breath I take. His hands roam my thighs, spreading me open, holding me down when I try to move. And his lips follow—soft, hot kisses to the inside of my knee, the curve of my calf, the dip behind my ankle.
Everywhere butwhere I ache for him the most.
He knows what he’s doing. Knows exactly how desperate I’m getting. My hips keep trying to rise, to chase his mouth, to guide him where I need him, but he just smirks against my skin and keeps moving lower. Or worse—backs off.
“Damian,” I gasp, arching my back, straining against the headboard. “Please.”
But he doesn’t give in. He kisses the inside of my thigh like it’s sacred, drags his tongue along the delicate skin, then nips just high enough to make me whimper—but still not where I need.
My body is on fire. Every nerve is lit up and begging. I feel like I’m going to snap in half if he doesn’t touch me,really touch me, but he just keeps taking his time, like he’s savoring the wait.
“Damian,” I cry, voice breaking on his name. “Please. I need you.”
He looks up at me then, eyes dark and wild, mouth inches from where I’m soaking for him.
And he fucking smiles. “Not yet, Angel,” he says, voice rough. “I want you trembling. I want you tobeg me like you mean it.”
And God help me… I will.
His hands grip my thighs again, firmer this time, and he pushes them open—wide. Completely exposed, completely his. The air against the wet fabric between my legs makes me shiver, makes the need coil tighter and tighter inside me.
I watch him—watch his eyes drag over me like he’s starving and I’m the only thing on the table to eat. My chest rises and falls like I’ve run miles, but I haven’t moved at all. He’s done that—just him.
One hand stays planted on my thigh, grounding me, keeping me exactly where he wants me. The other shifts lower. His knuckle brushes over the wet center of my panties—once, so lightly I almost convince myself I imagined it.
I suck in a breath.
He does it again. Up, down. A feather-soft drag over the soaked fabric that makes my hips jolt, makes my fingers clench where they’re tied above me.
“Fuck,” I whisper, already half-gone.
He hums low in his throat like he likes the way I sound. Then he switches—his knuckle replaced with the pad of his finger. A soft, slow stroke over the damp lace, right where I’m throbbing. He keeps it maddeningly light, like a whisper, like he knows exactly how to make me beg without even trying.
I can feel how wet I am—canseethe way he looks at it, like it’s a gift. Like he’s about to unwrap it, but not yet. Not until I’m delirious with want.
He drags his finger over me again, and again, teasing, circling, brushing up just enough pressure to make me cry out but never enough to give me what Ineed.
My thighs tremble. My whole body feels like it’s suspended by a thread, and he’s holding the scissors.
“Damian, please—” I gasp, voice breaking.
He leans in, mouth close to the edge of my underwear, lips brushing the fabric without kissing, without touching, and says:
“I want you soaked. Shaking. Dripping for me. You think you’re desperate now?” His finger trails even softer between my legs. “You haven’t been desperate yet.”
I whimper, hips rising instinctively toward his touch, but he presses one strong hand down on my stomach, holding me still. My wrists strain against the bra tied to the headboard, but I can’t move. I’m wide open, trembling, already soaked through, and he hasn’t evenreallytouched me yet.
His finger traces the length of me again, firmer this time, dragging over the wet fabric that clings to my skin, and it’s begging to be pulled aside. I’m throbbing under his hand, the ache between my legs deep and relentless. My body is on fire, desperate for friction, for pressure, forhim.
And then he finally does it.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and pulls—slowly, like he wants me to feel every inch of the fabric sliding down my thighs. I gasp as the cool air hits me, bare and soaked, and his groan is deep and guttural when he sees me.
