by L. J. Woods
Fuck.
The scotch is as smooth as always, warming my insides while Damien’s hand rises higher on my leg. I do what he does to me, dodge his question with one of my own. “Did you find your coin?”
His hand tightens on my thigh for a second, finger falling from my skin before he reaches for the bottle. After taking a swig, the bottle between his fingers, he shakes his head. “It’s my—was my mom’s.”
Is Damien King giving me honesty? He takes another swig and when I look at him he’s looking at the bottle in his hand with an empty gaze. If anybody understands holding onto things from their dead parents, it’s me. I’m still wearing my dad’s watch and jacket. My mom’s rings. Sure, they look alright, but it feels like a piece of my parents is with me when I wear them.
I wait for him to tell me more, the air a comfortable silence between us. His hand continues up my thigh. “Did you fuck Perez?”
“What?”
His hand moves higher and my insides clench, the feeling of his touch impossible to ignore. There’s a tingle between my legs the higher he climbs and I’m trying my hardest to keep them closed. “I answered your question. Now it’s your turn. Keep up, Medusa.”
“No.”
“Did you kiss him?” His face is inches from mine in a flash, his eyes narrow like he’s trying to read my insides.
“You’re jealous,” I match his stare, meeting his challenge.
“I’m not,” he’s quick to fire back.
“Just say it,” I spit, pulling my face closer to his, his fingers land somewhere between my legs. But I know how to play him too. Moving my hand to his sturdy, long leg, my fingers walk up his pants. “Can’t admit you’re jealous? A real man would admit he’s jealous.” I don’t believe in that bullshit but I know how to rile him up, just like he does to me.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Rowland.” His voice is low but it’s still like rolling thunder.
“Isn’t that the way you like it?” I smirk. He’s already hard when I grab hold of his length and this is starting to feel like some type of twisted foreplay.
He clears his throat, sitting up in his seat. “Keith, we’re going to take that to go.” He’s sticking a finger through my fishnets, finding my folds under the lingerie he instructed me to wear. When Keith gets to the table, his cold fingertip lands on my clit, already wet from our fucked up dirty talk.
“You have a room here tonight? I can send it up.” Keith suggests.
It’s hard to keep a straight face with Damien stroking my pearl right in front of our chef, but I’m starting to realize I get off on this as much as he does.
“That’s perfect,” Damien smiles, pushing a finger inside me that makes me grip my chair. It feels like a cold magical dagger and I let out a sigh. Keith raises an eyebrow before he walks away.
When he’s out of sight, Damien moves his finger with a smirk. Without another word, he grabs the bottle and my jacket before heading to the back of the kitchen. I follow him, my body on fire. Damien’s right. We’re not normal. We can’t even get through dinner without wanting to rip each other’s clothes off. This isn’t the same blaze I felt with Christian. Not one bit. There was hardly a spark but with Damien, it’s a fucking explosion.
“Damien?” I call when he disappears ahead of me. Bumping into a chef, I apologize, my arms coming to my bare shoulders. “Damien!”
There’s a cold grip on my hand before I’m pulled inside an elevator. The door shuts behind me just as Damien’s lips come crashing onto mine.
Pure, blissful nirvana.
I’m lapping up the taste of whiskey still on his tongue before he pushes his finger in my mouth. His tongue lands between his teeth as he watches me suck his digit like my favourite lollipop.
“You look so fucking sexy when you do that,” he growls, his nose on mine. There’s hunger in his eyes and it’s clear he doesn’t give a fuck if the doors were to open right now. “Tell me how you taste.”
“Like a decadent dessert,” I smirk when I say this and it’s clear that scotch is starting to settle. Or I’m intoxicated by Damien. The sweet tangy taste sits on my tongue when his mouth comes to mine again, his tongue like sweet caramel.
He pins me against the wall, his hands making my dress rise when they come to my ass, my jacket falling to the floor. He’s hard when he presses against me, his mouth coming to my ear. “Do you trust me?”
It makes me freeze, hardly realizing when my feet lift off the floor. Damien pulls my long, skinny legs around him, his cock throbbing right at my centre. It’s not making this any easier.
Ding!
The elevator comes to a stop and I’m saved by the bell before he says, “You’re not off the hook. I’m gonna fix that.” He kisses me again, my body relaxing in his hold as I wrap my arms around his broad back. We’re moving but I don’t care where I’m going, as long as it’s with him.
“Shit, wait,” I pull back. “My jacket.” I’m not leaving that behind.
He looks at me, brows lowering, “Really, Rowland?”
I nod, biting my lip because I can’t ignore how hot he looks right now. Red in his cheeks, his chest rising and falling with how heavy he’s breathing. “It’s my dad’s.”
His jaw clenches but that makes him go back for it, keeping me wrapped around him as he reaches for it. After hearing about his mom’s coin, I know he’d understand.
We’re bursting through a room door in seconds when he stands me on the floor, slamming the door closed. Like Georgina’s party, it’s lavish and over-the-top, a mosaic on the wall, tub against the floor to ceiling glass walls.
My eyes wander the room before they land on the bed. It’s big but that’s not what catches my attention. Straps stick out from the top of the mattress like some kind of restraint. My eyes narrow and when I turn around, Damien’s approaching me with something black and silky in his hand. “Ready?”
Fifteen
“R-ready for what?”
I’m finding it hard to speak. Finding it hard to move.
His jacket and shirt are already off, slacks and leather loafers the only thing left. Only rich people wear leather loafers when it’s damn near winter.
“What is this?” I ask again. He turns me around and before I can ask again, something soft comes onto my eyes, the room going black. “Damien?” I can still smell him, still sense him close before his finger drags along my arm. Instant goosebumps. My body responds to him quicker than a gun when it’s shot but I still have questions. “If I’m going to trust you, this isn’t the best way to start,” I warn.
“Isn’t it?” His voice by my ear startles me and I hate that I jump. His fingers run along my shoulder and it doesn’t help my nerves, that fluttery feeling in my stomach. He pulls on the strap of the dress until it slips down my arm. Then the other. With one tug at the front, the dress falls to the floor and I’m exposed to Damien in the lingerie he bought.
“You listened,” he says and I can hear the smirk on his face. “Good girl.” My cheeks flush when he says those words and I don’t know why. It’s like I like following orders from the King as much as I like his punishments. “You look so fucking good.” He pulls at the strap keeping my tits in place, my nipples already taught and perky when the air brushes against them.
His chest hits my back, his bulge against my ass. A gasp escapes my lips when my nipples land between his fingers. When he pinches them, he gets a moan, the ripple of pleasure only dampening that strap between my legs some more. He pushes me forward from behind, a hand pushing between my legs until we hit what feels like the softness of a mattress. “If only Christian could get you this wet. You don’t trust him as much as you trust me? Is that it?”
“Is this what all this is for?” I ask before he whips my body around. “A trust exercise?”
His palms come to my cheeks before his lips land on mine and I’m lost in his kiss again. I’m distracted in his hold when my back hits the mattress. Fabric straps come around each wrist before there’
s coldness on my body. I hear the buckle of a belt, the sound of fabric falling to the floor. The sounds of a naked Damien. While I wish I could see him in all his glory, there’s something about this that makes me heated with desire. “Fuck, I wish you could see how good you look right now, Rowland. At my disposal. Only for me.”
I hardly hear him move before his hands come to my legs. He parts them and his tongue lands on my clit, another gasp escaping me. It’s like an instant rush of electricity to my core. It’s hard not to moan, his tongue relentless when he lashes and laps between my folds like a hungry animal. When I start to move and writhe in response, he holds me down with his hands on my legs.
“I’m so hard for you Jo,” he groans against my folds, his voice vibrating right through me. I can’t see that sexy look on his face, but this feels amazing, completely at his control. I can’t think about how I look or where to put my hands, all I can focus on is him. “Want me to fuck you like this?” he growls. “With you at my mercy?”
“Y-yes,” I murmur. It’s easy for me to beg. “God, yes.” I want to reach for his hair, for something to hold onto but the restraints stop me. He must see it because he laughs. A sexy evil laugh. I hear the crinkling of a foil packet before his weight is on top of me.
“Damn right, you do,” he growls against my lips, his cock teasing my entrance. The tip makes me lift my hips but he pulls it away. “That’s because you’re mine, Jo.” He pushes inside me and I let out a long moan before he pulls out. “You understand? Mine.” He pushes in again, his palms around my thighs. He’s gripping it tight, using it for leverage when he pulls out and pushes into me again, “Say it, Jo. I want to hear it.”
All he gets is moans. Cries of pleasure. “God, Damien!”
“That’s right. I’m your god.” Every time he plunges into me with that thick hard cock it’s like I’m seeing stars behind this blindfold. The bedframe feels like it’s moved a mile under our weight, knocking against the wall with each of his powerful thrusts.
“Say it,” he demands again, pushing hard inside me but the words don’t leave my mouth. It’s like I’m afraid he’ll stop this blissful torture, like this will all come to an end.
But he stops first. “Not gonna say it?” His face feels closer to mine now, his cock still inside me when there’s a slap against my clit. It shocks me, but there’s no pain.
That little sting supercharges the feeling I have with him buried inside me and before I know it, I’m begging for more, “Again.”
“You like when I punish you, don’t you, Rowland?” His fingers lightly slap against my pussy again before they’re in my mouth and he’s fucking me hard. He’s not letting up, something cracking beneath us.
His hand comes around my throat, my pussy tight around his throbbing cock. He’s keeping this torturous pace. Hard. Strong. Steady. He hits my wall over and over again, words landing by my ear, “Say. You’re. Mine.”
“Fuck me!” I spit back, surprised I sound like a pornstar but I’m putting up the fight he loves.
I’m almost there when he stops, and when he pulls the blindfold off my face, his eyes are peering into mine. It only makes my walls clench his cock harder inside me. He arches an eyebrow. “If you wanna come on this cock you know the words. Or I can stay here throbbing inside you all night, Joelle.”
When he says my full name it makes me shiver, pushing me closer to the edge that he’s keeping from me. But the pause is long enough for me to shoot the question back in his court, “Are you mine?”
It only shocks me more when he answers, “I’ve only ever been yours, Jo.”
That sincere look in his eyes, the feeling of our bodies pressed together makes it easier to admit. Makes it easy for the words to fall out. “I don’t think you’ve ever stopped being mine, Damien.”
It only takes another long deep thrust before my body explodes. It feels like it’s on fire and ice at the same time. My thighs beg to clench together, my pussy clamping on his thrusts. The restraints hold me back from clawing at anything but he keeps going. Keeps punishing me with his deep, long strokes until he lets out a sound like a wild animal. A deep rolling grunt brings him to his climax and when his cock throbs inside me, it only makes me shiver and writhe all over again.
Damien doesn’t move before the mattress drops with a hard, thud!
My eyes widen but Damien laughs, his face and body sweaty. “I guess I’m adding this to my tab.”
* * *
There’s something about sitting enclosed in four walls with Damien King that makes me feel alive. At home.
This room is no different.
We’re finally digging into our burgers, clothes scattered around the room. And if Damien wants me to eat, he’s worked up enough of an appetite for me to want to devour this thing.
We’re sitting on the floor beside the bed, window to the balcony bringing in some chilly air into our warm room. Taking another bite, I moan into the soft, sweet bread keeping my burger together. It’s hearty and savoury. Not like that cheap crap from the grocery store. I even taste blue cheese.
“Keep making those sounds and you won’t make it out of this room,” Damien says, joint burning in one hand, fry in the other.
There’s a red line on each of my wrists from where the straps dug into my skin. When I stretch out my legs, there’s a mark on each thigh and I can already tell there’ll be a few hickeys tomorrow. But I’m proud to have them. Happy to have another reminder of an amazing time with Damien.
“I won’t complain if we never leave,” I say, taking the fry out of his hand and popping it in my mouth. “Who needs Eden?” Who needs anything when I have the devil by my side. When we’re like this, calm chill, coming down from our sex high, Damien makes me feel like my entire history doesn’t mean anything. It’s like two dark pasts make the right future.
Ew, what am I even saying?
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The sound makes me jump. Damien stares at me, chewing on something. “You good, Rowland?”
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The sound rings again and I realize it’s not coming from our door, but the images of the last time we were at The Palace still play in my head. The memory of that cold, cell floor still feels fresh.
“I’m okay,” I respond, even though the following knocks make me jump.
There’s a commotion outside. It sounds like cops and a woman in a frenzy.
“What the fuck is going on out there?” I ask as if Damien has x-ray vision.
He gets up, bringing the joint with him and … well, so much for the open window. Opening the door, I’m able to hear what’s happening a little better.
“Merde! What are you doing?” And I recognize that voice. There aren’t many people I know in this town with an authentic French accent. “Do you know who I am?”
I’m pulling Damien’s sweater on but he doesn’t seem to care, standing at the open door in those black boxers that form to that tight ass.
“Wait, hey, let me explain.”
I know that voice too.
“Isaac?” I ask, pulling the arms of his sweater over my hands.
Damien doesn’t look my way when I stand next to him at the door but what I see, makes my jaw drop.
Two cops escort Marion down the hall, one with his arm on her shoulder but she pulls away. “I can walk on my own …” she trails off, grey eyes landing on us. So are Isaac’s and my heart sinks, piecing this all together.
Marion huffs, her chin to the ceiling as she passes our door.
“Good luck trying to steal my company from your cell,” Damien says. “Don’t you know not to fuck with jailbait?”
Isaac looks at us, also standing in the hallway in boxers. He looks even more broken than the last time we saw him. Shaking his head, he turns to walk into the adjacent room. “Thanks, guys. With friends like you, who needs enemies?”
When he slams the door I’m tempted to check on him, but not without giving it to Damien first. “I can’t fucking believe you!”
I spit, heading to take the dress from the side of the bed. I pull it on under his sweater, and I’m only wearing his clothes because I’m not in the mood to be in a pretty dress right now. Not anymore. “You said this was a date!”
“It is,” he says, still too nonchalant for my liking. The door closes and he leans against the wall, watching me in my frustrated rage. “But it won’t be if you leave.”
“Don’t!” I’m livid, slipping on my boots. “Don’t pin this on me! Like you said, I’m not stupid, stupid. You used me!”
“Like you used Christian to make me jealous?”
What? Did I?
Pulling a mini of Jack Daniels from the minibar at the end of the room I unscrew it and down it. “That is not the point!” I scream after I swallow. The minibar doesn’t close before I pull out the rest of the bottles. I’m throwing them on the floor before I’m pulling on my jacket.
He arches a brow, “What are you doing?”
“Charging your card,” I say and I hate that he smirks as he’s walking towards me. Those same long strides he took earlier. “All this talk about trust and you can’t even plan a normal date!” Fixing my hair in the mirror there’s redness in my round cheeks, my eyes glazed and it’s not only because I’m half-baked.
“I’m giving you exactly what you expected.” Damien tries to do that thing where he corners me. But like the mouse he thinks I am, I’ve become immune to his trap. I skip across the bed, my boots sinking into the mattress, leaving stains on the crisp white sheets. That doesn’t stop Damien from using his words to trap me instead. “Are you going to pretend like you weren’t waiting for this night to fail? For me to fail you?”
“And that’s exactly what you’re doing!” I want to scream, I want to rip his fucking heart out like he’s doing to mine, but I don’t. I’m heading for the door instead, not wanting to hear another word.
“Well, you got your wish,” he says, still walking towards me. If I’m stubborn, he’s twice that. “If you leave, this date is over, Medusa.”