Good slut… Filthy girl…Even secondhand, the growled words fill me with heat. I skip ahead, ten seconds at a time, my lips still burning from where they stretched wide around him.
Forward past the degradation, past the sounds of my own capitulation.
I let it play when a snippet shows his eyes, locked on me, not shifting for even a second. My cheeks burn listening to myself gag, to the wet obscene noises, and my core pulls tight at the groan when Damien comes.
Have a taste.My mouth fills again with his fingers, tongue eager for the salty smoky drops of his release.
My thumb hovers over the pause button. Just a few seconds more.
The kiss. The wall. My whimpers building higher. Then…
“Fuck, I love you.”
I rewind. Play it again.
“Fuck, I love you.”
His voice cracks on the word “love.” So quiet I almost miss it beneath my own gasping breaths. Not performative. Not calculated. It sounds real, and it could be.
Damien doesn’t lie.
But he’s also flat out told me he doesn’t have emotions, doesn’t feel things like normal people do.
Did he mean to say something more? I love you like this. I love you when you do what I want. Is that why he jerked like he was shocked?
No matter his reason, the short declaration is the perfect ticket out of our arrangement. If Chelsea hears him say those words, she won’t just come for me. She’ll slice him to pieces and leave his corpse bleeding on the street. His father will not be amused.
Not that I’ll ever play it for her. It’s just insurance.
I’m listening for the seventh time when my phone vibrates. The promised call.
My stomach flutters. I shove the recording device under the pillow and take a deep breath before answering.
The screen fills with Damien’s face. He’s in bed, shirtless, his dark curls messy against the white pillows. A wave of contentment washes over me, and I break into a gigantic yawn.
“Impressive display, there. Show me how wide you can get that jaw.”
A soft laugh escapes him while I’m thinking of a suitable retort. Between his voice and my sleepiness, I’m as relaxed as I usually get after a couple of wines.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is gentler than usual.
“Fine.”
“Liar.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “It’s okay to not be okay after this afternoon. When you’re a submissive—”
“Fuck you. I’m not your sub.”
His grin grows wider. “Sure, if thinking that makes you feel better, you go ahead. Tell me all about how your brain didn’t crash after the endorphin high and leave you feeling like shit.”
My lips twist. He could be right. Beneath my pleasure at the recording there is a slight hollowness in my chest.
“There’s nothing,” I insist. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” He shifts, and the movement draws my eyes to his bare torso. “Are you in bed?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
