Every sound she gave me, I matched.
She wasn’t mine because I’d placed a collar around her throat.
She was mine because she chose me.
Chose this.
Chose us.
Right there—her warmth beneath me, her pulse steady against my own—I vowed to spend the rest of my life proving she’d chosen right.
I kissed her again, letting the world fall away until there was nothing left but the press of her palms and the deep, aching pull inside me.
She shifted beneath me, her body aligning with mine so naturally it felt inevitable, like gravity had simply decided for us.
“Damien…” she whined.
Her legs brushed mine—inviting, teasing—and my focus sharpened, control thinning.
My lips dragged along the pulse at her throat. “Tell me what you want.”
She shivered. “I want…” Her fingers curled tight in my hair. “I want you.”
God. I would never get tired of that.
My hand slid down her side, slow and deliberate, savoring every inch. She parted for me without hesitation—her body pressed against my hips, drawing me closer.
I was already hard for her, every pulse syncing with the frantic rhythm between us. She hissed as I nudged against her, slickness waiting just beneath the surface.
“God,” I groaned. “I love how ready you get for me.”
Truth and praise tangled in one.
She moaned when my fingers grazed her most sensitive spot, her hips lifting instinctively, searching for more.
I smiled, leaning forward to trace my tongue along the delicate chain draped at her throat. The pendant trembled against her skin as she bucked up to meet me, grinding just enough to drag a groan from deep inside me.
“Please,” she begged, nails scraping down my back—desperate and perfect.
I chuckled low. “Not so fast, Ms.Sinclair.”
I moved down her body, taking my time, worshipping each inch—first her breast, drawing a soft moan from her as my mouth closed over her, her fingers tangling in my hair, her nails scraping lightly against my scalp as she urged me closer.
I groaned against her skin, the taste of her, the sound of her, the way she trembled for me making my vision blur at the edges.
I teased her other nipple between my fingers, pulling it until the skin drew tight.
She cried out—sharp, startled—and my cock throbbed so hard it almost hurt.
Her screams, even the small ones, lit something dark and brutal inside me—a vein of pure sadism wired into my spine.
I wanted them.
Louder.
Rawer.
Unrestrained.
