The loss is so abrupt, I cry out. A sound that mortifies me as he sits back on his heels, sucking his fingers. Probably hiding a smirk.
I lunge for a dark shape on the bedside cabinet, and my fingers close around a pair of glasses. But when I put them on, they’re not mine. Details are even more blurred than before, the room nearly white.
Frowning, I pull them off. “What are these?”
“Mine.” Damien takes them from my hands, setting them back on the cabinet. “The optometrist made them to mimic your natural sight.” He opens the top drawer. “These are yours.”
I’m touched he went out of his way to see the world how I do. I didn’t even know they could make such things.
With my glasses in place, he comes into clearer focus and there it is. His trademark smirk. It doesn’t frustrate me the way it usually does.
His voice is rough with satisfaction. “Sleep well?”
“I’m still mad at you.”
“Guessed you would be.” He shifts closer. “Yesterday was an abomination. I hurt you, and you scared the shit out of me.” He drops a line of kisses along my shoulder. “But can you press pause? Just for this weekend. I’ve already lost half a day, and our time together is too precious to lose more.”
My lips press together. Not doubting his sincerity, doubting everything else.
“This isn’t my skill set.” His voice lacks his usual confidence. “But I’m thinking, and Sunday night, we’ll have that discussion. I promise. Just… not right now.”
“Okay.” It’s time I had a serious think, too. My fingertip runs over the contours of his lip. “I postponed calling my mother for over a year. I guess you can have a weekend.”
His smile spreads, then morphs into a wicked grin. And he’s already moving, crawling up my body, straddling my chest.
The pressure of his legs wedges my arms at my sides. His cock juts upwards, flushed and hard, inches from my face. The entirety of his naked body is on display in my new glasses. The ridges of muscles across his abdomen, the dark trail of hair, the thick vein running along his length.
“Stay still,” he orders, wrapping a hand around himself.
Like I have a choice.
His fist moves in long, steady strokes while his opposite hand braces above the headboard, biceps flexing with each pump. Precum beads and I lick my lips as he spreads it with his thumb. Every breath comes heavier, his chest rising and falling faster, knees tensing against my pinned arms with every ragged inhalation.
“You know how crazy you make me, lying there all flushed and desperate.” His voice breaks into a groan, strokes quickening. “Watching me get off on your pretty tits.”
My face burns. The ache between my legs grows worse, squeezing my thighs not enough.
I tug my hand but can’t get free, can’t give myself that release.
His hips buck towards his fist, eyes never leaving my face, staring with the blank intensity that always makes my stomach flip and my thighs squeeze harder. His cock twitches, then ropes of cum splatter across my collarbones, the swell of my breasts. He gathers the last drops and spreads it over my throat, massaging it into my flesh with slow, deliberate circles.
“So fucking good,” he murmurs, almost to himself. His thumb brushes my nipple until it peaks, then he pinches it lightly. “My perfect little ghost.”
The possessiveness sends fresh heat pulsing between my thighs, but he rolls off the bed.
Fine.
I lower my fingers, sorting myself out, and he grips my wrist painfully tight, pulling them away. “No. It’s time for breakfast. Try that again and you’ll be cuffed.” His lips quirk as he grabs a pair of sweatpants from a drawer and steps into them. “I’m starving, aren’t you?”
My entire body throbs with unresolved need. I’m wet, aching, covered in his drying cum, tense enough to scream.
“You’re not making things better for yourself, you know that. Right now, I hate you.”
“I’m sure you do.” His smirk transforms into a warm smile while I scowl, then he darts in close, lips at my ear. “But I bet your pretty cunt’s still clenching for me.”
I sit up, thighs sticky, my sleep shirt clinging where his cum soaked through the fabric. Buttoning my shirt, I follow him out the door and we walk along a corridor, then into an open-plan kitchen.
Sunlight streams through floor to ceiling windows, instantly transitioning my glasses into their strongest tint. Damien moves around the space with easy familiarity, pulling items from the enormous refrigerator, his back muscles working beneath his tanned skin.
