He sucked in a ragged inhale—wrecked—pleasure and restraint colliding in his chest. He dropped to the waistband of my shorts, sliding beneath the fabric with deliberate, aching slowness.
Sensation roared through me as his palm curved over the fullness of my ass, fingers contracting in a firm, possessive grip that sent a tremor up my spine.
His hands locked on my waist, and in one fluid motion the world flipped—my back hitting the mattress, pillows softening the impact as his body came down over mine.
“God,” I gasped as he caught my mouth again.
The kiss wasn’t gentle.
It was raw—consuming—everything we’d buried erupting all at once in heat and relief and something dangerously close to desperation.
My nails dragged down his back, a shiver rippling through him at the contact, skin tightening beneath my touch.
The world collapsed to a single point—him above me, the weight of him, the sure press of his hands, the dizzy, dizzying certainty that this time….
This time neither of us was running.
His fingers slid into my hair, tightening just enough to drag a gasp from me as he pressed me back into the cushions, settling himself between my thighs. I arched instinctively, nails grazing the hard line of his biceps as I clung to him.
A low growl vibrated against my lips, rolling through me as his hand mapped the curves of my body with careful, ruinous intent. I caught his bottom lip between my teeth—teasing, daring.
His answer was a rough sound and a sharp pull on my hips, dragging me closer until every inch of him aligned with every inch of me. Power—pure and consuming—radiated off him, heat and restraint twisted together until it stole my breath.
“Tell me what you need,” he said against my throat, each word branding into my skin.
Thought vanished.
Air vanished.
Everything narrowed to sensation.
“You,” I breathed—raw, certain, trembling out of me before I could stop it.
His fingertips skimmed the waistband of my shorts, testing, giving me space to pull away. Instead, I lifted my hips—silent permission, all the invitation he needed.
He caught the fabric and slid it down in one smooth motion.
Electricity licked up my spine as his hand settled between my thighs, cupping me through the thin black lace—the final barrier between aching anticipation and everything I’d been holding back for months.
“Are you sure?” The words brushed my lips, one last tether, one last chance to turn back.
“Jesus Christ, Damien,” I gasped, my fingers curling into his shoulders. “Do you want me to beg?”
A low, ragged exhale escaped him, warm against my neck. “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.” Then his hand slipped beneath the lace, fingers finding me—finding the proof of how badly I wanted him.
“Oh, god, Emma,” he groaned, the sound torn from somewhere deep as he explored the edges of what I gave him. Fingertips trailing over my sensitive bud and dipping playfully into the slick of me.
I moaned, my head falling back against the pillow, turning liquid in his arms as he guided me through the ruinous sweep of his fingers, his mouth claiming the sensitive skin of my breasts in a way that sent a shiver spiraling through me. Pleasure tightened low and electric, stealing every coherent thought from my mind—
Except one.
More.
I needed more.
My hand slid between our bodies, seeking him, finding the rigid proof of how much he wanted me. I wrapped my fingers around him, savoring the sharp, involuntary twitch that answered my touch.
He rocked into my hand, chasing what I offered. The groan that left him when his mouth lifted was raw, wrecked. He shifted onto his haunches, palm flat against my hip, the other hand never breaking its punishing pace.
