by Leigh, Tara
I need his intensity now more than ever. I am desperate to revel in the raging storm Damon and I create when we’re together. The kind of storm that deserves a name. Deserves to be written in history books for its power … and for the toll of its destruction.
I want the shocking illumination of lightning. The ominous energy of thunder.
I want to give and take.
Clash and break.
Writhe and shake.
“Damon,” I say his name like a warning. I need the man—the monster—who claimed me as his own. My savage king.
He presses a firm kiss to my forehead, his fingers lightly pushing into the hair at the base of my scalp. “Tell me this,” he says. “Is there any hurt I can’t kiss better?”
The throaty rumble of Damon’s voice is like a liberal pour of molasses on my frayed nerves. “No.” My nose is flush with his chest and I breathe deep that scent I didn’t think I would ever smell again. Wood and whiskey and raw masculinity. So damn intoxicating.
He sweeps his tongue along the rim of my ear. “Is there any hurt I can’t lick better?”
The tension in my shoulders eases as I flatten my palms against his chest. “No.”
Damon lifts my chin, our eyes locking on each other. “Is there any hurt I can’t fuck better?”
My cheeks warm as I draw my lower lip between my teeth. Then I shake my head slowly. “No.”
He smiles that darkly seductive grin and my stomach flips. “Let’s go take a shower.”
I nod my head eagerly. A long hot shower sounds perfect. A long hot shower—with my savage king—sounds downright exquisite. By the time the water is running, my borrowed bathrobe is just a white smudge of bad memory strewn across the tile floor.
Damon begins unbuttoning his shirt and I eagerly reach for his belt. When he is as naked as I am, he cups my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tips it upward. His kiss is hard but not punishing. The perfect amount of pressure.
I moan low in my throat.
He growls in return. And when we pull apart, we are wearing matching lust-drunk grins.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
“I thought you said I shouldn’t trust anyone who has to ask.”
“I’m asking now.”
The truth falls from my lips. “With my life.”
He pulls me into the shower with a leer on his face, his voice a gritted rasp of desire. “How about with your ass?”
My response is a nervous, high-pitched giggle that dies in my throat when I realize Damon isn’t teasing me. His question is real. Do I trust him to do … that? I swallow, ducking my head as a heated flush surges above my collarbone, burning the tips of my ears. My whisper evaporates into the cloud of mist rising around us. “Yes.”
20
DAMON
Relief has invaded the marrow of my bones. I am filled with it. Overflowing with it.
Whether it’s male pride or misplaced possessiveness or something else entirely … I am simply grateful for the tragedy Aislinn has not born.
No one has stolen what is only hers to give.
A gift she’s given to me. A gift she’s about to give to me again.
All that matters to me at this moment is her cobalt stare shining with trust, the scent of honey filling my lungs with every breath, the velvety smoothness of her skin beneath my fingertips.
Aislinn Granville is my gift from a god I stopped believing in years ago. An angel bestowed to a devil.
I’ll take her. I’ll treasure her. I’ll live for her. I’ll die for her.
And I’ll commit all seven sins—countless times, with zero regrets—to keep her.
I want to kiss her, consume her, taste and touch and explore every inch of her. I want to fuck her everywhere, in every way. I want to be her first, her last, her everything. I want to be hers.
I am hers.
Aislinn’s cheek is pressed to my chest, water coming at us from every angle. I inhale a deep breath of the warm mist, my hands wrapping around Aislinn’s narrow waist, my fingertips resting along the hollowed dimples that sit just below the base of her spine. Water droplets slide and scurry over her silken skin.
My dick is so hard it throbs. But I’m more aware of this feeling of completeness, of contentment, sitting heavily inside my chest. Heavy, but not weighted. Despite all that has happened, all that still needs to happen, in this moist enclosure, holding Aislinn against my body—I feel lighter than I have since …
Since ever.
Just then, Aislinn lifts her head, her wet hair sliding against my chest. “I can hear you.”
My brows draw together. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You did, actually. You let out this deep sigh, and when you squeezed me, you moaned.”
“I moaned?” I’d been so lost in my own thoughts, I hadn’t realized any of that.
She laughs. “It was a good moan. A happy moan.”
“I didn’t realize moans could be interpreted.”
“Everything can be interpreted. And that sigh, that moan,” her spiky eyelashes flutter, “it said, you’re happy I’m back.”
I pause for a moment, unused to putting my feelings into words. “Yeah, princess. I’m really fucking happy you’re home. I was losing my goddamn mind.” There’s so much more I want to say. That I don’t know if I will ever recover from losing her, even temporarily. That I will carry the shame of it forever. That I don’t deserve her.
But my feelings are too big for words. I slide my hands up her sides, over her shoulders, cupping my palms over her cheeks, my thumbs sweeping a mix of tears and water from beneath her eyes.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
The kind of beautiful that goes beyond what can be seen on the surface. The canvas created by skin as luminous as mother-of-pearl, the long limbs and lush curves and loose tumble of hair that captures every shade of blonde from platinum to gold to bronze. Azure blue eyes, plump pink lips, startlingly black lashes.
Yes, Aislinn Granville is a beauty.
But my spitfire is so much more than that.
“Good,” she says simply.
I reach for the feminine bottles of soap and shampoo and conditioner that line the ledge of my shower, alongside my own. I lather, rinse, and repeat until Aislinn shines like a new penny. I rub and massage until her shoulders are loose and her head is heavy on her graceful neck.
I am about to shut off the water when Aislinn stills my hand. “Your turn.”
She pours shampoo in her hands, motioning for me to turn around.
Instead, I drop to my knees at her feet and lean my head back. Aislinn’s breasts swing over my face as her fingers push into my hair, her nails scratching my scalp. A groan slips past my lips just before I take one of Aislinn’s breasts into my mouth. My balls swell and harden from the pure pleasure of Aislinn’s hands in my hair, the sweet clean taste of her in my mouth, the needy furl of her nipple pressing against my tongue.
I cup a breast in one hand, sliding my other between her thighs. A shiver trembles through Aislinn’s body at my touch. I part her slit with one finger, dragging the tip through her seam that splits open so readily for me. Pride swells inside my chest at the wetness leaking out from between her folds. Wetness that has nothing to do with the spray of the shower and everything to do with me. I do this to her.
A needy whine falls from her mouth as I add another finger, going deeper this time. Her hips buck forward as I slide over her clit.
Shifting my position, I take her other breast into my mouth. As I knew it would, this one tastes just as sweet, her nipple even harder and firmer after my teasing and pinching.
After Aislinn rinses the suds from my hair, I back her up against the wall of the shower by moving forward on my knees. I pull away from her breast and look up. Her nipples are a rich ruby, startling against her skin like wine spilled on a snow-white tablecloth. Droplets of water cling to her curves, sparkling like diamonds.
“Please, Damon,” she says. “I stayed strong, bu
t right now, I just need to fall apart in your arms.” Trust and lust and a blissful kind of elation are smeared across Aislinn’s face like a thin film of Vaseline on a lens. Clear but obvious.
Only a sliver of blue clinging to the dilated vortex of Aislinn’s pupils glints at me. A blue that is so bright, so blinding, it flays the skin from my body. I’m a skeleton barely held together by a knotted network of exposed nerves and vulnerable muscles.
I am an unguarded fortress.
My gates are open, my weapons surrendered. All for this woman. For my spitfire with the power to incinerate me.
And maybe she will, but not until I set her on fire.
“You’re not going to fall today, princess. In my arms, you’ll soar.”
I hook one of her legs over my shoulder, then the other. Until her pussy is right where it belongs, in front of my face.
Our eyes are still locked when I open my mouth and extend my tongue, giving her a long lick. “Jesus,” Aislinn mutters, her head falling back against the marble as her hands plunge into my hair, twisting the wet strands within her grip.
I am lost to the intoxicating taste of her. A sharp sweetness just barely distilled by an exotic earthiness. My tongue darts and dives, lapping and licking. My hands are curved around her ass and I can’t help but squeeze the warm, wet flesh in my fingers. Her thighs are firm around my neck, the heels of her feet tapping out a desperate rhythm as they beat against my back.
I am in fucking heaven.
Literally. Aislinn’s cunt is the most delicious I’ve ever tasted, her skin is the softest, her moans and groans and squeals and sighs are a symphony I will never tire of.
Her pussy is my paradise.
I am so eager, so ravenous, so goddamn hungry. Aislinn’s fingers twitch, her nails scraping my scalp as they tug on my hair, her thighs shaking against my jaw as she comes with a gasping cry, her back arching, hips bucking.
After several long moments, she relaxes her grip on my hair, the fluttering contractions of her internal muscles finally ceasing as her thighs go slack and a final, deep sigh leaves her lungs. I lift my head, feeling her wetness spread all over my lips and chin and jaw.
Aislinn looks down at me and gives a shaky laugh, wiping at my face with one of her hands. “You really made a meal of me, huh?”
I bite her inner thigh, hard enough for her to squeak. “That was just the first course.”
21
AISLINN
My legs are wobbly when Damon sets me down. His strong hands wrap around my waist, holding me steady. A rush of gratitude comes over me. I stare up at him and smile, knowing I am also grateful for his full lips and wide mouth and his sinful, skillful tongue.
I’m grateful for him.
I’m grateful to be here.
I’m grateful to be alive.
He presses a kiss to my forehead and brings us both back under the water for a moment. I close my eyes as it cascades over my head, streaking down my face, my shoulders, my back. It feels so good.
And then Damon adjusts a dial and the various streams and sprays become more of a warm, gentle mist. Like a wet sauna. He slicks his hair back from his head and I watch the interplay of biceps and triceps in his arms. There’s an innate efficiency and grace to his movements. Damon reminds me of a big game cat. A cheetah or panther, all sleek muscles and dark, devious eyes.
An animal that enjoys playing with his prey before going in for the kill.
And he definitely knows how to play.
I bite at my lower lip, the endorphin rush from my orgasm dissolving from an onslaught of nerves. “What’s next?”
The grin that lifts Damon’s cheeks sends my stomach plummeting just before he lowers his head and captures my mouth with his own. I moan, a fresh surge of desire flowing through my veins. There’s something unabashedly carnal about tasting myself on his tongue.
“I’m glad you asked. But it’s better if I show you.” His lips hover over my mouth, each syllable a soft, breathy kiss. “And just remember that you trust me, okay, spitfire?”
“Mm-hmm.” My hands curl around the base of his neck, wishing I could stop time. Wishing we could stay frozen in this moment, exchanging steamy kisses. Our naked bodies pressed against each other, a tangle of slippery skin and hungry mouths, grasping hands and needy moans.
But Damon ends our kiss, nipping along the line of my jaw before sucking the fleshy lobe of my ear into his mouth. A delicious shiver cartwheels down my spine.
“Turn around and lean forward, hands against the tile.”
My shiver becomes a tremble as I pull away to look at his face, then at the thick shaft jutting from his body. It points at me like an accusation. “I’m not sure about this, Damon.”
“Are you sure of me?” His voice is deep and gruff, and I am sure that if I said no, he would grab a towel and this would all be over.
But that would be a lie. I am one hundred percent certain of the man standing in front of me. He may be a panther, but I am not his prey.
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I do as instructed. I pivot slowly. Bending at my hips and stretching my arms out, pressing my palms against the marble. And when I look over my shoulder at Damon, I finally say, “Sure enough to light a fire in a locked room.”
His lips twitch in response, then open to release a full-throated laugh that wraps around my ribs like the warmest of embraces. His fingers trace the curve of my spine. “Only you, Aislinn Granville. Only you.”
His words slay me while his hands work their magic. Dipping lower, into the crack of my ass, hesitating over the fluttering hole before continuing to my still drenched folds. He enters me, thrusting deep. I close my eyes in bliss, my head dropping forward from my neck like a forgotten puppet.
Because the puppet master is occupied with what’s between my legs. I gulp at humid air; the steam impeding my ability to extract oxygen from it. My head is spinning, but all that matters is Damon’s hand, Damon’s touch. His fingers alternate between sliding in and sliding over my still swollen, sensitive clit.
A pour of … something, could be oil or lotion or lube or even conditioner, I’m too busy chasing another orgasm to care, lands on the base of my spine and then flows into the crack between my ass cheeks. It’s just another layer of sensation. I know what’s coming; I do. But pleasure is a solid dam against the nervous anticipation.
A finger breaches my tight outer ring. The feeling is foreign, but not unpleasant. There is no pain. I arch my spine, pushing back against him. A second finger steals my breath, and instead of pain, there is only more pleasure. Ohmygod. It’s a barely there whisper. A shocked admission.
Damon’s low chuckle is proof that he heard. “I’m going to make this good for you. Keep trusting me, princess.”
“Okay,” I choke out, the word becoming a high-pitched wheeze when I feel Damon add a third finger. Instead of straining toward him, my body instinctively bucks away.
“Breathe,” he urges, curving the fingers inside my pussy to rub at my inner wall.
I don’t breathe. I can’t. My climax breaks over me, shards of ecstasy raining down over my arched back, my upturned head, my shaking ass. Two of my holes are filled when my mouth opens. A surprised cry escapes, the sound reverberating through the glass enclosure, ringing through the air.
Damon’s hands move to my hips as he guides his cock through my slit, piercing me deep. He rides me while my pussy clenches and quivers, his thrusts drawing out my orgasm as my hands slide down the marble wall until they are flat against the ledge. I am practically a triangle now, and I hear Damon groan as he squeezes my ass cheeks then pulls them apart. I know what he’s looking at. Know that he’s about to claim this last vestige of virgin territory.
Suddenly, I want it so badly. I want to feel Damon in my darkest, tightest place. To be claimed by this man. It is his; I am his.
Damon leans down, folding his chest over my back, his cock still inside me. “How’re you doing, spitfire?”
“Make me yours, D
amon,” I breathe. And I mean it.
He plants a kiss on my shoulder blade, his hands sliding beneath my arms to cup my breasts, his fingers toying with my nipples. I moan, swiveling my hips and pushing back against him.
Slowly, almost leisurely, Damon straightens. His hands slide along the frets of my ribs, curving in at my waist until they settle over my hip bones. He pulls out, all the way to the tip before slamming back inside me, the crown of his cock kissing my womb once, twice, three times. A whorl of sensation envelops me, the tentative stirrings of another orgasm clutching at my belly.
But the next time he pulls out, there’s no corresponding forward thrust. Instead, I feel his dick sliding down, the crown teasing my clit. “Holy shit,” I gasp. It’s thick and hot, gliding over my most sensitive nerve endings. I am mindless with lust, an insect caught in the web of its own desire. I could come from this, so hard. Just the press of his cock against my clit, this ruthless rubbing.
My arms are shaking when he pulls away, dragging his length through my weeping slit. By the time I feel his thickness pressing against my quivering entrance, I would get down on my knees and beg for it, except that that would put me in the entirely wrong position.
So I rise up on the balls of my feet, trying to communicate how much I want this, need this. Now.
My body belongs to this beautiful beast.
Take me. Take all of me. Now, now, now.
I’m at the deep end of the ocean, staring into the abyss. Push me in, Damon.
“Breathe, Aislinn,” he says again. This time I listen. I open my mouth to inhale, just as he begins to push forward.
I can feel my muscles being stretched, pushed apart. And at first, it feels good. Like the most delicious kind of pressure.
Until it doesn’t. Until the pressure stops being pleasure and becomes pain. Like I’m being cut, or burned, or both.
Suddenly, I’m sucking in air through gritted teeth, trying not to cry out. All those feel-good endorphins have crashed into a brick wall and hit the ground. And I crash too. I’m only being held upright by the strength of Damon’s hands at my hips, by the part of him invading a part of me that’s not meant to accommodate. “Fight through, spitfire,” Damon grits out, and I want to cry. Because I want to give this part of myself to him so badly.