He withdraws almost completely, then thrusts back in, setting a steady rhythm. Not the frantic pounding of the car or outside the community hall. This is different.
Measured, deliberate, like he’s savouring every stroke.
One hand slides up my spine, and tangles in my wet hair, tugging my head back. The position strains my neck, but I don’t care. I can’t focus on anything but the drag of his cock inside me, the building pressure.
“You’re mine,” he growls, punctuating each word with a thrust. “Every. Fucking. Inch.”
His other hand reaches around, finding my clit, circling with the same rhythm as his thrusts. The dual sensation overwhelms me, pleasure radiating from both points until I’m straining, my walls tight around him.
“Not yet,” he warns. But his strokes lose their measured control, becoming more erratic. “Wait for me. Come with me.”
He presses harder on my clit, his cock driving deeper, and the orgasm hovers just out of reach, a promise that makes every nerve ending sing. Then I’m lost, days’ worth of denial compounding into a climax that rocks me so hard, every cell turns inside out.
Damien collapses across me, his face straining, still beautiful even in the throes of ecstasy. The aftershocks continue, pleasurable echoes.
I never want them to end.
“For future reference,” he whispers, chest still rapidly rising and falling. “This is what counts as a turn.”
I laugh, turning my face into his chest. His arms wrap around me, and mine twine around him. For long moments, drifting down from our shared high, it’s like we’re moulded together.
One dark twisted creature. Beautiful and deadly.
A shadow falls across us.
“Damien.”
The voice is cold, precise, echoing through the pool room with the weight of absolute authority.
Damien freezes, his whole body going rigid. He withdraws, standing, the loss so abrupt it leaves me empty, gasping.
I scramble for the wet towel, clutching it to my chest.
A man stands in the doorway. Older, maybe fifty, with the same dark curls as Damien but shot through with silver. Same build, same wide eyes, and broad cheekbones.
His eyes scour and dismiss me in the same smooth motion, focusing on his son.
“Get dressed.” Each word is clipped, speaking of a controlled fury beneath the surface. “Both of you. Then meet me in the kitchen.”
The man turns on his heel and stalks away, footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Damien stands frozen, rivulets of water trickling down his body, cock limp against his thighs.
But it’s his expression that makes my stomach drop. The blank mask is gone, replaced by something he referenced but that I’ve never seen on his face before.
Fear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DAMIEN
Once Ophelia’sdried and back in my room, I leave her searching for something wearable from my drawers and join Dad in the kitchen. The sharp scent of alcohol hangs in the air.
“I didn’t realise you’d be home this weekend.”
“Obviously.” Dad’s hand trembles slightly as he pours a finger of scotch into a crystal tumbler. He downs it in one gulp, sets the empty glass on the counter with a dull thud, and immediately pours another. “Since when do you invite guests here?”
His gaze locks onto mine, piercing and sudden, his eyes boring into me with such intensity that my skin prickles.
