“Jesus Christ, Lo,” he murmurs, voice rough and reverent. “Look how wet you are for my cock.”
He pushes my thighs farther apart, spreading me wide until I’m shaking, exposed, aching so badly I feel like I might come just from his eyes alone.
Then he touches me.
One finger—just the tip—presses into my slickness. He drags it up slowly, parting me with such devastating gentleness I forget how to breathe. He circles my clit once—soft, slow, unbearable.
My whole body jolts. “Damian—” It’s not even a word anymore. It’s a plea wrapped in a sob.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t speed up. Just keeps circling, stroking, teasing me with maddening precision. “Look at you,” he growls. “Tied up, trembling, soaked for me. You’re perfect.”
His mouth follows next—hot breath against my thigh, then finally, finally, he licks a slow line from the bottom of my slit up to my clit, so softly I cry out. My head falls back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut, hips bucking involuntarily—but he pins me down harder, his arm slung across my waist, holding me there while his tongue flicks, strokes,devours.
Every soft suck. Every press of his tongue. Every filthy sound he makes into me—he’s unraveling me with it. He reaches for something on the bed, and it takes me a second to realize what it is—my panties, still damp and warm from everything he’s done to me.
“Spread your legs wider,” he says, low and calm, but there’s a command beneath it that makes me obey without question.
I do.
And he slides the soft, soaked fabric between my thighs.
I gasp—my hips twitch from the sudden friction as the lace presses against my clit, dragging across it slowly. He watches me as he does it, eyes dark and locked on mine, reading every reaction.
Up. Down. A soft stroke, a cruel tease, the kind that makes me whimper and strain against the headboard like I’m losing control.
“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice thick. “That’s how wet you are for me.”
I choke on a moan as he rubs the lace over me again, slick and maddening.
“Look at this, Lo.” He lifts the panties slowly, holding the soaked fabric between two fingers like a prize. “You’re fucking dripping.”
He doesn’t give me time to recover. He brings the lace to my mouth and brushes it across my lips. My breath hitches.
“Open,” he says.
My lips part. I don’t even think—I just obey.
He presses the damp cotton between them, lets me taste myself, lets mefeelhow desperate I’ve become under his hands, his mouth, his words.
“You taste that?” he whispers, voice so close it vibrates against my throat. “That’s what need tastes like. My favorite taste in the world.”
I moan, half in shame, half in total surrender. I want him everywhere. I can’t even form a thought—just raw, pulsing need—but Damian isn’t done. He leans back on his heels, eyes dark and hungry as he takes in the glistening heat between my thighs. Then, without warning, he spits—thick, hot—and it lands right on my slick clit with a sharp, wet smack. “I want you messy for me,” he growls, dragging two fingers through the slick mix of spit and arousal. He strokes up, then down, parting me with gentle cruelty, brushing over every sensitive inch—but never giving me enough.
My breath hitches, body arching up as he presses a single fingertip into the spit-soaked heat. He drags it slowly through my wetness, watching the way my body trembles from just that.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he murmurs, low and rough. “Hard. Deep. Right inside this perfect, soaked little pussy.” His voice drops lower. “First with my fingers…” He slips one inside me, and my hips jerk at the stretch. Then two. The burn is sharp,perfect. My wrists pull against the headboard as I try to breathe through the pressure, the ache of how full I’m getting.
Then he adds a third, curling them just right, and I cry out from the intense pleasure of it. But he doesn’t stop.
“You’re so tight,” he growls. “Take it. Stretch for me, Angel. I want you wide open when I finally slide my cock into you.”
And then—four.
My back arches. My thighs shake. The stretch is intense, my body trying to adjust, to take all of him, all ofthis, and it’s so fucking good I don’t want him to stop. Not for a second.
His free hand presses down on my stomach, keeping me in place as he thrusts his fingers in deeper, slow and firm. His eyes are locked on the way my body swallows every inch he gives me.
“You like that?” he whispers. “All my fingers in your pussy?”
